And, though I
cannot dry up the fountain of her tears, what an exquisite
sensation is there still left, in wiping them away from off the
cheeks of the first and fairest of women, as I'm sitting with my
handkerchief in my hand in silence the whole night beside her?
There was nothing wrong in the sentiment; and yet I instantly
reproached my heart with it in the bitterest and most reprobate of
expressions.
It had ever, as I told the reader, been one of the singular
blessings of my life, to be almost every hour of it miserably in
love with some one; and my last flame happening to be blown out by
a whiff of jealousy on the sudden turn of a corner, I had lighted
it up afresh at the pure taper of Eliza but about three months
before, - swearing, as I did it, that it should last me through the
whole journey. - Why should I dissemble the matter? I had sworn to
her eternal fidelity; - she had a right to my whole heart: - to
divide my affections was to lessen them; - to expose them was to
risk them: where there is risk there may be loss: - and what wilt
thou have, Yorick, to answer to a heart so full of trust and
confidence - so good, so gentle, and unreproaching!
- I will not go to Brussels, replied I, interrupting myself. - But
my imagination went on, - I recalled her looks at that crisis of our
separation, when neither of us had power to say adieu! I look'd at
the picture she had tied in a black riband about my neck, - and
blush'd as I look'd at it. - I would have given the world to have
kiss'd it, - but was ashamed. - And shall this tender flower, said I,
pressing it between my hands, - shall it be smitten to its very
root, - and smitten, Yorick! by thee, who hast promised to shelter
it in thy breast?
Eternal Fountain of Happiness! said I, kneeling down upon the
ground, - be thou my witness - and every pure spirit which tastes it,
be my witness also, That I would not travel to Brussels, unless
Eliza went along with me, did the road lead me towards heaven!
In transports of this kind, the heart, in spite of the
understanding, will always say too much.
THE LETTER. AMIENS.
Fortune had not smiled upon La Fleur; for he had been unsuccessful
in his feats of chivalry, - and not one thing had offered to
signalise his zeal for my service from the time that he had entered
into it, which was almost four-and-twenty hours. The poor soul
burn'd with impatience; and the Count de L-'s servant coming with
the letter, being the first practicable occasion which offer'd, La
Fleur had laid hold of it; and, in order to do honour to his
master, had taken him into a back parlour in the auberge, and
treated him with a cup or two of the best wine in Picardy; and the
Count de L-'s servant, in return, and not to be behindhand in
politeness with La Fleur, had taken him back with him to the
Count's hotel.
