Where are you, my charming cousin? where is the amiable confident of that feeble heart, which is, on so many accounts, yours; and which you have so often comforted in despair? come, and let me lay open to you the confession of its last error. Is it not always your province to purify it by confession and pardon? is there a fault which it can reproach itself with after it hath confessed it to you? No, it is no longer the same; and its regeneration is owing to you: you have given me a new heart, which now offers you its first services: but I shall not think myself quite free from that which I quit, till I have deposited it in your hands.
The moment of my life in which I had most reason to be contented with myself was that in which I left you. Recovered of my errors, I looked upon that instant as the tardy era of my return to my duty. I begun it therefore, by paying off part of that immense debt I owed to friendship, in leaving so delightful an abode to follow a benefactor, a philosopher, who, pretending to stand in need of my services, put the success of his to the proof. The more disagreeable my departure, the more I piqued myself, on making so great a sacrifice. After having spent half my time in nourishing an unhappy passion, I consecrated the other half to justify it, and to render, by my virtues a more worthy homage to her, who so long received that of my heart. I proudly contemplated the first of my days in which I had neither given occasion for my own blushes, for yours, for hers, nor for those of any one who was dear to me. My Lord B——, being apprehensive of a sorrowful parting, was for our setting out early, without taking a formal leave; but, though hardly any body was stirring in the house, we could not elude your friendly vigilance. Your door half open and your woman on the watch; your coming out to meet us, and our going in and finding a table set out and tea made ready, all these circumstances brought to my mind those of former times; and, comparing my present departure with that which came to my remembrance, I found myself so very differently disposed to what I was on the former occasion, that I rejoiced to think, Lord B——, was a witness of that difference, and hoped to make him forget at Milan the shameful scene of Besancon. I never found myself so resolute before; I prided myself in displaying my temper before you, behaving with more fortitude than you had ever seen in me; and gloried, in parting, to think I had appeared before you such as I was going ever afterwards to be. This idea added to my courage; I supported my spirits by your esteem; and perhaps should have left you without weeping, if a tear, trickling down your cheek, had not drawn a sympathetic drop from my eyes.
I left you with a heart fully sensible of its obligations, and particularly penetrated with such as your friendship has laid me under; resolved to employ the rest of my life in deserving them. My Lord B——, taking me to task for my past follies, laid before me no very agreeable picture; and I knew by the just severity with which he censured my foibles, that he was little afraid of imitating them. He pretended, nevertheless, to be apprehensive of it; and spoke to me with some uneasiness of his journey to Rome, and the unworthy attachments which, in spite of himself, led him thither: but I saw plainly that he exaggerated his own dangers, to engage my attention the more to him, and draw it off from those to which I was myself exposed. Just as we got into Velleneuve, one of our servants, who was but badly mounted, was thrown off his horse, and got a small contusion on his head: on which his master had him bled, and determined to stay there that night. We accordingly dined early, and afterwards took horses and went to Bex, to see the silt manufactury; where, at my lord's desire, who had some particular reason for requesting it, I took a sketch of the building and works, so that we did not return to Velleneuve till night. After supper we chatted a good while over our punch, and went to bed pretty late. It was in this conversation he informed me of the charge intended to be committed to my care, and what measures had been taken to bring it about. You may judge of the effect this piece of information had upon me; a conversation of this nature did not incline me to sleep. It was at length, however, time to retire.
As I entered the chamber appointed for me, I immediately recollected it to be the same in which I had formerly slept, on my journey to Sion. The view of it made an impression on me, which would be very difficult for me to describe. I was struck with such lively ideas of what I then was, that I imagined myself again in the same situation, though ten years of my life had passed away in the interval, and all my troubles had been forgotten. But alas! that reflection was but of a short duration, and the next moment oppressed me with the weight of my former afflictions. How mortifying were the recollections that succeeded to my first reverie! what dreadful comparisons suggested themselves to my mind! ye pleasures of early youth; ye exquisite delights of a first passion, O why, said I, doth your remembrance wound a heart already too much oppressed with griefs? thrice happy were those days! days now no more, in which I loved and was beloved again; in which I gave myself up in peaceful innocence, to the transports of a mutual passion; in which I drank its intoxicating draughts, and all my faculties were lost in the rapture, the extasy, the delirium of love. On the rocks of Meillerie, in the midst of frost and snow, with the frightful precipices before my eyes, was there a being in the creation so happy as I? and yet I then wept! I then thought myself unfortunate! sorrow even then ventured to approach my heart! what therefore should I be now, when I have possessed all that my soul held dear, and lost it for ever? I deserve my misfortune, for having been so little sensible of my happiness!——did I weep then?——didst thou weep? unfortunate wretch!——thou shall weep no more——thou hast no right to weep.——Why is she not dead? said I, in a transport of rage, yes, I should then be less unhappy; I could then indulge myself in my griefs: I should embrace her cold tomb with pleasure: my affliction should be worthy of her: I might then say, She hears my cries, she sees my tears, she is moved by my groans, she approves and accepts of my homage.——I should then, at least, have cherished the hope of being united to her again.——But she lives and is happy in the possession of another.——She lives, and her life is my death; her happiness is my torment; and heaven, having taken her from me, deprives me even of the mournful pleasure of regretting her loss——she lives, but not for me: she lives for my despair, who am an hundred times farther from her than if she were no more.
I went to bed under those tormenting reflections; they accompanied me in my sleep and disturbed it with terrible apprehensions. The most poignant afflictions, sorrow, and death composed my dreams; and all the evils I ever felt, represented themselves to my imagination in a thousand new forms, to torment me over again. One vision in particular, and that the most cruel of all, still pursued me; and though the confused apparitions of various phantoms, several times appeared and vanished, they all ended in the following.
Methought I saw the departed mother of your friend on her deathbed, and her daughter on her knees before her, bathed in tears, kissing her hands and receiving her last breath. This scene, which you once described to me, and which will never be effaced from my memory, was represented in striking colours before me. O my dear mother, said Eloisa, in accents that chilled my very soul, she who is indebted to you for her life, deprives you of yours! Alas! take back what you gave me; for without you it will be only a life of sorrow. My child, answered her languishing mother, God is just, and his will must be obeyed——you will be a mother in your turn, and——she could say no more——On this methought, I went forward to look upon her; but she was vanished, and Eloisa lay in her place; I saw her plainly and perfectly knew her, though her face was covered with a veil. I gave a shriek, and ran to take off the veil; but, methought after many attempts to lay hold of it I could not reach it, but tormented myself with vain endeavours to grasp what, though it covered her face, appeared to be impalpable. Upon which, methought, she addressed me in a faint voice, and said, Friend, be composed, the awful veil that is spread over me, is too sacred to be removed. At these words I struggled, made a new effort, and awoke; when I found myself in my bed, harassed with fright and fatigue, my face covered with big drops of sweat, and drowned in tears.
My fears being a little dissipated, I went to sleep again; again the same dream put me into the same agitations: I awoke again and went to sleep the third time, when the same mournful scene still presented itself, the same appearance of death, and always the same impenetrable veil, eluding my grasp, and hiding from me the dying object which it covered.
On waking from this last dream, my terror was so great, that I could not overcome it, though quite awake. I threw myself out of bed, without well knowing what I did, and wandered up and down my chamber, like a child in the dark, imagining myself beset with phantoms, and still fancying in my ears, the sound of that voice, whose plaintive notes I never heard without emotion. The dawn of day beginning to cast some light upon the objects in my chamber, served only to transform them, agreeable to my troubled imagination. My fright increased, and at length entirely deprived me of reason. Having with some difficulty found the door, I ran out of my room, bolted into that of Lord B—— and, drawing open his curtains, threw myself down upon his bed almost breathless, crying out, She is gone——she is gone——I shall never see her more.——His lordship started out of his sleep, and flew to his sword, imagining himself attacked by robbers. But he presently perceived who it was; and I soon after recollected myself: this was the second time of my life that I had appeared before him in such confusion.
