N. I do not conclude at all. I am in doubt, and this doubt has
tormented me inexpressibly, during the whole time I spent in reading
these letters. If it be all a fiction, it is a bad performance; but
say that these two women have really existed, and I will read their
epistles once a year to the end of my life.
R. Strange! what signifies it whether they ever existed or not? They
are no where to be found: they are no more.
N. No more? So they actually did exist.
R. The conclusion is conditional: if they ever did exist, they are now
no more.
N. Between you and I, these little subtilties are more conclusive than
perplexing.
R. They are such as you force me to use, that I may neither betray
myself nor tell an untruth.
N. In short, you may do as you think proper; your Title is sufficient
to betray you.
R. It discovers nothing relative to the matter in question; for who
can tell whether I did not find this title in the manuscript? Who
knows whether I have not the same doubts which you have? Whether all
this mystery be not a pretext to conceal my own ignorance?
N. But however you are acquainted with the scene of action. You have
been at Vevey, in the _Pays de Vaud_?
R. Often; and I declare that I never heard either of Baron D'Etange,
or his Daughter. The name of Wolmar is entirely unknown in that
country. I have been at Clarens, but never saw any house like that
which is described in these letters. I passed through it in my return
from Italy, in the very year when the sad catastrophe happened, and I
found no body in tears for the death of Eloisa Wolmar. In short, as
much as I can recollect of the country, there are, in these letters,
several transpositions of places, and topographical errors, proceeding
either from ignorance in the author, or from a design to mislead the
reader. This is all you will learn from me on this point, and you may
be assured that no one else shall draw any thing more from me.
N. All the world will be as curious as I am. If you print this work,
tell the public what you have told me. Do more, write this
conversation as a Preface: it contains all the information necessary
for the reader.
R. You are in the right. It will do better than any thing I could say
of my own accord. Though these kind of apologies seldom succeed.
N. True, where the author spares himself. But I have taken care to
remove that objection here. Only I would advise you to transpose the
parts. Pretend that I wanted to persuade you to publish, and that you
objected. This will be more modest, and will have a better effect.
R. Would that be consistent with the character for which you praised
me a while ago?
N. It would not. I spoke with a design to try you. Leave things as
they are.