_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_
_Chateau de Villebrun_
An affair has just happened in this country which is the universal
topic of conversation. The daughter of a noble and wealthy family has
fallen in love with a man of uncommon learning, science, and genius,
but a musician. In consequence of his great skill and reputation, he
was employed to teach her music; and she it appears was too sensible,
at least for the decorum of our present manners, of his worth.
The ability to discover his merit implies merit in herself, and the
musician and lady were equally enamoured of each other. A plan for
elopement consequently was laid, and put in execution; but not
effectually, for, before the lovers had passed the confines of the
kingdom, they were pursued and overtaken.
The musician knew his own personal danger, and by a stratagem
fortunately escaped from his bonds, and attained a place of safety. The
lady was brought back; and, from the severity of the French laws and
the supposed atrocity of the crime, it is generally affirmed that the
musician, notwithstanding his talents and fame, had he been secured,
would have been executed.
I have mentioned this adventure, my dear Louisa, not so much for its
own sake as for what relates to myself. It was natural that I should
feel compassion for mistakes, if mistakes they be, which have so great
an affinity to virtue; and that I should plead for the lovers, and
against the barbarity of laws so unjust and inhuman. For it is certain
that, had not the musician been put to death, his least punishment
would have been perpetual imprisonment.
In a former letter I mentioned the increasing alarms of Sir Arthur; and
this was a fit opportunity for him to shew how very serious and great
those alarms are. He opposed me, while I argued in behalf of the
lovers, with what might in him be called violence; affirmed it was a
crime for which no merit or genius could compensate; highly applauded
those wholesome laws that prevented such crimes, and preserved the
honour of noble families from attaint; lamented the want of similar
laws in England; and spoke of the conduct of the young lady with a
degree of bitterness which from him was unusual. In fine, the spirit of
his whole discourse was evidently to warn me, and explicitly to declare
what his opinions on this subject are.
Had I before wanted conviction, he fully convinced me, on this
occasion, of the impossibility of any union between me and Frank
Henley; at least without sacrificing the felicity of my father and my
family, and from being generally and sincerely beloved by them,
rendering myself the object of eternal reproach, and almost of hatred.
Previous to this conversation, I was uneasy at the state of my own
mind, and particularly at what I suppose to be the state of Mr.
Henley's; and this uneasiness is at present very much increased.
Once again, Louisa, it must immediately have an end. I can support it
no longer. I must be firm. My half-staggering resolution is now
fixed. I cannot, must not doubt. My father and family must not be
sacrificed to speculative probabilities. Frank is the most deserving
of mankind; and that it should be a duty to reject the most deserving
of mankind, as the friend of my life, my better self, my husband, is
strange; but I am nevertheless convinced that a duty it is. Yes; the
conflicts of doubt are over. I must and will persevere.
Poor Frank! To be guilty of injustice to a nature so noble, to wring a
heart so generous, and to neglect desert so unequalled, is indeed a
killing thought! But the stern the unrelenting dictates of necessity
must be obeyed. The neglect the injustice and the cruelty are the
world's, not mine: my heart disavows them, revolts at them, detests
them!
Heaven bless my Louisa, and give her superior prudence to guard and
preserve her from these too strong susceptibilities! May the angel of
fortitude never forsake her, as she seems half inclined to do her poor.