_ LETTER XCII TO LETTER CXV
LETTER XCII
MR. L---- TO GENERAL B----.
Thursday.
My Dear Friend,
You have by argument and raillery, and by every means that kindness and goodness could devise, endeavoured to expel from my mind a passion which you justly foresaw would be destructive of my happiness, and of the peace of a most estimable and amiable woman. With all the skill that a thorough knowledge of human nature in general, and of my peculiar character and foibles, could bestow, you have employed those
--"Words and spells which can control,
Between the fits, the fever of the soul."
Circumstances have operated in conjunction with your skill to "medicine me to repose." The fits have gradually become weaker and weaker, the fever is now gone, but I am still to suffer for the extravagances committed during its delirium. I have entered into engagements which must be fulfilled; I have involved myself in difficulties from which I see no method of extricating myself honourably. Notwithstanding all the latitude which the system of modern gallantry allows to the conscience of our sex, and in spite of the convenient maxim, which maintains that all arts are allowable in love and war, I think that a man cannot break a promise, whether made in words or by tacit implication, on the faith of which a woman sacrifices her reputation and happiness. Lady Olivia has thrown herself upon my protection. I am as sensible as you can be, my dear general, that scandal had attacked her reputation before our acquaintance commenced; but though the world had suspicions, they had no proofs: now there can be no longer any defence made for her character, there is no possibility of her returning to that rank in society to which she was entitled by her birth, and which she adorned with all the brilliant charms of wit and beauty; no happiness, no chance of happiness remains for her but from my constancy. Of naturally violent passions, unused to the control of authority, habit, reason, or religion, and at this time impelled by love and jealousy, Olivia is on the brink of despair. I am not apt to believe that women die in modern times for love, nor am I easily disposed to think that I could inspire a dangerous degree of enthusiasm; yet I am persuaded that Olivia's passion, compounded as it is of various sentiments besides love, has taken such possession of her imagination, and is, as she fancies, so necessary to her existence, that if I were to abandon her, she would destroy that life, which she has already attempted, I thank God! ineffectually. What a spectacle is a woman in a paroxysm of rage!--a woman we love, or whom we have loved!
* * * * *
Excuse me, my dear friend, if I wrote incoherently, for I have been interrupted many times since I began this letter. I am this day overwhelmed by a multiplicity of affairs, which, in consequence of Olivia's urgency to leave England immediately, must be settled with an expedition for which my head is not at present well qualified. I do not feel well: I can command my attention but on one subject, and on that all my thoughts are to no purpose. Whichever way I now act, I must endure and inflict misery. I must either part from a wife who has given me the most tender, the most touching proofs of affection--a wife who is all that a man can esteem, admire, and love; or I must abandon a mistress, who loves me with all the desperation of passion to which she would fall a sacrifice. But why do I talk as if I were still at liberty to make a choice?--My head is certainly very confused. I forgot that I am bound by a solemn promise, and this is the evil which distracts me. I will give you, if I can, a clear narrative.
Last night I had a terrible scene with Olivia. I foresaw that she would be alarmed by my intended visit to L---- Castle, even though it was but to take leave of my Leonora. I abstained from seeing Olivia to avoid altercation, and with all the delicacy in my power I wrote to her, assuring her that my resolution was fixed. Note after note came from her, with pathetic and passionate appeals to my heart; but I was still resolute. At length, the day before that on which I was to set out for L---- Castle, she wrote to warn me, that if I wished to take a last farewell, I must see her that evening: her note concluded with, "To-morrow's sun will not rise for Olivia." This threat, and many strange hints of her opinions concerning suicide, I at the time disregarded, as only thrown out to intimidate a lover. However, knowing the violence of Olivia's temper, I was punctual to the appointed hour, fully determined by my firmness to convince her that these female wiles were vain.
My dear friend, I would not advise the wisest man and the most courageous upon earth to risk such dangers, confident in his strength. Even a victory may cost him too dear.
I found Olivia reclining on a sofa, her beautiful tresses unbound, her dress the perfection of elegant negligence. I half suspected that it was studied negligence: yet I could not help pausing, as I entered, to contemplate a figure. She never looked more beautiful--more fascinating. Holding out her hand to me, she said, with her languid smile, and tender expression of voice and manner, "You
are come then to bid me farewell. I doubted whether... But I will not upbraid--mine be all the pain of this last adieu. During the few minutes we have to pass together,
"'Between us two let there be peace.'"
I sat down beside her, rather agitated, I confess, but commanding myself so that my emotion could not be visible. In a composed tone I asked, why she spoke of a last adieu? and observed that we should meet again in a few days.
"Never!" replied Olivia. "Weak woman as I am, love inspires me with sufficient force to make and to keep this resolution."
As she spoke, she took from her bosom a rose, and presenting it to me in a solemn manner, "Put this rose into water to-night," continued she; "to-morrow it will be alive!"