He made me sit down and compose myself; and as soon as he had learnt the cause of my fright, endeavoured to turn it into ridicule; but, seeing me too deeply affected with it, and that the impression it had made was not to be easily effaced, he changed his tune. For shame, says he with an air of severity, you neither deserve my friendship nor esteem: had I taken a quarter of the pains with one of my footmen which I have done with you, I had made a man of him: but you are fit for nothing. It is indeed, my lord, answered I, too true. I had nothing good in me but what came from her, whom now I shall see no more; and am therefore good for nothing. At this he smiled, and embraced me. Come, come, says he, endeavour to compose yourself; tomorrow you will be a reasonable creature. He then changed the conversation and proposed to set out. The horses were accordingly ordered to be put to. In getting into the chaise, my lord whispered something to the postilion, who immediately drove off.
We travelled for some time without speaking. I was so taken up with my last night's dream, that I heard and saw nothing; not even observing that the lake, which, the day before, was on my right hand, was now on my left. The rattling of the chaise upon the pavement, however, at length awoke me out of my lethargy; I looked up, and to my great surprise, found we were returned to Clarens. About a furlong from the gate, my lord ordered us to be set down; and, taking me aside, you see, my design, said he; it has no need of further explanation: go thou visionary mortal, continued he, pressing my hand between his, go and see her again. Happy is exposing your follies only to your friends, make haste, and I will wait for you here; but be sure you do not return, till you have removed that fatal veil which is woven in your brain.
What could I say? I left him without making any answer, and, trembling as I advanced, slowly approached the house. What a part, said I to myself, am I going to act here? how dare I shew myself? what pretext have I for this unexpected return? with what face can I plead my ridiculous terrors, and support the contemptuous looks of the generous Wolmar? In short, the nearer I drew to the house, the more childish my fears seemed to me, aid the more contemptible my extravagant behaviour: my mind, however, still misgave me, and I went on, tho' every step more slowly, till I came just to the court-yard; when I heard the door of the elysium just open and shut again. Seeing nobody come out, I made a tour round the aviary keeping as close to it as possible; I then listened, and could hear you conversing together; but, tho' I could not distinguish a word you said, I thought I perceived something in the sound of your voice so languishing and tender, that I could not hear it without emotion; and in Eloisa's a sweet and affectionate accent, not only such as is usual to her, but so mild and peaceful as to convince me all was well.
This restored me to my senses at once, and woke me in good earnest from my dream. I perceived myself immediately so altered that I laughed at my ridiculous fears; and, while I reflected that only a hedge and a few shrubs prevented me from seeing her alive and in good health, whom I imagined I should never see again, I renounced for ever my fearful and chimerical apprehensions; and determined, without more ado; to return without even seeing her. You may believe me, Clara, when I protest to you that I not only did not see her, but went back, proud of not having been so weak as to push my credulity to the end, and of having at least done so much credit to myself, as not to have it said of a friend of Lord B——'s, that he could not get the better of a dream.
This, my dear cousin, is what I had to tell you, and is the last confession I have to make. The other particulars of our journey are not at all interesting; let it suffice, therefore, to assure you, that not only his lordship has been very well satisfied with me since, but that I am still more so with myself, who am more sensible of my cure than he can be. For fear of giving him any needless distrust, I concealed from him my not having actually seen you. When he asked me if the veil was drawn aside, I answered without hesitation in the affirmative; and we have not mentioned it since. Yes, cousin, the veil is drawn aside for ever; that veil which has so long hoodwinked my reason. All my unruly passions are extinguished. I see and respect my duty. You are both dearer to me than ever, but my heart knows no difference between you; nor feels the least inclination to separate the inseparables.
We arrived the day before yesterday at Milan, and the day after tomorrow we shall leave it. In about a week we hope to be at Rome, and expect to find letters from you on our arrival. How tedious will seem the time before I shall see those two surprising persons who have so long troubled the repose of the greatest of minds! O Eloisa! O Clara! no woman that is not equal to you, is worthy of such a man!
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