Part 71

The second day after our arrival there, he came into my chamber with a fixed and grave countenance, holding a letter in his hand, which he seemed to have just received. I started up, and cried out, The marchioness is dead! would to God, said he, coldly, she were! it were better not to exist, than to exist only to do evil; but it is not of her I bring you news; tho’ what I bring concerns you nearly; be pleased, my lord, to give me an uninterrupted hearing. I was silent, and thus he began.

In honouring me with the sacred name of friend, you taught me how to deserve it. I have acquitted myself of the charge you entrusted with me, and, seeing you ready to forget yourself, have ventured to assist your memory. I saw you unable to break one connection but by entering into another; both equally unworthy of you. Had an unequal marriage been the only point in question, I should only have reminded you, that you was a peer of England, and advised you either to renounce all pretensions to public honour, or to respect public opinion. But a marriage so scandalous! can you? no, my lord, you will not make so unworthy a choice. It is not enough that your wife should be virtuous, her reputation should be unstained. Believe me, a wife for Lord B---- is not easily to be found. Read that, my lord, and see what I have done.

He then gave me a letter. It was from Laura. I opened it with emotion and read as follows.

My Lord,

“Love at length prevailed, and you were willing to marry me: but I am content. Your friend has pointed out my duty, and I perform it without regret. In dishonouring you, I should have lived unhappy; in leaving your honour unstained, methinks I partake of it. The sacrifice of my felicity to a duty so severe, makes me forget even the shame of my youth. Farewell! from this moment I am no longer in your power or my own. Farewell, my lord, for ever! pursue me not in my retreat, to despair; but: hear my last request. Confer not on any other woman, that honour I could not accept. There was but one heart in the world made for yours, and it was that of”

_Laura_.

The agitation of mind I was in, on reading this letter, prevented me from speaking. He took the advantage of my silence, to tell me that, after my departure, she had taken the veil in the convent where she boarded; that the court of Rome, being informed she was going to be married to a Lutheran, had given orders to prevent his seeing her; and confessed to me frankly, that he had taken all these measures in concert with herself. I did not oppose your designs, continued he, with all the power I might; fearing your return to the marchioness, and being desirous of combating your old passion by that which you entertained for Laura. In seeing you run greater lengths than I intended, I applied to your understanding: but, having from my own experience but too just reason to distrust the power of argument, I sounded the heart of Laura; and, finding in it all that generosity which is inseparable from true love, I prevailed on her to make this sacrifice. The assurance of being no longer the object of your contempt, inspired her with a fortitude which renders her the more worthy of your esteem. She has done her duty, you must now do yours.

Then eagerly embracing and pressing me to his heart, “I read, says he, in our common destiny, those laws which heaven dictates to both, and requires us to obey. The empire of love is at an end, and that of friendship begins: my heart attends only to its sacred call; it knows no other tie than that which unites me to you. Fix on whatever place of residence you please, Clarens, Oxford, London, Paris, or Rome; it is equal to me, so we but live together. Go whither you will, seek an asylum wherever you think fit, I will follow you throughout the world: for I solemnly protest, in the face of the living God, that I will never leave you till death.”

I was greatly affected at the zeal and affection of this young man; his eyes sparkling with pleasure on this effusion of his heart. I forgot at once both the marchioness and Laura. Is there indeed any thing in the world to be regretted, while one preserves so dear a friend? Indeed, I was now fully convinced, by the part he so readily took on this occasion, that he was entirely cured of his ancient passion; and that the pains you had taken, were not thrown away upon him. In short, I could not doubt, by the solemn engagement he had thus voluntarily made, that his attachment to me was truly sincere; and that his virtue had entirely got the better of his inclinations. I can therefore bring him back with confidence. Yes, my dear Wolmar, he is worthy to educate youth; and what is more, of being received into your house.