Her look, her expressive eyes, seemed to say, this flower will be alive, but Olivia will be dead. I am ashamed to confess that I was silent, because I could not just then speak.
"I have used some precaution," resumed Olivia, "to spare you, my dearest L----, unnecessary pain.--Look around you."
The room, I now for the first time observed, was ornamented with flowers.
"This apartment, I hope," continued she, "has not the air of the chamber of death. I have endeavoured to give it a festive appearance, that the remembrance of your last interview with your once loved Olivia may be at least unmixed with horror."
At this instant, my dear general, a confused recollection of Rousseau's Heloise, the dying scene, and her room ornamented with flowers, came into my imagination, and destroying the idea of reality, changed suddenly the whole course of my feelings.
In a tone of raillery I represented to Olivia her resemblance to Julie, and observed that it was a pity she had not a lover whose temper was more similar than mine to that of the divine St. Preux. Stung to the heart by my ill-timed raillery, Olivia started up from the sofa, broke from my arms with sudden force, snatched from the table a penknife, and plunged it into her side.
She was about to repeat the blow, but I caught her arm--she struggled--"promise me, then," cried she, "that you will never more see my hated rival."
"I cannot make such a promise, Olivia," said I, holding her uplifted arm forcibly. "I will not."
The words "hated rival," which showed me that Olivia was actuated more by the spirit of hatred than love, made me reply in as decided a tone as even you could have spoken, my dear general. But I was shocked, and reproached myself with cruelty, when I saw the blood flow from her side: she was terrified. I took the knife from her powerless hand, and she fainted in my arms. I had sufficient presence of mind to reflect that what had happened should be kept as secret as possible; therefore, without summoning Josephine, whose attachment to her mistress I have reason to suspect, I threw open the windows, gave Olivia air and water, and her senses returned: then I despatched my Swiss for a surgeon. I need not speak of my own feelings--no suspense could be more dreadful than that which I endured between the sending for the surgeon and the moment when he gave his opinion. He relieved me at once, by pronouncing it to be a slight flesh wound, that would be of no manner of consequence. Olivia, however, whether from alarm or pain, or from the sight of the blood, fainted three times during the dressing of her side; and though the surgeon assured her that it would be perfectly well in a few days, she was evidently apprehensive that we concealed from her the real danger. At the idea of the approach of death, which now took possession of her imagination, all courage forsook her, and for some time my efforts to support her spirits were ineffectual. She could not dispense with the services of Josephine; and from the moment this French woman entered the room, there was nothing to be heard but exclamations the most violent and noisy. As to assistance, she could give none. At last her exaggerated demonstrations of horror and grief ended with,--"Dieu merci! an moins nous voila delivres de ce voyage affreux. Apparemment qu'il ne sera plus question de ce vilain Petersburg pour madame."
A new train of thoughts was roused by these words in Olivia's mind; and looking at me, she eagerly inquired why the journey to Petersburg was to be given up, if she was in no danger? I assured her that Josephine spoke at random, that my intentions with regard to the embassy to Russia were unaltered.
"Seulement retarde un peu," said Josephine, who was intent only upon her own selfish object.--"Surement, madame ne voyagera pas dans cet etat!"
Olivia started up, and looking at me with terrific wildness in her eyes, "Swear to me," said she, "swear that you will not deceive me, or I will this instant tear open this wound, and never more suffer it to be closed."
"Deceive you, Olivia!" cried I, "what deceit can you fear from me?--What is it you require of me?"
"I require from you a promise, a solemn promise, that you will go with
me to Russia!"
"I solemnly promise that I will," said I: "now be tranquil, Olivia, I beseech you."
The surgeon represented the necessity of keeping herself quiet, and declared that he would not answer for the cure of his patient on any other terms. Satisfied by the solemnity of my promise, Olivia now suffered me to depart. This morning she sends me word that in a few days she shall be ready to leave England. Can you meet me, my dear friend, at L---- Castle? I go down there to-day, to bid adieu to Leonora. From thence I shall proceed to Yarmouth, and embark immediately. Olivia will follow me.
Your obliged
F. L----.
* * * * *
LETTER XCIII.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
L---- Castle
Dearest Mother,
My husband is here! at home with me, with your happy Leonora--and his heart is with her. His looks, his voice, his manner tell me so, and by them I never was deceived. No, he is incapable of deceit. Whatever have been his errors, he never stooped to dissimulation. He is again my own, still capable of loving me, still worthy of all my affection. I knew that the delusion could not last long, or rather you told me so, my best friend, and I believed you; you did him justice. He was indeed deceived--who might not have been deceived by Olivia? His passions were under the power of an enchantress; but now he has triumphed over her arts. He sees her such as she is, and her influence ceases.
