Lay aside your fears, my gentle Eloisa; and from the following recital of what has happened, know and partake of the sentiments of your friend.
I was so full of indignation when I received your letter, that I could hardly read it with the attention it deserved. I should have made fine work in attempting to refuse it: I was then too rash and inconsiderate. You may be in the right, said I to myself, but I will never be persuaded to put up an affront injurious to my Eloisa.---- Though I were to lose you, and even die in a wrong cause, I will never suffer any one to shew you less respect than is your due; but, whilst I have life, you shall be revered by all that approach you, even as my own heart reveres you. I did not hesitate, however, on the week’s delay you required: the accident which had happened to Lord B----, and my vow of obedience concurred, in rendering it necessary. In the mean time, being resolved agreeable to your commands to employ that interval in meditating on the subject of your letter, I read it over again and again, and am reflecting on it continually; not with a view, however, to change my design, but to justify it.
I had it in my hand this morning, perusing again, with some uneasiness of mind, those too sensible and judicious arguments that made against me, when somebody knocked at the door of my chamber. It was opened, and immediately entered Lord B----, without his sword, leaning on his cane; he was followed by three gentlemen, one of whom I observed to be Mr. Orbe. Surprized at a visit so unexpected, I waited silently for the consequence; when my Lord requested of me a moment’s audience and begged leave to say, and do, as he pleased without interruption. You must, says he, give me your express permission: the presence of these gentlemen, who are your friends, will excuse you from any supposed indiscretion. I promised without hesitation not to interrupt him; when, to my great astonishment, his Lordship immediately fell upon his knee. Surprized at seeing him in such an attitude, I would have raised him up; but, after putting me in mind of my promise, he proceeded in the following words. “I am come, Sir, to make an open retraction of the abuse, which, when in liquor, I uttered in your company. The injustice of such behaviour renders it more injurious to me than to you; and therefore I ought publicly to disavow it. I submit to whatever punishment you please to inflict on me, and shall not think my honour re-established till my fault is repaired. Then, grant me the pardon I ask, on what conditions you think fit, and restore me your friendship.” My Lord, returned I, I have the truest sense of your generosity and greatness of mind, and take a pleasure in distinguishing between the discourse which your heart dictates, and that which may escape you when you are not yourself: let that in question be for ever forgotten, I immediately raised him, and, falling into my arms, he cordially embraced me. Then, turning about to the company, “Gentlemen, said he, I thank you for your complaisance. Men of honour, like you,” added he, with a bold air and resolute tone of voice, “know that he who thus repairs the injury he has done, will not submit to an injury from any man. You may publish what you have seen.” He then invited all of us to sup with him this evening, and the gentlemen left us. We were no sooner alone, than his lordship embraced me again, in a more tender and friendly manner; then, taking me by the hand, and seating himself down by me, happy man! said he, may you long enjoy the felicity you deserve! The heart of Eloisa is yours, may you be both.----What do you mean, my Lord? said I, interrupting him; have you lost your senses? No, returned he, smiling, but I was very near losing them, and it had perhaps been all over with me, if she who took them away, had not restored them. He then gave me a letter that I was surprized to see written by a hand, which never before wrote to any man but myself. What emotions did I feel in its perusal. I traced the passion of an incomparable woman who would make a sacrifice of herself to save her lover; and I discovered Eloisa. But when I came to the passage, wherein she protests she would never survive the most fortunate of men, how did I not shudder at the dangers I had escaped! I could not help complaining that I was loved too well, and my fears convinced me you are mortal. Ah! restore me that courage of which you have deprived me! I had enough to set death at defiance, when it threatened only myself, but I shrunk when my better half was in danger.