A few days after, I received an account of the death of the marchioness; at which I was but little affected, as she had indeed been long dead in respect to me. I had hitherto regarded marriage as a debt, which every man contracts at the time of his birth, with his country and mankind; for which reason, I had resolved to marry, the less out of inclination than duty; but I am now of another opinion. The obligation to marriage, I now conceive, is not so universal; but that it depends on the rank and situation which every man holds in life. Celibacy is, doubtless, wrong in the common people, such as manufacturers, husbandmen, and others, who are really useful and necessary to the state. But for those superior orders of men, who compose the legislature and the magistracy, to which every other aspires, and which are always sufficiently supplied, it is both lawful and expedient. For were the rich all obliged to marry, the increase of number among those subjects which are a dead weight on the state, would only tend to its depopulation. Mankind will always find masters enough, and England will sooner want labourers than peers.

I think myself at full liberty, therefore, in the rank to which I was born, to indulge my own inclination in this respect. At my age, it is too late to think of repairing the shocks my heart hath sustained from love. I shall devote my future hours therefore to friendship, the pleasures of which I can no where cultivate so well as at Clarens. I accept, therefore, your obliging offers, on such conditions, as my fortune ought to add to yours, that it may not be useless to me. Besides, after the engagement St. Preux hath entered into, I know no other method of detaining him with you, but by residing with you myself; and if ever he grows tired or troublesome, it will be sufficient for me to leave you, to make him follow. The only embarrassment I shall in this case lie under, respects my customary voyages to England; for, tho’ I have no longer any interest in the house of peers, yet while I am one of the number, I think it necessary I should continue to do my duty as such. But I have a faithful friend among my brother peers, whom I can empower to answer for me in ordinary cases; and on extraordinary occasions, wherein I think it my duty to go over in person, I can take my pupil along with me; and even he, his pupils with him, when they grow a little bigger and you can prevail on yourself to trust them with us. Such voyages cannot fail of being useful to them, and will not be so very long as to make their absence afflicting to their mother.

I have not shewn this letter to St. Preux, nor, do I desire you should shew every part of it to the ladies: it is proper that my scheme to sound the heart of our friend, should be known only to you and me. I would not have you conceal anything from them, however, that may do honour to this worthy youth, even tho’ it should be discovered at my expense: but I must here take my leave.

I have sent the designs and drawings for my pavilion, for you to reform, alter, and amend, as you please; but I would have you to execute them immediately if possible. I would have struck out the music room; for I have now lost almost all pretensions to taste, and am careless of amusement: at the request of St. Preux, however, I have left it, as he proposes now and then to exercise your children there. You will receive also some few books, to add to your library. But what novelty will you find in books? No, my dear Wolmar, you only want to understand that of nature, to be the wisest of men.

Letter CLIV. Answer.

I was impatient, my dear B----, to come to the end of your adventures. It seemed very strange to me, that, after having so long resisted the force of your inclinations, you had waited only for a friend to assist you to give way to them: tho’, to say truth, we find ourselves often more weak when supported by others, than when we rely solely on our own strength. I confess, however, I was greatly alarmed by your last letter, when you told me your marriage with Laura was a thing absolutely determined. Not but that, in spite of this assurance, I still entertained some doubts of the event; and, if my suspicions had been disappointed, I would never have seen St. Preux again. As it is, you have both acted as I flattered myself you would, and have so fully justified the good opinion I had of you, that I shall be delighted whenever you think proper to return, and settle here agreeable to the design we had planned. Come, ye uncommon friends! come to increase and partake of the happiness we here enjoy. However flattering the hopes of those who believe in a future state, for my part, I had rather enjoy the present in their company; nay, I perceive you are both more agreeable to me with the tenets you possess, than you would be if unhappy enough to think as I do.

As to St. Preux, you know what were my sentiments of him at your departure; there was no need to make any experiment on his heart to settle my judgment concerning him. My proof had been before made, and I thought I knew him as well as it was possible for one man to know another. I had, besides, more than one reason to place a confidence in him; and was more secure of him than he was of himself. For tho’ he seems to have followed your example in renouncing matrimony, you will perhaps find reason here to prevail on him to change his system. But I will explain myself farther on this head when I see you.