I am not absolutely certain of all this; but I believe, because I hope it: yet he is evidently embarrassed, and seems unhappy: what can be the meaning of this? Perhaps he does not yet know his Leonora sufficiently to be secure of her forgiveness. How I long to set his heart at ease, and to say to him, let the past be forgotten for ever! How easy it is to the happy to forgive! There have been moments when I could not, I fear, have been just, when I am sure that I could not have been generous. I shall immediately offer to accompany Mr. L---- to Russia; I can have no farther hesitation, for I see that he wishes it; indeed, just now he almost said so. His baggage is already embarked at Yarmouth--he sails in a few days--and in a few hours your daughter's fate, your daughter's happiness, will be decided. It is decided, for I am sure he loves me; I see, I hear, I feel it. Dearest mother, I write to you in the first moment of joy.--I hear his foot upon the stairs.
Your happy
LEONORA L----.
* * * * *
LETTER XCIV.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
L---- Castle.
MY DEAR MOTHER,
My hopes are all vain. Your prophecies will never be accomplished. We have both been mistaken in Mr. L----'s character, and henceforward your daughter must not depend upon him for any portion of her happiness. I once thought it impossible that my love for him could be diminished: he has changed my opinion. Mine is not that species of weak or abject affection which can exist under the sense of ill-treatment and injustice, much less can my love survive esteem for its object.
I told you, my dear mother, and I believed, that his affections had returned to me; but I was mistaken. He has not sufficient strength or generosity of soul to love me, or to do justice to my love. I offered to go with him to Russia: he answered, "That is impossible."--Impossible!--Is it then impossible for him to do that which is just or honourable? or seeing what is right, must he follow what is wrong? or can his heart never more be touched by virtuous affections? Is his taste so changed, so depraved, that he can now be pleased and charmed only by what is despicable and profligate in our sex? Then I should rejoice that we are to be separated--separated for ever. May years and years pass away and wear out, if possible, the memory of all he has been to me! I think I could better, much better bear the total loss, the death of him I have loved, than endure to feel that he had survived both my affection and esteem; to see the person the same, but the soul changed; to feel every day, every hour, that I must despise what I have so admired and loved.
Mr. L---- is gone from hence. He leaves England the day after to-morrow. Lady Olivia is to
follow him. I am glad that public decency is not to be outraged by their embarking together. My dearest mother, be assured that at this moment your daughter's feelings are worthy of you. Indignation and the pride of virtue support her spirit.
LEONORA L----.
* * * * *
LETTER XCV.
GENERAL B----
TO LADY LEONORA L----.
Yarmouth.
Had I not the highest confidence in Lady Leonora L----'s fortitude, I should not venture to write to her at this moment, knowing as I do that she is but just recovered from a dangerous illness.
Mr. L---- had requested me to meet him at L---- Castle previously to his leaving England, but it was out of my power. I met him however on the road to Yarmouth, and as we travelled together I had full opportunity of seeing the state of his mind. Permit me--the urgency of the case requires it--to speak without reserve, with the freedom of an old friend. I imagine that your ladyship parted from Mr. L---- with feelings of indignation, at which I cannot be surprised: but if you had seen him as I saw him, indignation would have given way to pity. Loving you, madam, as you deserve to be loved, most ardently, most tenderly; touched to his inmost soul by the proofs of affection he had seen in your letters, in your whole conduct, even to the last moment of parting; my unhappy friend felt himself bound to resist the temptation of staying with you, or of accepting your generous offer to accompany him to Petersburg. He thought himself bound in honour by a promise extorted from him to save from suicide one whom he thinks he has injured, one who has thrown herself upon his protection. Of the conflict in his mind at parting with your ladyship I can judge from what he suffered afterwards. I met Mr. L---- with feelings of extreme indignation, but before I had been an hour in his company, I never pitied any man so much in my life, for I never yet saw any one so truly wretched, and so thoroughly convinced that he deserved to be so. You know that he is not one who often gives way to his emotions, not one who expresses them much in words--but he could not command his feelings.
The struggle was too violent. I have no doubt that it was the real cause of his present illness. As the moment approached when he was to leave England, he became more and more agitated. Towards evening he sunk into a sort of apathy and gloomy silence, from which he suddenly broke into delirious raving. At twelve o'clock last night, the night he was to have sailed, he was seized with a violent and infectious fever. As to the degree of immediate danger, the physicians here cannot yet pronounce. I have sent to town for Dr. ----. Your ladyship may he certain that I shall not quit my friend, and that he shall have every possible assistance and attendance.
I am, with the truest esteem,
Your ladyship's faithful servant,
J. B.
* * * * *
LETTER XCVI.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
DEAR MOTHER, ---------- L---- Castle.
This moment an express from General B----. Mr. L---- is dangerously ill at Yarmouth--a fever, brought on by the agitation of his mind. How unjust I have been! Forget all I said in my last. I write in the utmost haste--just setting out for Yarmouth. I hope to be there to-morrow.
Your affectionate
LEONORA L----.
I open this to enclose the general's letter, which will explain every thing.
* * * * *
LETTER XCVII.
GENERAL B----
TO THE DUCHESS OF ----.
MY DEAR MADAM, Yarmouth.
