Must I then, at last, confess, the fatal, the ill-disguised, secret! How often have I sworn that it should never burst from my heart but with my life! Thy danger wrests it from me. It is gone, and my honour is lost for ever. Alas, I have but too religiously performed my vow; can there be a death more cruel than to survive one’s honour?
What shall I say, how shall I break the painful silence? or rather, have I not said all, and am I not already too well understood? Alas! thou hast seen too much not to divine the rest; Imperceptibly deluded into the snare of the seducer, I see, without being able to avoid it, the horrid precipice before me. Artful man! It is not thy passion, but mine, that excites thy presumption. Thou observest the distraction of my soul; thou availest thyself of it to accomplish my ruin, and now that thou hast rendered me despicable, my greatest misfortune is, that I am forced to behold thee also in a despicable light. Ungrateful wretch! In return for my esteem, thou hast ruined me. Had I supposed thy heart capable of exulting, believe me, thou hadst never enjoyed this triumph.
Well thou knowest, and it will increase thy remorse, that there was not in my soul one vicious inclination. My virtue and innocence were inexpressibly dear to me, and I pleased myself with the hopes of cherishing them in a life of industrious simplicity. But to what purpose my endeavour, since heaven rejects my offering? The very first day we met, I imbibed the poison which now infects my senses and my reason; I felt it instantly, and thy eyes, thy sentiments, thy discourse, thy guilty pen, daily increase its malignity.
I have neglected nothing to stop the progress of this fatal passion. Sensible of my own weakness, how gladly would I have evaded the attack; but the eagerness of thy pursuit hath baffled my precaution. A thousand times I have resolved to cast myself at the feet of those who gave me being; a thousand times I have determined to open to them my guilty heart: but they can form no judgment of its condition; they would apply but common remedies to a desperate disease; my mother is weak and without authority; I know the inflexible severity of my father, and I should bring down ruin and dishonour upon myself, my family, and thee. My friend is absent, my brother is no more.
I have not a protector in the world to save me from the persecution of my enemy. In vain I implore the assistance of heaven; heaven is deaf to the prayers of irresolution. Every thing conspires to increase my anxiety; every circumstance combines to abandon me to myself, or rather cruelly to deliver me up to thee; all nature seems thy accomplice; my efforts are vain, I adore thee in spite of myself. And shall that heart which, in its full vigour, was unable to resist, shall it only half surrender? Shall a heart which knows no dissimulation attempt to conceal the poor remains of its weakness? No, the first step was the most difficult, and the only one which I ought never to have taken. Shall I now pretend to stop at the rest? No, that first false step plunged me into the abyss, and my degree of misery is entirely in thy power.
Such is my horrid situation, that I am forced to turn to the author of my misfortunes, and implore his protection against himself. I might, I know I might, have deferred this confession of my despair; I might, for some time longer, have disguised my shameful weakness, and by yielding gradually, have imposed upon myself. Vain dissimulation! which could only have flattered my pride, but could not save my virtue: away, away! I see but too plainly whither my first error tends, and shall not endeavour to prepare for, but to escape, perdition.
Well then, if thou art not the very lowest of mankind, if the least spark of virtue lives within thy soul, if it retains any vestige of those sentiments of honour which seemed to penetrate thy heart, thou canst not possibly be so vile as to take any unjust advantage of a confession forced from me by a fatal distraction of my senses. No, I know thee well; thou wilt support my weakness, thou wilt become my safeguard, thou wilt defend my person against my own heart. Thy virtue is the last refuge of my innocence; my honour dares confide in thine, for thou canst not preserve one without the other. Ah! let thy generous soul preserve them both, and, at leas, for thy own sake, be merciful.
Good God! am I thus sufficiently humbled? I write to thee on my knees; I bathe my paper with my tears; I pay to thee my timorous homage: and yet thou art not to believe me ignorant that it was in my power to have reversed the scene; and that, with a little art, which would have rendered me despicable in my own eyes, I might have been obeyed and worshipped. Take the frivolous empire, I relinquish it to my friend, but leave me, ah! leave me my innocence. I had rather live thy slave and preserve my virtue, than purchase thy disobedience at the price of my honour. Shouldst thou deign to hear me, what gratitude mayest thou not claim from her who will owe to thee the recovery of her reason? How charming must be the tender union of two souls unacquainted with guilt! Thy vanquished passions will prove the source of happiness, and thy pleasures will be worthy of heaven itself.
I hope, nay I am confident, that the man to whom I have given my whole heart will not belie my opinion of his generosity; but I flatter myself also, if he is mean enough to take the least unseemly advantage of my weakness, that contempt and indignation will restore my senses, and that I am not yet sunk so low as to fear a lover for whom I should have reason to blush. Thou shalt be virtuous, or be despised; I will be respected, or be myself again; it is the only hope I have left, preferable to the hope of death.