While I was indulging myself in these cruel reflections, I paid little attention to his lordship’s discourse; till I heard the name of Eloisa. His conversation gave me pleasure as it did not excite my jealousy. He seemed extremely to regret his having disturbed our mutual passion and your repose; he respects you indeed beyond any other woman in the world; and, being ashamed to excuse himself to you, begged me to receive his apology in your name, and to prevail on you to accept it. “I consider you, says he, as her representative, and cannot humble myself too much to one she loves; being incapable, without having compromised the affair, to address myself personally to her, or even mention her name to you.” He frankly confessed to me he had entertained for you those sentiments, which every one must do who looks too intensely on Eloisa; but that his was rather a tender admiration than love; that he had formed neither hope nor pretension: but had given up all thoughts of either, on hearing of our connections; and that the injurious discourse which escaped him was the effect of liquor, and not of jealousy. He talked of love like a philosopher, who thinks his mind superior to the passions; but, for my part, I am mistaken if he has not already felt a passion, which will prevent any other from taking deep root in his breast. He mistakes a weakness of heart for the effect of reason; but I know that to love Eloisa, and be willing to renounce her, is not among the virtues of human nature.
He desired me to give him the history of our amour, and an account of the causes which prevented our happiness. I thought that, after the explicitness of your letter, a partial confidence might be dangerous and unreasonable. I made it therefore compleat, and he listened to me with an attention that convinced me of his sincerity. More than once I saw the tears come into his eyes, while his heart seemed most tenderly affected: above all, I observed the powerful impressions which the triumphs of virtue made on his mind; and I please myself in having raised up for Claud Anet a new protector, no less zealous than your father. When I had done, there are neither incidents nor adventures, said he, in what you have related; and yet the catastrophe of a Romance could not equally affect me; so well is a want of variety atoned for by sentiments; and of striking actions supplied by instances of a virtuous behaviour. Yours are such extraordinary minds that they are not to be guided by common rules: your happiness is not to be attained in the same manner, nor is it of the same species with that of others. They seek power and pre-eminence; you require only tenderness and tranquillity. There is blended with your affections a virtuous emulation, that elevates both; and you would be less deserving of each other if you were not mutually in love. But love, he presumed to say, will one day lose its power (forgive him, Eloisa, that blasphemous expression, spoken in the ignorance of his heart) the power of love, said he, will one day be lost, while that of virtue will remain. Oh my Eloisa! may our virtues but subsist as long as our love! Heaven will require no more.
In fine, I found that the philosophical inflexibility of his nation had no influence over the natural humanity of this honest Englishman; but that his heart was really interested in our difficulties. If wealth and credit can be useful to us, I believe we have some reason to depend on his service. But alas! how shall credit or riches operate to make us happy?
This interview, in which we did not count the hours, lasted till dinner time; I ordered a pullet for dinner, after which we continued our discourse. Among other topics, we fell upon the step his lordship had taken, with regard to myself in the morning; on which I could not help expressing my surprize at a procedure so solemn and uncommon. But, repeating the reasons he had already given me, he added, that to give a partial satisfaction was unworthy a man of courage: that he ought to make a compleat one or none at all; lest he should only debase himself without making any reparation; and lest a concession made involuntarily, and with an ill grace, should be attributed to fear. Besides, continued he, my reputation is established; I can do you justice without incurring the suspicion of cowardice; but you, who are young and just beginning the world, ought to clear yourself so well of the first affair you are engaged in as to tempt no one to involve you in a second. The world is full of those artful cowards, who are upon the catch, as one may say, to taste their man; that is, to find out some greater coward than themselves to shew their valour upon. I would save a man of honour, like you, the trouble of chastising such scoundrels; I had rather, if they want a lesson, that they should take it of me than you: for one quarrel, more or less, on the hands of a man, who has already had many, signifies nothing; whereas it is a kind of disgrace to have had but one, and the lover of Eloisa should be exempt from it.
This is, in abstract, my long conversation with Lord B----; of which I thought proper to give you an account, that you might prescribe the manner in which I ought to behave to him.
As you ought now to be composed, chase from your mind, I conjure you, those dreadful apprehensions which have found a place there for some days past. Think of the care you should take in the uncertainty of your present condition. O should you soon give me life in a third being! Should a charming pledge----Too flattering hope! Dost thou come again to deceive me? I wish! I fear! I am lost in perplexity! Oh! Thou dearest charmer of my heart, let us live but to love, and let heaven dispose of us, as it may?
P. S. I forgot to tell you that my Lord offered me your letter, and that I made no difficulty of taking it; thinking it improper that it should remain in the hands of a third person. I will return it you the first time I see you: for, as to myself, I have no occasion for it; it is deeply engraven in my heart.