Your Grace, I find, is apprised of Lady Leonora L----'s journey hither: I fear that you rely upon my prudence for preventing her exposing herself to the danger of catching this dreadful fever. But that has been beyond my power. Her ladyship arrived late last night. I had foreseen the probability of her coming, but not the possibility of her coming so soon. I had taken no precautions, and she was in the house and upon the stairs in an instant. No entreaties, no arguments could stop her; I assured her that Mr. L----'s fever was pronounced by all the physicians to be of the most infectious kind. Dr. ---- joined me in representing that she would expose her life to almost certain danger if she persisted in her determination to see her husband; but she pressed forward, regardless of all that could be said. To the physicians she made no answer; to me she replied, "You are Mr. L----'s friend, but I am his wife: you have not feared to hazard your life for him, and do you think I can hesitate?" I urged that there was no necessity for more than one person's running this hazard; and that since it had fallen to my lot to be with my friend when he was first taken ill--She interrupted me,--"Is not this taking a cruel advantage of me, general? You know that I, too, would have been with Mr. L----, if--if it had been possible." Her manner, her pathetic emphasis, and the force of her implied meaning, struck me so much, that I was silent, and suffered her to pass on; but again the idea of her danger rushing upon my mind, I sprang before her to the door of Mr. L----'s apartment, and opposed her entrance. "Then, general," said she, calmly, "perhaps you mistake me--perhaps you have heard repeated some unguarded words of mine in the moment of indignation ... unjust ... you best know how unjust indignation!--and you infer from these that my affection for my husband is extinguished. I deserve this--but do not punish me too severely."
I still kept my hand upon the lock of the door, expostulating with Lady Leonora in your Grace's name, and in Mr. L----'s, assuring her that if he were conscious of what was passing, and able to speak, he would order me to prevent her seeing him in his present situation.
"And you, too, general!" said she, bursting into tears: "I thought you were my friend--would you prevent me from seeing him? And is not he conscious of what is passing? And is not he able to speak? Sir, I must be admitted! You have done your duty--now let me do mine. Consider, my right is superior to yours. No power on earth should or can prevent a wife from seeing her husband when he is.... Dear, dear general!" said she, clasping her raised hands, and falling suddenly at my feet, "let me see him but for one minute, and I will be grateful to you for ever!"
I could resist no longer--I tremble for the consequences. I know your Grace sufficiently to be aware that you ought to be told the whole truth. I have but little hopes of my poor friend's life.
With much respect,
Your grace's faithful servant,
J.B.
* * * * *
LETTER XCVIII.
OLIVIA TO MR. L----.
Richmond.
A mist hung over my eyes, and "my ears with hollow murmurs rung," when the dreadful tidings of your alarming illness were announced by your cruel messenger. My dearest L----! why does inexorable destiny doom me to be absent from you at such a crisis? Oh! this fatal wound of mine! It would, I fear, certainly open again if I were to travel. So this corporeal being must be imprisoned here, while my anxious soul, my viewless spirit, hovers near you, longing to minister each tender consolation, each nameless comfort that love alone can, with fond prescience and magic speed, summon round the couch of pain.
"O that I had the wings of a dove, that I might fly to you!" Why must I resign the sweetly-painful task of soothing you in the hour of sickness? And shall others with officious zeal,
"Guess the faint wish, explain the asking eye?"
Alas it must be so--even were I to fly to him, my sensibility could not support the scene. To behold him stretched on the bed of disease--perhaps of death--would be agony past endurance. Let firmer nerves than Olivia's, and hearts more callous, assume the offices from which they shrink not. 'Tis the fate, the hard fate of all endued with exquisite sensibility, to be palsied by the excess of their feelings, and to become imbecile at the moment their exertions are most necessary.
Your too tenderly sympathizing
OLIVIA.
* * * * *
LETTER XCIX.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
Yarmouth.
My husband is alive, and that is all. Never did I see, nor could I have conceived, such a change, and in so short a time! When I opened the door, his eyes turned upon me with unmeaning eagerness: he did not know me. The good general thought my voice might have some effect. I spoke, but could obtain no answer, no sign of intelligence. In vain I called upon him by every name that used to reach his heart. I kneeled beside him, and took one of his burning hands in mine. I kissed it, and suddenly he started up, exclaiming, "Olivia! Olivia!" with dreadful vehemence. In his delirium he raved about Olivia's stabbing herself, and called upon us to hold her arm, looking wildly towards the foot of the bed, as if the figure were actually before him. Then he sunk back, as if quite exhausted, and gave a deep sigh. Some of my tears fell upon his hand; he felt them before I perceived that they had fallen, and looked so earnestly in my face, that I was in hopes his recollection was returning; but he only said, "Olivia, I believe that you love me;" then sighed more deeply than before, drew his hand away from me, and, as well as I could distinguish, said something about Leonora.
But why should I give you the pain of hearing all these circumstances, my dear mother? It is enough to say, that he passed a dreadful night. This morning the physicians say, that if he passes this night--if--my dear mother, what a terrible suspense!
