_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_
_Paris, Hotel de l'Université_
We are returned to Paris. The Marquis and his bride have taken leave of
their country pleasures, and are gone to Fontainebleau, to be presented
at court.
The strange incident of Clifton excited much conversation, in which my
name and his were frequently joined. The Count de Beaunoir became less
particular in his behaviour to me, in consequence of the reserve which
I thought it right to assume. I find however that he told Sir Arthur,
after running over a great number of enthusiastic epithets, in his wild
way, all in my praise, that he perceived at present I preferred
another; and that he had too high a sense of honour to put any
restraint on a lady's inclinations. But if my mind should change, and
his person, fortune, sword, and life could give me pleasure, they
should eternally be at my command. He likewise means in a few days to
follow the court to Fontainebleau, as he said; and he again repeated he
had lost a fine opportunity of convincing me how he adored me; and that
he was diablement fâché.
Clifton has entirely altered his behaviour to Frank; he now treats him
with unaffected freedom and respect. But his impatience relative to me
has not abated. Tomorrow we are to have some conversation, after which
I imagine he wishes to make proposals to Sir Arthur.
Would you think, Louisa, that I sometimes suffer myself to be surprised
into fears; and that I then find myself ready to retract, or at least
questioning whether I ought to proceed.
There is something fatally erroneous in the impatient propensities of
the human mind. How seldom does it stay so fully to examine a question
as to leave no remaining doubt, and to act on a preconcerted and
consistent plan! Yet it never acts with safety, or with satisfaction,
except when it has or imagines it has made this examination. If our
motives be few, slow, and feeble, we then are heavy, dull, and stupid:
if they be quick, numerous, and strong, we are too apt implicitly to
obey first impulses, and to hurry headlong into folly and extravagance.
Yet these last only can give energy; and, having them, wisdom will
consist in being able to curb them, so as to give full time for
consideration.
The conscious want of this in myself is what I blame. How often am I
surprised by unexpected circumstances, which I ought to have foreseen,
and against which I ought to have provided! If I have any doubts of
myself, if I am not certain of producing those effects on the mind of
Clifton which I know I ought to be able to produce, it becomes me to
recede. Or rather it becomes me to apply myself, with the resolution of
which I am so ready to vaunt, to attain that which is attainable, to
discover the true means, the clue to his mind, and to persevere.
I have sometimes suspected myself of being influenced by his fine form,
and the charms of his wit and gaiety. At others I have even doubted
whether I were not more actuated by an affection for my Louisa, than by
a sense of incumbent duty. But, consider the subject how I will, that
there is a duty, and that I am called upon to fulfil it, is an unerring
decision.
There must be no concealment. I must explain my whole chain of
reasonings to him: for nothing appears more indubitable to me than that
duplicity never can conduce to good. The only fear is that I should be
deficient in my detail, and present my plan so as to give it a false
appearance. Truth partially told becomes falsehood: and it was a kind
of blind consciousness of this which first induced men to countenance
dissimulation. They felt their inability to do justice to truth, and
therefore concluded hypocrisy was a virtue, and, strange to tell, truth
itself sometimes a vice. It was a lamentable mistake. It is partial
truth, or in other words falsehood, which is the vice.
Clifton has from the beginning been a great favourite with Sir Arthur.
He contradicts none of my father's prejudices; he admires grounds and
parks beautifully laid out; has a taste for architecture; points out
the defects and excellencies of the buildings of France with much
discrimination; has a great respect, like Sir Arthur, for family, and
prides himself in being the son of an honourable mother; recounts, in a
pleasant and lively manner, the anecdotes he has heard; and relates his
own adventures, so as to render them amusing. There is therefore no
fear of opposition from Sir Arthur.
He has another advantage with the family. My uncle, Lord Fitz-Allen, is
at present in Paris, on his return from Switzerland, and Clifton has
been introduced to him by his kinsman, Lord Evelyn, who is making a
short excursion to the south of France. The near relationship of your
brother to this noble lord has given him great consequence with my
uncle, who has once more condescended to restore me to favour. Could I
or did it become me entirely to conceal those feelings which his
arrogance inspires, I should stand much higher in his esteem. As it is,
he acts more from the love of his rank and family, that is of himself,
than of me; and has accordingly signified his mandatory approbation to
Sir Arthur. As nothing however in the way of family advantage is to be
expected from him, he having several children and a prodigious quantity
of dignity to maintain, his behest is not altogether so omnipotent as
it might otherwise be.
My brother, agreeably to his grandfather's will, has taken possession
of the Edgemoor estate, which is eight hundred a year. This I imagine
will oblige Sir Arthur, in despite of his predilection, to retrench
some of his improving expences. He mentioned the circumstance to me,
and I thought that a good opportunity once more to attack his ruling
passion. Our conversation soon became animated. I boldly descanted on
the use and abuse of riches, on the claims of honest distress, and on
the turpitude of seeking self-gratifications, and neglecting to promote
the great ends for which men ought to live, the spreading of truth, the
rewarding of genius, and the propagation of mind.
But it was to little purpose. Sir Arthur did not understand me; and I
was more angry at myself than at him, as well I might be, for wanting
the power to render myself intelligible. He as usual was amazed to hear
he had not a right to do what he pleased with his own, and to be told
it was not his own. Nor was he sparing in pettish reproof to the
self-sufficient young lady, who thought proper to dispute the propriety
and wisdom of his projects.
The question that continually occurs to me is, when shall those beings
who justly claim superiority of understanding, and thence a right to
direct the world, find some simple and easy mode of convincing the
mistaken, and by conviction of eradicating error?
Adieu. Blessings be with you. I shall most probably write by the next
post, for I wish you to be as perfectly acquainted as possible with
every thing that passes, that I may profit by the advice of a friend so
dear, so true, and so discerning.