With respect to yourself, I think your sentiments on celibacy quite new and refined. They may, for ought I know, be judicious also, when applied to political institutions, intended to balance and keep in equilibrium the relative powers of states; but I am in doubt, whether they are not more subtle than solid, when applied to dispense with the obligations that individuals lie under to the laws of nature. It seems to me that life is a blessing we receive on condition of transmitting it to our successors; a kind of tenure which ought to pass from generation to generation; and that every one who had a father, is indispensably obliged to become one. Such has been hitherto your opinion also; it was one of your motives for going to Italy: but I know from whence you derive your new system of philosophy; there is an argument in Laura’s letter, which your heart knows not how to invalidate.

Our sprightly cousin has been for these eight or ten days past at Geneva, with her relations, on family affairs: but we daily expect her return. I have told my wife as much as was expedient she should know of your letter. We had learnt of Mr. Miol, that your marriage was broken off; but she was ignorant of the part St. Preux had in that event: and you may be assured it will give her great pleasure to be informed of all he has done to merit your beneficence, and justify your esteem. I have shewn her the plan and designs for your pavilion, in which she thinks there is much taste. We propose to make some little alterations, however, as the ground requires; which, as they will make your lodging the more convenient, we doubt not you will approve.

We wait, nevertheless, for the sanction of Clara, before we resolve; for, without her, you know there is nothing to be done here. In the meantime I have set the people to work, and hope to have the masonry pretty forward before winter.

I am obliged to you for your books; but I no longer read those I am master of, and it is too late in life for me to begin to study those I do not understand. I am, however, not quite so ignorant as you would make me. The only volume of nature’s works which I read, is the heart of man; of my abilities for comprehending which, my friendship for you is a sufficient proof.

Letter CLV. Mrs. Orbe to Mrs. Wolmar.

My stay here, my dear cousin, gives me a world of anxieties; the worst of all which is, that the agreeableness of the place would induce me to stay longer. The city is delightful, its inhabitants hospitable, and their manners courteous; while liberty, which I love of all things, seems to have taken refuge amongst them. The more I know of this little state, the more I find an attachment to one’s country agreeable; and pity those who, pretending to call themselves of this or that country, have no attachment to any. For my part, I perceive that, if I had been born in this, I should have had truly a Roman soul. As it is, I dare not, however, pretend to say that

_Rome is no more at Rome, but where I dwell._

For I am afraid you will be malicious enough, to think the contrary. But why need we talk always about Rome, and Rome? the subject of this letter shall be Geneva. I shall say nothing about the face of the country, it is much like ours, except that it is less mountainous, and more rural. I shall also say nothing about the government: my good father will, doubtless, give you enough of it; as he is employed here all day long, in the fulness of his heart, talking politics with the magistrates; and I find him not a little mortified that the gazette so seldom makes mention of Geneva. You may judge of the tediousness of their conversation, by the length of my letters: for, when I am wearied with their discourse, I leave them, and, in order to divert myself am tiresome to you. All I remember of their long conferences is, that they hold in high esteem the great good sense which prevails in this city. When we regard indeed the mutual action and reaction of all parts of the state, which afford a reciprocal balance to each other, it is not to be doubted that there are greater abilities employed in the government of this little republic than in that of some great kingdoms, where every thing supports itself by its own proper strength; and the reins of administration may be thrown into the hands of a blockhead, without any danger to the constitution. I can assure you, this is not the case here. I never hear any body talk to my father about the famous ministers of great courts, without thinking of the wretched musician who thundered away upon our great organ at Lausanne, and thought himself a prodigious able hand because he made a great noise. The people here have only a little spinner, but in general they make good harmony, though the instrument be now and then a little out of tune.

Neither shall I say any thing about,----but with telling you what I shall not say, I shall never have done. To begin then with one thing, that I may sooner come to a conclusion. Of all people in the world those of Geneva are the most easily known and characterised. Their manners, and even their vices, are mixed with a certain frankness peculiar to themselves. They are conscious of their natural goodness of heart, and that makes them not afraid to appear such as they are. They have generosity, sense and penetration; but they are apt to love money too well; a fault which I attribute to their situation and circumstances, which make it so necessary; the territory of this state not producing a sufficient nourishment for its inhabitants. Hence it happens that, the natives of Geneva, who are scattered up and down Europe to make their fortunes, copy the airs of foreigners; and, having adopted the vices of the countries where they have lived, bring them home in triumph with their wealth. [95] Thus the luxury of other nations makes them despise the simplicity of their own; its spirit and liberty appear ignoble, and they forge themselves chains of gold, not as marks of slavery, but as ornaments they are proud of.