LEONORA L----.
* * * * *
LETTER C.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
Yarmouth.
Morning is at last come, and my husband is still alive: so there is yet hope. When I said I thought I could bear to survive him, how little I knew of myself, and how little, how very little I expected to be so soon tried! All evils are remediable but one, that one which I dare not name.
The physicians assure me that he is better. His friend, to whose judgment I trust more, thinks as they do. I know not what to believe. I dread to flatter myself and to be disappointed, I will write again, dearest mother, to-morrow.
Your ever affectionate
LEONORA L----.
* * * * *
LETTER CI.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
Wednesday.
No material change since yesterday, my dear mother. This morning, as I was searching for some medicine, I saw on the chimney-piece a note from Lady Olivia ----. It might have been there yesterday, and ever since my arrival, but I did not see it. At any other time it would have excited my indignation, but my mind is now too much weakened by sorrow. My fears for my husband's life absorb all other feelings.
* * * * *
LETTER CII.
OLIVIA TO MR. L----.
Richmond.
Words cannot express what I have suffered since I wrote last! Oh! why do I not bear that the danger is over!--Long since would I have been with you, all that my soul holds dear, could I have escaped from these tyrants, these medical despots, who detain me by absolute force, and watch over me with unrelenting vigilance. I have consulted Dr. ----, who assures me that my fears of my wound opening, were I to take so long a journey, are too well-founded; that in the present feverish state of my mind he would not answer for the consequences. I heed him not--life I value not.--Most joyfully would I sacrifice myself for the man I love. But even could I escape from my persecutors, too well I know that to see you would be a vain attempt--too well I know that I should not be admitted. Your love, your fears for Olivia would barbarously banish her, and forbid her your dear, your dangerous atmosphere. Too justly would you urge that my rashness might prove our mutual ruin--that in the moment of crisis or of convalescence, anxiety for me might defeat the kind purpose of nature. And even were I secure of your recovery, the delay, I speak not of the danger of my catching the disease, would, circumstanced as we are, be death to our hopes. We should be compelled to part. The winds would waft you from me. The waves would bear you to another region, far--oh! far from your
OLIVIA.
* * * * *
LETTER CIII.
GENERAL B---- TO THE DUCHESS OF ----.
MY DEAR MADAM, Yarmouth, Thursday,--.
Mr. L---- has had a relapse, and is now more alarmingly ill than I have yet seen him: he does not know his situation, for his delirium has returned. The physicians give him over. Dr. H---- says that we must prepare for the worst.
I have but one word of comfort for your Grace--that your admirable daughter's health has not yet suffered.
Your Grace's faithful servant,
J.B.
* * * * *
LETTER CIV.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
MY DEAREST MOTHER, ----------- Yarmouth.
The delirium has subsided. A few minutes ago, as I was kneeling beside him, offering up an almost hopeless prayer for his recovery, his eyes opened, and I perceived that he knew me. He closed his eyes again without speaking, opened them once more, and then looking at me fixedly, exclaimed: "It is not a dream! You are Leonora!--
my Leonora!"
What exquisite pleasure I felt at the sound of these words, at the tone in which they were pronounced! My husband folded me in his arms; and, till I felt his burning lips, I forgot that he was ill.
When he came thoroughly to his recollection, and when the idea that his fever might be infectious occurred to him, he endeavoured to prevail upon me to leave the room. But what danger can there be for me
now? My whole soul, my whole frame is inspired with new life. If he recover, your daughter may still be happy.
* * * * *
LETTER CV.
GENERAL B----TO THE DUCHESS OF----.
My Dear Madam,
A few hours ago my friend became perfectly sensible of his danger, and calling me to his bedside, told me that he was eager to make use of the little time which he might have to live. He was quite calm and collected. He employed me to write his last wishes and bequests; and I must do him the justice to declare, that the strongest idea and feeling in his mind evidently was the desire to show his entire confidence in his wife, and to give her, in his last moments, proofs of his esteem and affection. When he had settled his affairs, he begged to be left alone for some time. Between twelve and one his bell rang, and he desired to see Lady Leonora and me. He spoke to me with that warmth of friendship which he has ever felt from our childhood. Then turning to his wife, his voice utterly failed, and he could only press to his lips that hand which was held out to him in speechless agony.
"Excellent woman!" he articulated at last; then collecting his mind, he exclaimed, "My beloved Leonora, I will not die without expressing my feelings for you; I know yours for me. I do not ask for that forgiveness which your generous heart granted long before I deserved it. Your affection for me has been shown by actions, at the hazard of your life; I can only thank you with weak words. You possess my whole heart, my esteem, my admiration, my gratitude."
Lady Leonora, at the word
gratitude, made an effort to speak, and laid her hand upon her husband's lips. He added, in a more enthusiastic tone, "You have my undivided love. Believe in the truth of these words--perhaps they are the last I may ever speak."
