do anything of use for the benefit of you my faithful servant
and dear friend; for in the latter capacity, indeed, I’ve rather
wished ever to consider you, therefore let me dedicate it as
properly as the peculiarity of my situation will admit. When Mr.
Horsley went to England I consigned some few jewels to him, the
amount of which would be about £500 or £600, and which I ever
intended for you in case I could not induce Mr. Draper to make
you a present exceeding it, and more suited to my wishes. Accept
it, my dear woman, as the best token in my power, expressive of
my good will to you. Do not hesitate from any point of delicacy
or principle to Mr. Draper:—I am as incapable of taking mean
pecuniary advantages, as the most moral persons breathing can
be. This little fund, by right, is my due; it is what results
from the sale of my ornaments, little perquisites due to me as a
woman, and which he never would have possessed had I not
received them; nor will they be _his_ if you decline having
them—that is the worth of them. Take it then, Betty, without any
scruple of conscience. The enclosed is an order on Mr. Horsley
for the delivery of it to you. You will, perhaps, see England
before me. God bless you, my dear woman! Visit my child
sometimes, and speak kindly to her of her mother. My heart is
full. The next twenty-four hours will, in all probability,
either destine me to the grave or a life of reproach,—shocking
alternative, but I will endeavour to bear my fate, so as to
assure my own heart. I had deserved a better, if chance had not
counteracted the good propensities assigned me by nature. God
give you health and a peaceable establishment in England, my
dear woman.
Adieu,
ELIZA DRAPER.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO GEO. HORSLEY ESQ.
January 14, 1773.
DEAR HORSLEY,—
IF you knew the misery and compunction with which I addressed
this note to you, you would, in spite of reason and justice,
think me entitled to some degree of pity, though I am lost, for
ever lost, to every claim which could entitle me to your esteem.
This hour is my own, but whether the next may produce my death
or destraction, or whatever else, heaven only knows. I dedicate
it as one act of just benevolence, by requesting you to pay to
Betty Mihill, or her order, the sum of money which may have
resulted from the sale of my diamond rings, be it what it will.
Adieu Horsley! God restore you to health, and the enjoyment of
yourself.
ELIZA DRAPER.
TO DANIEL DRAPER.
[January 14, 1773.]
IF you knew, Draper, with what anguish I accosted you at
present, I think, and cannot help thinking it, that the severity
of justice should give place to the sentiment of compassion, in
a farewell letter—I will not recriminate—I would even be all in
fault, if that might serve to alleviate the disgrace inflicted
on my husband, by my elopement from him, but, Draper, be candid,
I beseech you, as you sometimes can be, when it makes against
yourself to be so, and then think, if you have not a great deal
to reproach yourself for, in this late affair—if you can say you
have not, I must, I fear, be miserable, as my sole prospect of
happiness is derived from the idea that your own consciousness
will befriend me in this particular instance, and if it does,
let it operate so as to prevent your pursuing me in a vindictive
manner. I speak in the singular number, because I would not
wound you by the mention of a name that I know must be
displeasing to you; but, Draper, believe me for once, when I
solemnly assure you, that it is you only who have driven me to
serious Extremities. But from the conversation on Monday last he
had nothing to hope, or you to fear. Lost to reputation, and all
hopes of living with my dearest girl on peaceable or creditable
terms, urged by a despair of gaining any one point with you, and
resenting, strongly resenting, I own it your avowed preference
of Leeds to myself, I _myself_ Proposed the scheme of leaving
you thus abruptly. Forgive me, Draper, if its accomplishment has
excited anguish; but if pride is only wounded by the measure,
sacrifice that I beseech you to the sentiment of humanity, as
indeed you may, and may be amply revenged in the compunction I
shall feel to the hour of my death, for a conduct that will so
utterly disgrace me with all I love, and do not let this confirm
the prejudice imbibed by Leeds’s tale, as I swear to you _that
was false_, though my present mode of acting may rather seem the
consequence of it than of a more recent event. Oh! that
prejudice had not been deaf to the reasonable requests of a
wounded spirit, or that you, Draper could have read my very
soul, as undisguisedly, as sensibility and innocence must ever
wish to be read! But this is, too, like recrimination which I
would wish to avoid. I can only say in my justification, Draper,
that if you imagine I plume myself on the Success of my scheme,
you do me a great wrong. My heart bleeds for what I suppose may
possibly be the sufferings of yours, though too surely had you
loved, all this could never have been. My head is too much
disturbed to write with any degree of connection. No matter, for
if your own mind does not suggest palliatives, all I can say
will be of little avail. I go, I know not whither, but I will
never be a tax on you, Draper. Indeed, I will not, and do not
suspect me of being capable of adding to my portion of infamy. I
am not a hardened or depraved creature—I never will be so. The
enclosed are the only bills owing that I know of, except about
six rupees to Doojee, the shoemaker. I have never meant to load
myself with many spoils to your prejudice, but a moderate
provision of linen has obliged me to secure part of what was
mine, to obviate some very mortifying difficulties. The pearls
and silk cloathes are not in the least diminished. Betty’s
picture, of all the ornaments, is the only one I have ventured
to make mine. I presume not to recommend any of the persons to
you who were immediately officiating about me; but this I
conjure you to believe as strictly true, that not one of them or
any living soul in the Marine House or Mazagon, was at all privy
to my scheme, either directly or indirectly, nor do I believe
that any one of them had the smallest suspicion of the matter;
unless the too evident Concern occasioned by my present conflict
induced them to think Something extraordinary was in agitation.