But what have I to do with these confounded politics? indeed here I am stunned with them, and have them constantly rung in my ears. I hear nothing else talked of; unless when my father is absent, which never happens except when the post arrives. It is ourselves, my dear, nevertheless, that infect every place we go to; for, as to the conversation of the people, it is generally useful and agreeable; indeed there is little to be learned even from books, which may not here be acquired by conversation. The manners of the English have reached even so far as this country; and the men, living more separate from the women than in ours, contract among themselves a graver turn, and have more solidity in their discourse. This advantage is attended; nevertheless, with an inconvenience that is very soon experienced. They are extremely prolix, formal, proverbial, and argumentative. Instead of writing like Frenchmen, as they speak, they, on the contrary, speak as they write. They declaim instead of talking; and one thinks they are always going to support a thesis. They divide their discourse into chapters and sections, and take the same method in their conversations as they do in their books. They speak as if they were reading, strictly observing etymological distinctions, and pronouncing their words exactly as they are spelt: in short, their conversations consist of harangues; and they prattle as if they were preaching.

But what is the most singular is, that, with this dogmatical and frigid air in their discourse, they are lively, impetuous, and betray strong passions; nay, they would express themselves well enough upon sentimental subjects, if they were not too particular in words, or knew how to address the heart. But their periods and their commas are insupportable; and they describe so composedly the most violent passions, that, when they have done, one looks about one to see who is affected.

In the mean time, I must confess I am bribed a little to think well of their hearts, and to believe they are not altogether void of taste. For you must know, as a secret, that a very pretty gentleman for a husband, and, as they say, very rich, hath honoured me with his regards; and I have more gratitude and politeness than to call in question what he has told me. Had he but come eighteen months sooner, what pleasure should I have taken in having a sovereign for my slave, and in turning the head of a noble lord! but at present, mine is not clear enough to make that sport agreeable.

But to return to that taste for reading which makes the people of Geneva think. It extends to all ranks and degrees amongst them, and is of advantage to all. The French read a great deal; but they read only new books; or rather they run them over, less for the sake of knowing what they contain, than to have it to say they have read them. On the contrary, the readers at Geneva peruse only books of merit; they read and digest what they read; making it their business to understand, not to criticize upon, them. Criticisms and the choice of books are made at Paris; while choice books are almost the only ones that are read at Geneva. By this means, their reading has less variety and is more profitable. The women, on their part, employ a good deal of their time also in reading; [96] and their conversation is affected by it, but in a different manner. The fine ladies are affected and set up for wits here, as well as with us. Nay, the petty citizens themselves learn from their books a kind of methodical chit-chat, a choice of words which one is surprized to hear from them, as we are sometimes with the prattle of forward children. They must unite all the good sense of the men, all the sprightliness of the women, and all the wit common to both; or the former will appear a little pedantic, and the latter prudish.

As I was looking out of my window yesterday, I overheard two tradesmens daughters, both very pretty, talking together in a manner sprightly enough to attract my attention. I listened, and heard one of them propose to the other, laughing, to write a journal of their transactions. “Yes,” replied the other immediately, “a journal of a morning and a comment at night.” What say you, cousin? I know not if this be the stile of tradesmens daughters; but I know one must be taken up greatly indeed, not to be able, during the whole day, to make more than a comment on what has passed. I fancy this lass had read the Arabian nights entertainments.

Thus, with a stile a little elevated, the women of Geneva are lively and satirical; and one sees here the effect of the nobler passions, as much as in any city in the world. Even in the simplicity of their dress there is taste; they are graceful also in their manners, and agreeable in conversation. As the men are less gallant than affectionate, the women are less coquettish than tender; their susceptibility gives, even to the most virtuous among them, an agreeable and refined turn, which reaches the heart, and thence deduces all its refinement. So long as the ladies of Geneva preserve their own manners, they will be the most amiable women in Europe; but they are in danger of being soon all Frenchified, and then Frenchwomen will be more agreeable than they.