My friend sunk back exhausted, and I carried Lady Leonora out of the room.
I returned half an hour ago, and found every thing silent: Mr. L---- is lying with his eyes closed--quite still--I hope asleep. This may be a favourable crisis. I cannot delay this letter longer.
Your Grace's faithful servant,
J. B.
* * * * *
LETTER CVI.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
DEAREST MOTHER, . . . . . . Yarmouth.
He has slept several hours.--Dr. H----, the most skilful of all his physicians, says that we may now expect his recovery. Adieu. The good general will add a line to assure you that I am not deceived, nor too sanguine.
Yours most affectionately,
LEONORA L----.
Postscript by General B----. I have some hopes--that is all I can venture to say to your grace.
* * * * *
LETTER CVII.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
DEAREST MOTHER, Yarmouth.
Excellent news for you to-day!--Mr. L---- is pronounced out of danger. He seems excessively touched by my coming here, and so grateful for the little kindness I have been able to show him during his illness! But alas! that fatal promise! the recollection of it comes across my mind like a spectre. Mr. L---- has never touched upon this subject,--I do all in my power to divert his thoughts to indifferent objects.
This morning when I went into his room, I found him tearing to pieces that note which I mentioned to you a few days ago. He seemed much agitated, and desired to see General B----. They are now together, and were talking so loud in the next room to me, that I was obliged to retire, lest I should overhear secrets. Mr. L---- this moment sends for me. If I should not have time to add more, this short letter will satisfy you for to-day.
Leonora L----.
I open my letter to say, that I am not so happy as I was when I began it. I have heard all the circumstances relative to this terrible affair. Mr. L---- will go to Russia. I am as far from happiness as ever.
* * * * *
LETTER CVIII.
OLIVIA TO MR. L----.
Richmond.
"Say, is not absence death to those that love?"
How just, how beautiful a sentiment! yet cold and callous is that heart which knows not that there is a pang more dreadful than absence--far as the death of lingering torture exceeds, in corporeal sufferance, the soft slumber of expiring nature. Suspense! suspense! compared with thy racking agony, even absence is but the blessed euthanasia of love.
My dearest L----, why this torturing silence? one line, one word, I beseech you, from
your own hand; say but
I live and love you, my Olivia. Hour after hour, and day after day, have I waited and waited, and hoped, and feared to hear from you. Oh, this intolerable agonizing suspense! Yet hope clings to my fond heart--hope! sweet treacherous hope!
"Non so si la Speranza
Va con l'inganno unita;
So che mantiene in vita
Qualche infelici almen."
Olivia.
* * * * *
LETTER CIX.
MR. L---- TO OLIVIA.
MY DEAR OLIVIA, . . . . . Yarmouth.
This is the first line I have written since my illness. I could not sooner relieve you from suspense, for during most of this time I have been delirious, and never till now able to write. My physicians have this morning pronounced me out of danger; and as soon as my strength is sufficient to bear the voyage, I shall sail, according to my promise.
Your prudence, or that of your physician, has saved me much anxiety--perhaps saved my life: for had you been so rash as to come hither, besides my fears for your safety, I should have been exposed, in the moment of my returning reason, to a conflict of passions which I could not have borne.
Leonora is with me; she arrived the night after I was taken ill, and forced her way to me, when my fever was at the highest, and while I was in a state of delirium.
Lady Leonora will stay with me till the moment I sail, which I expect to do in about ten days. I cannot say positively, for I am still very weak, and may not be able to keep my word to a day. Adieu. I hope your mind will now be at ease. I am glad to hear from the surgeon that your wound is quite closed. I will write again, and more fully, when I am better able. Believe me, Olivia, I am most anxious to secure your happiness: allow me to believe that this will be in the power of
Yours sincerely,
F. L----.
* * * * *
LETTER CX.
OLIVIA TO MR. L----.
Richmond.
Barbarous man! with what cold cruelty you plunge a dagger into my heart! Leonora is with you!--Leonora! Then I am undone. Yes, she will--she has resumed all her power, her rights, her habitual empire over your heart. Wretched Olivia!--But you say it is your wish to secure my happiness, you bid me allow you to believe it is in your power. What phrases!--You will sail,
according to your promise.--Then nothing but your honour binds you to Olivia. And even now, at this guilty instant, in your secret soul, you wish, you expect from my offended pride, from my disgusted delicacy, a renunciation of this promise, a release from all the ties that bind you to me. You are right: this is what I ought to do; what I would do, if love had not so weakened my soul, so prostrated my spirit, rendered me so abject a creature, that
I cannot what
I would.
