We cannot help imagining that your friend Clerval conceals
the extent of your disorder: for it is now several months since we have
seen your hand-writing; and all this time you have been obliged to
dictate your letters to Henry. Surely, Victor, you must have been
exceedingly ill; and this makes us all very wretched, as much so nearly
as after the death of your dear mother. My uncle was almost persuaded
that you were indeed dangerously ill, and could hardly be restrained
from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. Clerval always writes that you
are getting better; I eagerly hope that you will confirm this
intelligence soon in your own hand-writing; for indeed, indeed, Victor,
we are all very miserable on this account. Relieve us from this fear,
and we shall be the happiest creatures in the world. Your father’s
health is now so vigorous, that he appears ten years younger since last
winter. Ernest also is so much improved, that you would hardly know him:
he is now nearly sixteen, and has lost that sickly appearance which he
had some years ago; he is grown quite robust and active. “My uncle and I conversed a long time last night about what profession
Ernest should follow. His constant illness when young has deprived him
of the habits of application; and now that he enjoys good health, he is
continually in the open air, climbing the hills, or rowing on the lake. I therefore proposed that he should be a farmer; which you know, Cousin,
is a favourite scheme of mine. A farmer’s is a very healthy happy life;
and the least hurtful, or rather the most beneficial profession of any. My uncle had an idea of his being educated as an advocate, that through
his interest he might become a judge. But, besides that he is not at all
fitted for such an occupation, it is certainly more creditable to
cultivate the earth for the sustenance of man, than to be the confidant,
and sometimes the accomplice, of his vices; which is the profession of a
lawyer. I said, that the employments of a prosperous farmer, if they
were not a more honourable, they were at least a happier species of
occupation than that of a judge, whose misfortune it was always to
meddle with the dark side of human nature. My uncle smiled, and said,
that I ought to be an advocate myself, which put an end to the
conversation on that subject. “And now I must tell you a little story that will please, and perhaps
amuse you. Do you not remember Justine Moritz? Probably you do not; I
will relate her history, therefore, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her
mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father; but, through a
strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and, after the
death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed this; and,
when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow
her to live at her house. The republican institutions of our country
have produced simpler and happier manners than those which prevail in
the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less distinction
between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the lower orders
being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are more refined
and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant
in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned the
duties of a servant; a condition which, in our fortunate country, does
not include the idea of ignorance, and a sacrifice of the dignity of a
human being. “After what I have said, I dare say you well remember the heroine of my
little tale: for Justine was a great favourite of your’s; and I
recollect you once remarked, that if you were in an ill-humour, one
glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto
gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so frank-hearted and
happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, by which she was
induced to give her an education superior to that which she had at
first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most
grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any
professions, I never heard one pass her lips; but you could see by her
eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition
was gay, and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest
attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all
excellence, and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so
that even now she often reminds me of her. “When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own
grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness
with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other
trials were reserved for her. “One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the
exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience
of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the deaths of her
favourites was a judgment from heaven to chastise her partiality. She
was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea
which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure
for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother. Poor
girl! she wept when she quitted our house: she was much altered since
the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning mildness to
her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her
residence at her mother’s house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The
poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged
Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of
having caused the deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting
at length threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased
her irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the
first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has returned to us; and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is
very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her
mien and her expressions continually remind me of my dear aunt. “I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling
William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with
sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eye-lashes, and curling hair. When he
smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with
health. He has already had one or two little _wives_, but Louisa Biron
is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age. “Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip
concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has
already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage
with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon,
married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn.