_C'est la même chose_[1].
[Footnote 1: That is the same thing.]
Men honour themselves most by opposing, nay by acting in the very teeth
of the prejudices of mankind; and he is the bravest man who opposes
them the oftenest. The world makes laws, and afterward laughs at or
despises those by whom they are obeyed. He proves the nobleness of his
nature best who acts with most wisdom. Recollect the madness with which
Mr. Clifton acted, how much he was blamed by every body, and imagine to
yourself the temper of your own countrymen; then ask whether you would
not be laughed at, instead of applauded and admired, were you so madly
to throw away a life which you ought to dedicate to your country. The
Parisians would write epigrams, and songs, and sing them in every
street, on the nobleman who, instead of living to fight the battles of
his country, should toss himself like a lunatic down a rock, and dash
out his brains.
_Que Dieu me damne, monsieur_, but you are in the right! Yes! I am a
soldier! My country claims my sword! I hear we are soon to have a war
with England; and then--! _Gardez-vous bien, Messieurs les
Anglois_[1]!--Where is Monsieur Calif--?
[Footnote 1: Englishmen, beware!]
Mr. Clifton will not be at home to-day.
Well, sir, be so kind as to present my compliments to him, and tell him
I would certainly have run him through the body, if you had not done me
the honour to say all that you have said to me. I have appointed to set
off for Fontainebleau tomorrow morning; but I intend to visit England:
we may have the good fortune hereafter to meet, and then we will come
to an explanation.
After a thousand whimsical, half crazy but well meaning, and I believe
very sincere compliments, and offers of service, he left me; and I hope
the danger is over.
But as I told thee, Oliver, the chief purpose of my writing is to ask
thy advice. Principle, as thou well knowest, is too severe to admit of
falsehood; direct, or indirect. To mention this dialogue to Clifton
might be dangerous. It ought not to be, I grant, but still it might.
One would imagine that, instead of feeling anger, he must laugh, were
he told of what has passed: but there is no certainty. And is not
silence indirect falsehood? The count has been here; his errand was to
Clifton. Ought he not to be told of it, and suffered to judge for
himself? And is not concealment an indirect falsehood? To me it appears
the contrary. He is full as likely to take the wrong as the right side
of the question. I see a possibility of harm, but no injury that can be
done by silence. Nor do I myself perceive how it can be classed among
untruths. Still the doubt has occurred to my mind, and I have not
hitherto answered it to my own satisfaction.
I forgot to tell thee with what ardour the count declared himself an
admirer of her who is most admirable; and the romantic but very serious
effervescence with which he called himself her champion; one who had
devoted himself to maintain her superiority over her whole sex, which
he would die affirming; and to revenge her wrongs, if ever mortal
should be daring or guilty enough to do her injustice. But as I tell
thee he is an eccentric and undefinable character.
I have lately received a letter from my father, from which I find he
has been led, by I know not what mistake, to conclude that Sir Arthur
thinks of me for his son-in-law. His letter, as usual, is a strange
one; and such as I believe no man on earth but himself could write.
Direct thy next to me in Grosvenor Street; for we shall be on our
return, before I shall receive an answer.
Farewell.