I must love on--female pride and resentment call upon me in vain. I cannot hate you. Even by the feeble tie, which I see you long to break, I must hold rather than let you go for ever. I will not renounce your promise. I claim it. I adjure you by all which a man of honour holds most sacred, to quit England the moment your health will allow you to sail. No equivocating with your conscience!--I hold you to your word. Oh, my dearest L----! to feel myself reduced to use such language to you, to find myself clinging to that last resource of ship-wrecked love,
a promise! It is with unspeakable agony I feel all this; lower I cannot sink in misery. Raise me, if indeed you wish my happiness--raise me! it is yet in your power. Tell me, that my too susceptible heart has mistaken phantoms for realities--tell me, that your last was not colder than usual; yes, I am ready to be deceived. Tell me that it was only the languor of disease; assure me that my rival forced her way only to your presence, that she has not won her easy way back to your heart--assure me that you are impatient once more to see your own
OLIVIA.
* * * * *
LETTER CXI.
LEONORA TO HER MOTHER.
MY DEAREST MOTHER, . . . . . . Yarmouth.
Can you believe or imagine that I am actually unwilling to say or to think that Mr. L---- is quite well? yet this is the fact. Such is the inconsistency and weakness of our natures--of my nature, I should say. But a short time ago I thought that no evil could be so great as his danger; now that danger is past, I dread to hear him say that he is perfectly recovered. The moment he is able he goes to Russia; that is decided irrevocably. The promise has been claimed and repeated. A solemn promise cannot be broken for any human consideration. I should despise him if he broke it; but can I love him for keeping it? His mind is at this instant agitated as much as mine is--more it cannot be. Yet I ought to be better able to part with him now than when we parted before, because I have now at least the consolation of knowing that he leaves me against his will--that his heart will not go from me. This time I cannot be deceived; I have had the most explicit assurances of his
undivided love. And indeed I was never deceived. All the appearances of regret at parting with me were genuine. The general witnessed the consequent struggle in Mr. L----'s mind, and this fever followed.
I will endeavour to calm and content myself with the possession of his love, and with the assurance that he will return to me as soon as possible. As soon as possible! but what a vague hope! He sails with the first fair wind. What a dreadful certainty! Perhaps to-morrow! Oh, my dearest mother, perhaps to-night!
LEONORA L----.
* * * * *
LETTER CXII.
GENERAL B---- TO THE DUCHESS OF ----.
MY DEAR MADAM, Yarmouth.
Today Mr. L----, finding himself sufficiently recovered, gave orders to all his suite to embark, and the wind being fair, determined to go on board immediately. In the midst of the bustle of the preparations for his departure, Lady Leonora, exhausted by her former activity, and unable to take any part in what was passing, sat silent, pale, and motionless, opposite to a window, which looked out upon the sea; the vessel in which her husband was to sail lay in sight, and her eyes were fixed upon the streamers, watching their motion in the wind.
Mr. L---- was in his own apartment writing letters. An express arrived; and among other letters for the English ambassador to Russia, there was a large packet directed to Lady Leonora L----. Upon opening it, the crimson colour flew into her face, and she exclaimed, "Olivia's letters!--Lady Olivia ----'s letters to Mad. de P----. Who could send these to me?"
"I give you joy with all my heart!" cried I; "no matter how they come--they come in the most fortunate moment possible. I would stake my life upon it they will unmask Olivia at once. Where is Mr. L----? He must read them this moment."
I was hurrying out of the room to call my friend, but Lady Leonora stopped my career, and checked the transport of my joy.
"You do not think, my dear general," said she, "that I would for any consideration do so dishonourable an action as to read these letters?"
"Only let Mr. L---- read them," interrupted I, "that is all I ask of your ladyship. Give them to me. For the soul of me I can see nothing dishonourable in this. Let Lady Olivia be judged by her own words. Your ladyship shall not be troubled with her trash, but give the letters to me, I beseech you."
"No, I cannot," said Lady Leonora, steadily. "It is a great temptation; but I ought not to yield." She deliberately folded them up in a blank cover, directed them to Lady Olivia, and sealed them; whilst I, half in admiration and half in anger, went on expostulating.
"Good God! this is being too generous! But, my dear Lady Leonora, why will you sacrifice yourself? This is misplaced delicacy! Show those letters, and I'll lay my life Mr. L---- never goes to Russia."
"My dear friend," said she, looking up with tears in her eyes, "do not tempt me beyond my power to resist. Say no more." At this instant Mr. L---- came into the room; and I am ashamed to confess to your Grace, I really was so little master of myself, that I was upon the point of seizing Olivia's letters, and putting them into his hands. "L----," said I, "here is your admirable wife absurdly, yes, I must say it, absurdly standing upon a point of honour with one who has none! That packet which she has before her--"
Lady Leonora imposed silence upon me by one of those looks which no man can resist.
"My dear Leonora, you are right," said Mr. L----; "and you are almost right, my dear general: I know what that packet contains; and without doing anything dishonourable, I hold myself absolved from my promise; I shall not go to Russia, my dearest wife!" He flew into her arms--and I left them. I question whether they either of them felt much more than I did.
