Eloisa: Or, a Series of Original Letters
Letter XLVII. To Eloisa.

Jean Jacqu

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Malicious girl! Is this the circumspection you promised? Is it thus you spare my heart, and draw a veil over your charms? How often did you break your engagement! First, as to your dress; for you were in an undress, though you well know that you are never more bewitching. Secondly, that modest air and sweetness in your manner so calculated for the gradual display of all your graces. Your conversation more refined, more studied, more witty than usual, which made every one so uncommonly attentive, that they seemed impatiently to anticipate every sentence you spoke. That delightful air you sung below your usual pitch, which rendered your voice more enchantingly soft, and which made your song, though French, please even Lord B——. Your down-cast eyes, and your timid glances which pierced me to the soul. In a word, that inexpressible enchantment which seemed spread over your whole person to turn the brains of the company, even without the least apparent design. For my part, I know not how to manage; but if this is the method you take to beas little engaging as possible, I assure you, however, it is being infinitely too much so for people to retain their senses in your company.

I doubt much whether the poor English philosopher has not perceived a little of the same influence. After we had conducted your cousin home, seeing us all in high spirits, he proposed that we should retire to his lodgings and have a little music, and a bowl of punch. While his servants were assembling, he never ceased talking of you; but with so much warmth, that, I confess, I should not hear his praise from your lips with as much pleasure as you did from mine. Upon the whole, I am not fond of hearing any body speak of you, except your cousin. Every word seems to deprive me of a part of my secret, or my pleasure, and whatever they say appears so suspicious, or is so infinitely short of what I feel, that I would hear no discourse upon the subject but my own.

It is not that, like you, I am at all inclined to jealousy: no, I am better acquainted with the soul of my Eloisa; and I have certain sureties that exclude even the possibility of your inconstancy. After your protestations, I have nothing more to say concerning your other pretenders; but this Lord, Eloisa——equality of rank——your father's prepossession——In short, you know my life is depending. For heaven's sake, deign to give me a line or two upon this subject: one single word from Eloisa, and I shall be satisfied for ever.

I passed the night in attending to, and playing, Italian music; for there were some duets, and I was forced to take a part. I dare not yet tell you what effect it had on me; but I fear, I fear, the impression of last night's supper influenced the harmony, and that I mistook the effect of your enchantment for the power of music. Why should not the same cause which made it disagreeable at Sion, gave it a contrary effect in a contrary situation? Are not you the source of every affection of my soul, and am I proof against the power of your magic? If it had really been the music which produced the enchantment, every one present must have been affected in the same manner; but whilst I was all rapture and extasy, Mr. Orbe sat snoring in an armed chair, and when I awoke him with my exclamations, all the praise he bestowed was to ask, whether your cousin understood Italian.

All this will be better explained to-morrow; for we are to have another concert this evening. His Lordship is determined to have it compleat, and has sent to Lausanne for a second violin, who, he says, is a tolerable hand. On my part, I shall carry some Frenchscenesand cantatas.

When I first returned to my room I sunk into my chair, quite exhausted and overcome; for want of practice I am but a poor rake: but I no sooner took my pen to write to you, than I found myself gradually recover. Yet I must endeavour to sleep a few hours. Come with me; my sweet friend, and do not leave me whilst I slumber but whether thy image brings me pain or pleasure, whether it reminds me, or not, of Fanny's wedding, it cannot deprive me of that delightful moment, when I shall awake and recollect my felicity.

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