When I reflect on the wondrous happiness we might enjoy, while mutually
exerting ourselves in the general cause of virtue, I confess the
thought of renouncing so much bliss, or rather such a duty to myself
and the world, is excruciating torture.
Your idea of living for the cause of virtue delights me; it is in full
concord with my own. But whether that great cause would best be
promoted by our union, or not, is a question which we are incapable of
determining: though I think probabilities are for the negative. Facts
and observation have given me reason to believe that the too easy
gratification of our desires is pernicious to mind; and that it
acquires vigour and elasticity from opposition.
And would you then upon principle, madam, marry a man whom you must
despise?
No, not despise. If indeed I were all I could wish to be, I am
persuaded I should despise no one. I should endeavour to instruct the
ignorant, and reform the erroneous. However, I will tell you what sort
of a man I should wish to marry. First he must be a person of whom no
prejudice, no mistake of any kind, should induce the world, that is,
the persons nearest and most connected with me in the world, to think
meanly--Shall I be cited by the thoughtless, the simple, and the
perverse, in justification of their own improper conduct?--You cannot
wish it, Frank!--Nor is this the most alarming fear--My friends!--My
relations!--My father!--To incur a father's reproach for having
dishonoured his family were fearful: but to meet, to merit, to live
under his curse!--God of heaven forbid!
Must we then never dare to counteract mistake? Must mind, though
enlightened by truth, submit to be the eternal slave of error?--What is
there that is thus dreadful, madam, in the curse of prejudice? Have not
the greatest and the wisest of mankind been cursed by ignorance?
It is not the curse itself that is terrible, but the torture of the
person's mind by whom it is uttered!--Nor is it the torture of a
minute, or a day, but of years!--His child, his beloved child, on whom
his hopes and heart were fixed, to whom he looked for all the bliss of
filial obedience, all the energies of virtue, and all the effusions of
affection, to see himself deserted by her, unfeelingly deserted,
plunged in sorrows unutterable, eternally dishonoured, the index and
the bye-word of scandal, scoffed at for the fault of her whom his fond
and fatherly reveries had painted faultless, whispered out of society
because of the shame of her in whom he gloried, and I this child!
Were the conflict what your imagination has figured it, madam, your
terrors would be just--But I have thought deeply on it, and know that
your very virtues misguide you. It would not be torture, nor would it
be eternal--On the contrary, madam, I, poor as I am in the esteem of an
arrogant world, I proudly affirm it would be the less and not the
greater evil.
You mistake!--Indeed, Frank, you mistake!--The fear of poverty, the
sneers of the world, ignominy itself, were the pain inflicted but
confined to me, I would despise. But to stretch my father upon the
rack, and with him every creature that loves me, even you yourself!--It
must not be!--It must not be!
I too fatally perceive, madam, your mind is subjected by these phantoms
of fear.
No, no--not phantoms; real existences; the palpable beings of
reason!--Beside what influence have I in the world, except over my
friends and family? And shall I renounce this little influence, this
only power of doing good, in order to gratify my own passions, by
making myself the outcast of that family and of that world to whom it
is my ambition to live an example?--My family and the world are
prejudiced and unjust: I know it. But where is the remedy? Can we work
miracles? Will their prejudices vanish at our bidding?--I have already
mortally offended the most powerful of my relations, Lord Fitz-Allen,
by refusing a foolish peer of his recommendation. He is my maternal
uncle; proud, prejudiced, and unforgiving. Previous to this refusal I
was the only person in our family whom he condescended to notice. He
prophesied, in the spleen of passion, I should soon bring shame on my
family; and I as boldly retorted I would never dishonour the name of
St. Ives--I spoke in their own idiom, and meant to be so
understood--Recollect all this!--Be firm, be just to yourself and
me!--Indeed indeed, Frank, it is not my heart that refuses you; it is
my understanding; it is principle; it is a determination not to do that
which my reason cannot justify--Join with me, Frank--Resolve--Give me
your hand--Let us disdain to set mankind an example which would indeed
be a virtuous and a good one, were all the conditions understood; but
which, under the appearances it would assume, would be criminal in the
extreme.