O! Draper! a word, a look, sympathetic of regret on Tuesday or
Wednesday would have saved me the perilous adventure, and such a
portion of remorse as would be sufficient to fill up the longer
life. I reiterate my request that vindictive measures may not be
pursued. Leave me to my fate I conjure you, Draper, and in doing
this you will leave me to misery inexpressible, for you are not
to think, that I am either satisfied with myself or my
prospects, though the latter are entirely my own seeking. God
bless you, may health and prosperity be yours, and happiness
too, as I doubt not but it will, if you suffer your resentments
to be subdued by the aid of true and reasonable reflections. Do
not let that false idea of my triumphing induce you to acts of
vengeance I implore you, Draper, for indeed that can never be,
nor am I capable of bearing you the least ill will; or treating
your name or memory with irreverence, now that I have released
myself from your dominion. Suffer me but to be unmolested, and I
will engage to steer through life with some degree of
approbation, if not respect. Adieu! again Mr. Draper, and be
assured I have told you nothing but the truth, however it may
clash with yours and the general opinion.
ELIZA DRAPER.
TO MR. WILKES.
Sunday Afternoon, Mar. 22, [1775?]
I thank you for the French volume, Mr. Wilkes, and I really feel
myself obliged for the English pages; tho’ the Eulogium which
accompanied them makes me half afraid of indulging in something
which I presume to call taste for the pleasure of wit and
conversation, as there is nothing which I ought to be more
apprehensive of than Praise from distinguished persons because
it ever has had too powerful an effect on my imagination to
render me capable of aspiring to merit in capital instances. I
say not this with a view to disqualify and extort refinements in
flattery, but from such a consciousness of my own imbecility as
makes me very serious when reduced to the necessity of
self-examination. If, therefore, you have the generosity which I
take you to have, you will rather endeavour to correct my
_foiblesse_ than to add to it by your encomiums. I request my
compliments, if you please, to Miss Wilkes, and am your much
obliged and most obedient,
ELIZA DRAPER.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
Abbé Raynal.
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN EULOGY
BY THE
ABBÉ RAYNAL
------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN EULOGY
BY THE
ABBÉ RAYNAL
(From the _European Magazine_ for March, 1784)
MRS. DRAPER, the Lady who has been so celebrated as the
Correspondent of Mr. STERNE under the name of ELIZA, will
naturally attract the notice of the Public. That she was
deserving of the encomiums bestowed upon her by that admirable
writer will appear from the following eulogium written by the
excellent Abbé RAYNAL, which I transmit to you for publication
in your next Magazine.
I am, yours, &c.
A. T.
Territory of Anjengo, thou art nothing; but thou hast given birth to
Eliza. A day will come, when these staples of commerce, founded by the
Europeans on the coasts of Asia, will exist no more. Before a few
centuries are elapsed, the grass will cover them, or the Indians,
avenged, will have built upon their ruins. But if my works be destined
to have any duration, the name of Anjengo will not be obliterated from
the memory of man. Those who shall read my works, or those whom the
winds shall drive towards these shores, will say: There it is that Eliza
Draper was born; and if there be a Briton among them, he will
immediately add, with the spirit of conscious pride, And there it was
that she was born of English parents.
Let me be permitted to indulge my grief, and to give a free course to my
tears! Eliza was my friend. Reader, whosoe’er thou art, forgive me this
involuntary emotion. Let my mind dwell upon Eliza. If I have sometimes
moved thee to compassionate the calamities of the human race, let me now
prevail upon thee to commiserate my own misfortune. I was thy friend
without knowing thee; be for a moment mine. Thy gentle pity shall be my
reward.
Eliza ended her days in the land of her forefathers, at the age of
three-and-thirty. A celestial soul was separated from a heavenly body.
Ye who visit the spot on which her sacred ashes rest, write upon the
marble that covers them: In such a year, in such a month, on such a day,
at such an hour, God withdrew his spirit, and Eliza died.
And thou, original writer, her admirer and her friend, it was Eliza who
inspired thy works, and dictated to thee the most affecting pages of
them. Fortunate Sterne, thou art no more, and I am left behind. I wept
over thee with Eliza; thou wouldst weep over her with me; and had it
been the will of Heaven, that you had both survived me, your tears would
have fallen together upon my grave.
The men were used to say, that no woman had so many graces as Eliza: the
women said so too. They all praised her candour; they all extolled her
sensibility; they were all ambitious of the honour of her acquaintance.
The stings of envy were never pointed against unconscious merit.
Anjengo, it is to the influence of thy happy climate that she certainly
was indebted for that almost incompatible harmony of voluptuousness and
decency, which diffused itself over all her person, and accompanied all
her motions. A statuary who would have wished to represent
Voluptuousness, would have taken her for his model; and she would
equally have served for him who might have had a figure of Modesty to
display. Even the gloomy and clouded sky of England had not been able to
obscure the brightness of that aërial kind of soul, unknown in our
climates. In every thing that Eliza did, an irresistible charm was
diffused around her. Desire, but of a timid and bashful cast, followed
her steps in silence. Any man of courteousness alone must have loved
her, but would not have dared to own his passion.
I search for Eliza every where: I discover, I discern some of her
features, some of her charms, scattered among those women whose figure
is most interesting. But what is become of her who united them all?
Nature, who hast exhausted thy gifts to form an Eliza, didst thou create
her only for one moment? Didst thou make her to be admired for one
instant, and to be for ever regretted?
All who have seen Eliza, regret her. As for myself, my tears will never
cease to flow for her all the time I have to live. But is this
sufficient? Those who have known her tenderness for me, the confidence
she had bestowed upon me, will they not say to me, She is no more, and
yet thou livest.
Eliza intended to quit her country, her relations, her friends, to take
up her residence along with me, and spend her days in the midst of mine.
What happiness had I not promised to myself? What joy did I not expect,
from seeing her sought after by men of genius; and beloved by women of
the nicest taste? I said to myself, Eliza is young, and thou art near
thy latter end. It is she who will close thine eyes. Vain hope! Fatal
reverse of all human probabilities! My old age has been prolonged beyond
the days of her youth. There is now no person in the world existing for
me. Fate has condemned me to live, and die alone.
Eliza’s mind was cultivated, but the effects of this art were never
perceived. It had done nothing more than embellish nature; it served in
her, only to make the charm more lasting. Every instant increased the
delight she inspired; every instant rendered her more interesting. Such
is the impression she made in Europe. Eliza then was very beautiful? No,
she was simply beautiful:[54] but there was no beauty she did not
eclipse, because she was the only one that was like herself.
Eliza has written; and the men of her nation, whose works have been the
most abounding in elegance and taste, would not have disavowed the small
number of pages she has left behind her.
When I saw Eliza, I experienced a sensation unknown to me. It was too
warm to be no more than friendship; it was too pure to be love. Had it
been a passion, Eliza would have pitied me; she would have endeavoured
to bring me back to my reason, and I should have completely lost it.
Eliza used frequently to say, that she had a greater esteem for me than
for any one else. At present I may believe it.
In her last moments, Eliza’s thoughts were fixed upon her friend; and I
cannot write a line without having before me the monument she has left
me. Oh! that she could also have endowed my pen with her graces and her
virtue! Methinks, at least, I hear her say, “That stern muse that looks
at you, is History, whose awful duty it is to determine the opinion of
posterity. That fickle deity that hovers o’er the globe, is Fame, who
condescended to entertain us a moment about you; she brought me thy
works, and paved the way for our connection [_liaison_] by esteem.
Behold that phœnix immortal amidst the flames: it is the symbol of
Genius, which never dies. Let these emblems perpetually incite thee to
shew thyself the defender of HUMANITY, of TRUTH, and of LIBERTY.”
Eliza, from the highest Heaven, thy first and last country, receive my
oath: I SWEAR NOT TO WRITE ONE LINE IN WHICH THY FRIEND MAY NOT BE
RECOGNISED.[55]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes
-----
Footnote 1:
Quoted from the English translation in _The European Magazine_, March,
1784. Consult Raynal, _Histoire Philosophique et Politique_ (Book III,
new edition, Paris, 1780).
Footnote 2:
A vignette of the view was made for _The Mirror of Literature,
Amusement and Instruction_ (July 9, 1831).
Footnote 3:
Mrs. Draper called Sterne the Bramin in allusion to his priestly
character; and he kept up the fiction by addressing her as the
Bramine.
Footnote 4:
Compare the letters to Miss Lumley with the _Journal_ for April 15,
16, 19, 26.
Footnote 5:
Article on Sterne in the _Dictionary of National Biography_.
Footnote 6:
The London _Times_ for July 4.