For some minutes I was content with knowing that these things had really happened, that I had heard Mr. L---- say he was absolved from all promises, and that he would not go to Russia; but how did all this happen so suddenly?--How did he know the contents of Olivia's letters, and without doing any thing dishonourable? There are some people who cannot be perfectly happy till they know the
rationale of their happiness. I am one of these. I did not feel "a sober certainty of waking bliss," till I read a letter which Mr. L---- received by the same express that brought Olivia's letters, and which he read while we were debating. I beg your Grace's pardon if I am too minute in explanation; but I do as I would be done by. The letter was from one of the private secretaries, who is, I understand, a relation and friend of Lady Leonora L----. As the original goes this night to Lady Olivia, I send your Grace a copy. You will give me credit for copying, and at such a time as this! I congratulate your Grace, and
I have the honour to be, &c.,
J. B.
* * * * *
LETTER CXIII
TO MR. L----
[Private.]
London, St. James's-street.
My Dear Sir,
In the same moment you receive this, your lady, for whom I have the highest regard, will receive from me a valuable present, a packet of Lady Olivia ----'s letters to one of her French friends. These letters were lately found in a French frigate, taken by one of our cruisers; and, as
intercepted correspondence is the order of the day, these, with all the despatches on board, were transmitted to our office to be examined, in hopes of making reprisals of state secrets. Some letters about the court and Emperor of Russia led us to suppose that we should find some political manoeuvres, and we examined farther. The examination fortunately fell to my lot, as private secretary. After looking them all over, however, I found that these papers contain only family secrets: I obtained permission to send them to Lady Leonora L----, to ensure the triumph of virtue over vice--to put it into her ladyship's power completely to unmask her unworthy rival. These letters will show you by what arts you have been deceived. You will find yourself ridiculed as
a cold, awkward Englishman; one who will
hottentot again, whatever pains may be taken to civilize him; a man of ice, to be taken as a lover from
pure charity, or
pure curiosity, or the pure
besoin d'aimer. Here are many pure motives, of which you will, my dear sir, take your choice. You will farther observe in one of her letters, that Lady Olivia premeditated the design of prevailing with you to carry her to Russia, that she might show her power
to that proudest of earthly prudes, the Duchess of ----, and that she might
gratify her great revenge against Lady Leonora L----.
Sincerely hoping, my dear sir, that these letters may open your eyes, and restore you and my amiable relation to domestic happiness, I make no apology for the liberty I take, and cannot regret the momentary pain I may inflict. You are at liberty to make what use you think proper of this letter.
I have it in command from my Lord ---- to add, that if your health, or any other circumstances, should render this embassy to Russia less desirable to you than it appeared some time ago, other arrangements can be made, and another friend of government is ready to supply your place.
I am, my dear sir,
Yours, &c.
To F. L----, Esq. &c.
* * * * *
LETTER CXIV.
FROM LADY LEONORA ---- TO THE DUCHESS OF ----.
Yarmouth.
Joy, dearest mother! Come and share your daughter's happiness!
Continued by General B----. * * * * *
Lady Olivia, thus unmasked by her own hand, has fled to the continent, declaring that she will never more return to England. There she is right--England is not a country fit for such women.--But I will never waste another word or thought upon her.
Mr. L---- has given up the Russian embassy, and returns with Lady Leonora to L---- Castle to-morrow. He has invited me to accompany them. Lady Leonora is now the happiest of wives, and your Grace the happiest of mothers.
I have the honour and the pleasure to be
Your Grace's sincerely attached,
J. B----.
* * * * *
LETTER CXV.
THE DUCHESS OF ----
TO LADY LEONORA L----.
My beloved daughter, pride and delight of your happy mother's heart, I give you joy! Your temper, fortitude, and persevering affection, have now their just reward. Enjoy your happiness, heightened as it must be by the sense of self-approbation, and by the sympathy of all who know you. And now let me indulge the vanity of a mother; let me exult in the accomplishment of my prophecies, and let me be listened to with due humility, when I prophesy again. With as much certainty as I foretold what is now present, I foresee, my child, your future destiny, and I predict that you will preserve while you live your husband's fondest affections. Your prudence will prevent you from indulging too far your taste for retirement, or for the exclusive society of your intimate friends. Spend your winters in London: your rank, your fortune, and, I may be permitted to add, your character, manners, and abilities, give you the power of drawing round you persons of the best information and of the highest talents. Your husband will find, in such society, every thing that can attach him to his home; and in you, his most rational friend and his most charming companion, who will excite him to every generous and noble exertion.
For the good and wise, there is in love, a power unknown to the ignorant and the vicious, a power of communicating fresh energy to all the faculties of the soul, of exalting them to the highest state of perfection. The friendship which in later life succeeds to such love is perhaps the greatest, and certainly the most permanent blessing of life.
An admirable German writer--you see, my dear, that I have no prejudices against good German writers--an admirable German writer says, that "Love is like the morning shadows, which diminish as the day advances; but friendship is like the shadows of the evening, which increase even till the setting of the sun."
----
1805.
[THE END]
Maria Edgeworth's Novel: Leonora
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