My hand and heart, madam, are everlastingly yours: and it is because
this heart yearns to set the world an example, higher infinitely than
that which you propose, that thus I plead!--This opportunity is my
first and last--I read my doom--Bear with me therefore while I declare
my sensations and my thoughts.--The passion I feel is as unlike what is
usually meant by love as day to night, grace to deformity, or truth to
falsehood. It is not your fine form, madam, supremely beautiful though
you are, which I love. At least I love it only as an excellent part of
a divine whole. It is your other, your better, your more heavenly self,
to which I have dared to aspire. I claim relationship to your mind; and
again declare I think my claims have a right, which none of the false
distinctions of men can supersede. Think then, madam, again I conjure
you, think ere you decide.--If the union of two people whose pure love,
founded on an unerring conviction of mutual worth, might promise the
reality of that heaven of which the world delights to dream; whose
souls, both burning with the same ardour to attain and to diffuse
excellence, would mingle and act with incessant energy, who, having
risen superior to the mistakes of mankind, would disseminate the same
spirit of truth, the same internal peace, the same happiness, the same
virtues which they themselves possess among thousands; who would
admire, animate, emulate each other; whose wishes, efforts, and
principles would all combine to one great end, the general good; who,
being desirous only to dispense blessings, could not fail to enjoy; if
a union like this be not strictly conformable to the laws of eternal
truth, or if there be any arguments, any perils, any terrors which
ought to annul such a union, I confess that the arguments, the perils,
the terrors, and eternal truth itself are equally unknown to me.
We paused for a moment. The beauty, force, and grandeur of the picture
he had drawn staggered me. Yet it was but a repetition of what had
frequently presented itself to my mind, in colours almost as vivid as
those with which he painted. I had but one answer, and replied--
The world!--My family!--My father!--I cannot encounter the malediction
of a father!--What! Behold him in an agony of cursing his
child?--Imagination shudders and shrinks from the guilty picture with
horror!--I cannot!--I cannot!--It must not be!--To foresee this misery
so clearly as I do, and yet to seek it, would surely be detestable
guilt!
Again we paused--He perceived my terrors were too violent to cede to
any efforts of supposed reason. His countenance changed; the energy of
argument disappeared, and was succeeded by all the tenderness of
passion. The decisive moment, the moment of trial was come. His
features softened into that form which never yet failed to melt the
heart, and he thus continued.
To the scorn of vice, the scoffs of ignorance, the usurpations of the
presuming, and the contumelies of the proud, I have patiently
submitted: but to find my great and as I thought infallible support
wrested from me; to perceive that divine essence which I imagined too
much a part of myself to do me wrong, overlooking me; rejecting me;
dead to those sensations which I thought mutually pervaded and filled
our hearts; to hear her, whom of all beings on earth I thought myself
most akin to, disclaim me; positively, persisting, un--
Unjustly?--Was that the word, Frank?--Surely not unjustly!--Oh, surely
not!
And could those heavenly those heart-winning condescensions on which I
founded my hopes be all illusory?--Could they?--Did I dream that your
soul held willing intercourse with mine, beaming divine intelligence
upon me? Was it all a vision when I thought I heard you pronounce the
ecstatic sentence--_You could love me if I would let you?_
No; it was real. I revoke nothing that I have said or done. Do not,
Frank, for the love of truth and justice do not think me insensible of
your excellence, dead to your virtues, or blind to mind and merit which
I never yet saw equalled!--Think not it is pride, or base insensibility
of your worth! Where is the day in which that worth has not increased
upon me?--Unjust to you?--Oh!--No, no, no!--My heart bleeds at the
thought!--No!--It is my love of you, my love of your virtues, your
principles, and these alone are lovely, which has rendered me thus
inflexible. If any thing could make you dearer to me than you are, it
must be weakness; it must be something which neither you nor I ought to
approve. All the good, or rather all the opportunities of doing good
which mortal or immortal being can enjoy do I wish you! Oh that I had
prayers potent enough to draw down blessings on you!--Love
you?--Yes!--The very idea bursts into passion. [The tears, Louisa, were
streaming down my cheeks.] Why should you doubt of all the affection
which virtue can bestow? Do you not deserve it?--Oh yes!--Love you in
the manner you could wish I must not, dare not, ought not: but, as I
ought, I love you infinitely! Ay, dear, dear Frank, as I ought,
infinitely!
Louisa!--Blame me if thou wilt--But I kissed him!--The chastity of my
thoughts defied misconstruction, and the purity of the will sanctified
the extravagance of the act. A daring enthusiasm seized me. I beheld
his passions struggling to attain the very pinnacle of excellence. I
wished to confirm the noble emulation, to convince him how different
the pure love of mind might be from the meaner love of passion, and I
kissed him! I find my affections, my sensibilities, peculiarly liable
to these strong sallies. Perhaps all minds of a certain texture are
subject to such rapid and almost resistless emotions; and whether they
ought to be encouraged or counteracted I have not yet discovered. But
the circumstance, unexpected and strange as it was, suffered no wrong
interpretation in the dignified soul of Frank. With all the ardour of
affection, but chastened by every token of delicacy, he clasped me in
his arms, returned my kiss, then sunk down on one knee, and
exclaimed--Now let me die!--
After a moment's pause, I answered--No, Frank! Live! Live to be a
blessing to the world, and an honour to the human race!
I took a turn to the window, and after having calmed the too much of
feeling which I had suffered to grow upon me, I continued the
conversation.
I hope, Frank, we now understand each other; and that, as this is the
first, so it will be the last contention of the passions in which we
shall indulge ourselves.
Madam, though _I still think, nay feel a certainty of conviction, that
you act from mistaken principles_, yet you support what you are
persuaded is truth with such high such self-denying virtue, that not to
applaud, not to imitate you would be contemptible. You have and ought
to have a will of your own. You practise what you believe to be the
severest precepts of duty, with more than human fortitude. You resolve,
in this particular, not to offend the prejudices of your family, and
the world. I submit. To indulge sensibility but a little were to be
heart-broken! But no personal grief can authorise me in deserting the
post I am placed in; nor palliate the crime of neglecting its duties.
_To the end of time I shall persist in thinking you mine by right_; but
I will never trouble you more with an assertion of that
right--Never!--Unless some new and unexpected claim should spring up,
of which I see no probability.
He bowed and was retiring.
Stay, Frank, I have something more to say to you--I have a requisition
to make which after what has passed would to common minds appear
unfeeling and almost capricious cruelty; but I have no fear that yours
should be liable to this mistake. Recollect but who and what you are,
remember what are the best purposes of existence, and the noblest
efforts of mind, and then refuse me if you can--I have formed a
project, and call upon you for aid--Cannot you guess?
Mr. Clifton, madam--?
Yes.
I fear it is a dangerous one; and, whether my fears originate in
selfishness or in penetration, they must be spoken. Yes, madam, I must
warn you that the passions of Mr. Clifton are, in my opinion, much more
alarming than the resentment of your father.
But they are alarming only to myself. And ought danger to deter me?
Not if the good you design be practicable.
And what is impracticable, where the will is resolved?
Perhaps nothing--But the effort must be great, must be uncommon.
Has he not a mind worthy of such an effort? Would not his powers highly
honour truth and virtue?
They would.
Will not you give me your assistance?
I would, madam, most willingly, would he but permit me. But I am his
antipathy; a something noxious; an evil augury.
You have been particular in your attentions to me.
And must those attentions cease, madam?
They must be moderated; they must be cool, dispassionate, and then they
will not alarm.--I cannot possibly be deceived in supposing it a duty,
an indispensable duty to restore the mind of Clifton to its true
station. If I fail, the fault must be my own. I am but young, yet many
men have addressed me with the commonplace language of admiration,
love, and I know not what; or rather they knew not what; and, except
yourself, Frank, I have not met with one from whom half so much might
be hoped as from Clifton. He is the brother of my bosom friend. Surely,
Frank, it is a worthy task--Join with me!--There is but one thing I
fear. Clifton is haughty and intemperate. Are you a duellist, Frank?
No, madam.
Then you would not fight a duel?
Never, madam, no provocation, not the brand of cowardice itself, shall
ever induce roe to be guilty of such a crime.
Frank!--Oh excellent, noble youth!
Here, Louisa, our conversation abruptly ended. The company had risen
from table, and we heard them in the corridor. I requested him to
retire, and he instantly obeyed.
Oh! Louisa, with what sensations did he leave my mind glowing!--His
conviction equals certainty, _that I act from mistaken principles!--_To
the end of time he shall persist in thinking me his by right!_--Can the
power of language afford words more strong, more positive, more
pointed?--How unjust have I been to my cause!--For surely I cannot be
in an error!--'Tis afflicting, 'tis painful, nay it is almost
terrifying to remember!--_Persist to the end of time?_--Why did I not
think more deeply?--I had a dark kind of dread that I should fail!--It
cannot be the fault of my cause!--Wrong him!--Guilty of injustice to
him!--Surely, surely, I hope not!--What! Become an example to the
feeble and the foolish, for having indulged my passions and neglected
my duties?--I?--His mind had formed a favourite plan, and could I
expect it should be instantly relinquished?--I cannot conceive torment
equal to the idea of doing him wrong! Him?--Again and again I hope not!
I hope not! I hope not!
Then the kiss, Louisa? Did I or did I not do right, in shewing him how
truly I admire and love his virtues? Was I or was I not guilty of any
crime, when, in the very acme of the passions, I so totally disregarded
the customs of the world? Or rather, for that is the true question,
could it produce any other effect than that which I intended? I am
persuaded it could not. Nor, blame me who will, do I repent. And yet,
my friend, if you should think it wrong, I confess I should then feel a
pang which I should be glad not to deserve. But be sincere. Though I
need not warn you. No false pity can or ought to induce you to desert
the cause of truth.
Adieu--My mind is not so much at its ease as I hoped, from this
conversation; but at all times, and in all tempers, believe me to be,
ever and ever,