Footnote 7:
No. CVIII in this edition.
Footnote 8:
_Seven Letters written by Sterne and his Friends_, edited by W.
Durrant Cooper (London, printed for private circulation, 1844). The
letter Thackeray thought blasphemous is evidently the one addressed to
John Hall-Stevenson from Coxwold on December 17, 1766.
Footnote 9:
See note to Letter CVIII.
Footnote 10:
_Cornhill Magazine_ for November 1860.
Footnote 11:
See Letter CXLIV.
Footnote 12:
_Athenæum_, 30 March, 1878.
Footnote 13:
For spurious letters, see the introduction to the first volume of
_Letters and Miscellanies_ in this edition.
Footnote 14:
From the original edition.
Footnote 15:
Lord Bathurst.
Footnote 16:
From the original edition.
Footnote 17:
The letters to Eliza are without date. The first letter belongs to
January, 1767; and the second to January or February; the last eight
were written during the week or thereabouts that preceded Mrs.
Draper’s departure for India (April 3, 1767).
Footnote 18:
Miss Light afterwards married George Stratton, Esq., in the service of
the East India Company at Madras.
Footnote 19:
A maker of musical instruments.
Footnote 20:
By the newspapers of the times it appears that the _Earl of Chatham_,
East Indiaman, sailed from Deal, April 3, 1767.
Footnote 21:
_The Journal to Eliza_, or _The Continuation of the Bramines
Journal_—Sterne’s phrase written above the first entry—is printed just
as Sterne left it, with its wild chronology and all its vagaries in
spelling and punctuation. This descriptive title-page, as well as the
_Journal_ itself, is in Sterne’s own hand.
Footnote 22:
The mistake in date is obvious.
Footnote 23:
Sunday fell on the 12th in April 1767.
Footnote 24:
Sterne evidently intended to write “for those my Imagination surrounds
thee with.”
Footnote 25:
One of the famous concerts at Carlisle House under the management of
Mrs. Theresa Cornelys.
Footnote 26:
Just as Sterne sometimes refers to himself as the Bramine, so he here
carelessly addresses Eliza as the Bramin.
Footnote 27:
Only the first clause can belong to the twenty-third.
Footnote 28:
A Sentimental Journey.
Footnote 29:
This is probably a slip for “certainly,” though Sterne may have
intended “for a certainty.”
Footnote 30:
This letter is probably lost. Consult Letter CXLI.
Footnote 31:
Sterne apparently intended “is quickly wrote in three words.”
Footnote 32:
Erasure.
Footnote 33:
Robert Hay Drummond. Consult Letters LXVI., LXXXIV., and CI.
Footnote 34:
Evidently a slip for _that_.
Footnote 35:
Dr. Jemmet Brown, whom Sterne met at Scarborough. Consult Letter CLV.
Footnote 36:
Consult Letter CLXIII.
Footnote 37:
Mr. Gibbs made this version from the rough draft.
Footnote 38:
Probably, Mr. Gibbs thought, Sir George Macartney, to whom Sterne
addressed Letter CLXII.
Footnote 39:
Some friend in England formerly in the Indian service.
Footnote 40:
The letters _ru_ in this word have been altered from something else.
Footnote 41:
The _c_ in this word has been altered from _s_.
Footnote 42:
A few lines of the manuscript are lost here.
Footnote 43:
Some lines are lost.
Footnote 44:
Thomas Hodges, Governour of Bombay (1767–71). His predecessor was
Charles Crommelin (1760–67).
Footnote 45:
Some lines are lost.
Footnote 46:
Sterne’s widow and daughter.
Footnote 47:
Thomas Becket, the publisher.
Footnote 48:
Here and elsewhere the manuscript is worn away.
Footnote 49:
In the manuscript “desired” is written above “hinted.”
Footnote 50:
Supply: “let me return to England.”
Footnote 51:
For the meaning of the sentence, substitute _if they_ for _in that_.
Footnote 52:
A daughter to the Drapers.
Footnote 53:
Probably an aunt to Mrs. Draper.
Footnote 54:
Eliza étoit donc très-belle? Non, elle n’étoit que belle.
Footnote 55:
For the original French, see the _Histoire Philosophique et Politique_
(new edition, Vol. II., Bk. III., 1780).
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ The footnotes have been gathered together and inserted at the end
of the text.
○ On page 115 the word “comon” and on page 187, the word “comands”
appeared with a tilde (˜)over the letter “m”. This probably was a
contraction of “mm” and it was replaced by those letters.
○ Many inconsistencies in dating were left as they appeared on the
printed page.
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ The use of a carat (^) before a letter, or letters, shows it was
intended to be a superscript abbreviation, as in “w^{ch}.” (which)
or “M^{rs.}” (Mrs.).
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).