You Are The Physician Of My Soul – Georgian Love Letters

I’ve received a request for more love letters!  Absolutely! I’m posting an affectionate correspondence from this book:

I think the book may have been published in 1777. There isn’t a clean text version of this book, so I’ve tried my best to catch all the wild punctuation and capitalizations, as well as clean up the long Ss. Have fun!

etter One

The Assurance of Love.  

Madam,

There is now no Minute of my Life that does not afford me some new Argument how much I love you. The little Joy I take in every Thing wherein you are not concerned; the pleasing Perplexity of endless Thought which I fall into, wherever you are brought to my Remembrance; and lastly, the continual Disquiet I am in, during Absence, convince me sufficiently, that do you Justice in loving you, so as Woman was never loved before.

I am, &.

Arturo Ricci

etter Two

From a Lover to a young Lady, expressing his Uneasiness at being obliged to behave to her with Indifference.

Dearest Belvidera,

 I hurried away from you, in order to be more with you than I could be where I then was; for your Uncle observed me in such a particular Manner, that I durst not so much as look at you: Nay, as he has a great deal of Discernment, I was afraid that very Affectation would betray me; for to be with you, and not to gaze on you, is so known an Impossibility, that a contrary Behaviour might well be suspected of Design. Consider how much a Person must endure, who, being almost famished with Thirst, beholds a clear delicious Stream, but dares not touch it, and you will be able to form some Idea of the Tortures I was in this Afternoon, when I was obliged to behave with Indifference to my dearest Belvidera. They say it is a great Addition to the Torments of Hell that the Inhabitants there are able to behold the Felicities of Heaven and cannot enjoy them and that was just my Case Today for my dearest Belvidera is my Heaven of Heavens. However, though I am absent from you, I have at least no Witness of my Passion, and the Pleasure of telling it to you only. How happy should I be could I persuade you of its real Violence, and that you are certainly the most unjust Person in the World if its Sincerity goes unrewarded.

I am your faithful Polydore.

Jean-Étienne Liotard

etter Three

From Belvidera to Polydore, acquainting him that she is going into the Country.

My Polydore,

Tomorrow I set out for the Country, and with no Regret I assure you, but that of leaving you. The Person I am going to, will be no Consolation to me; and therefore if I receive any Satisfaction in my Journey, it will be entirely owing to your Fidelity. Adieu, think of me, or forever forget what I promised you.

Belvidera

Arturo Ricci

etter Four

From Polydore to Belvidera, on being informed she was so ill as to be attended by a Physician.

 My dearest dearest Belvidera,

Consider the Excess of my Passion, and you will be able to guess how much I was shocked on being informed of your Illness. I am extremely impatient to know what Effect the Doctor’s Medicines have had upon my dear Patient. Heaven grant he may restore you speedily! I wish it were in the Power of the Physician to give you a Medicine that would convey you into my Arms as often as I wish it; and yet my Affection is of so pure a Nature that I could patiently endure even the Pain of your Absence, if I thought the Country would be of Service to you; but I am inclinable to think the Town would agree with you full as well, in this inclement Season: But of this you are better able to judge. But give me leave to make one Request, which is, that you will take care of yourself, for the Sake of one whose Happiness is centered in you alone.

 I am, my dearest Belvidera, ever thine.

Michel Garnier

etter Five

Belvidera’s Answer

My dearest Polydore,

I am so well convinced of your Sincerity, that my Bosom shall be no longer a Stranger to you: Know then that you are the Physician of my Soul, and it is in thy Power alone to cure all the Maladies of.

Belvidera

Jean-Étienne Liotard

etter Six

Polydore to Belvidera

My dearest dearest Belvidera!

I have provided a License and a Ring, to which if you have any Objection, I beg you will let me know it by the Return of the Post. But, if you approve of my Proceeding, your Silence will be a sufficient Testimony; and I will immediately repair to my dearest Belvidera, to take Possession of my only Treasure.

 I am thy anxious Polydore

Bovidira not answering his Letter, he went, as he proposed to celebrate the Nuptials; and they are now extremely happy in the Possession of each other.

Michel Garnier

The Subtle Art of Introductions in 1836

Today I’m excerpting from the chapter on introductions in The Laws Of Etiquette; Or, Short Rules And Reflections For Conduct In Society, by A Gentleman, published in 1836 in Philadelphia. I had created a draft of this post and then dashed off on an errand. I smiled when my car playlist appropriately started playing Meghan’s Trainor’s “No”, which is about a woman shutting down a rando guy when he approaches her.  

You may find some of the Gentleman’s advice to be hopelessly antiquated or mildly offensive (as usual, I’ve edited out the more egregious passages.) However, some of his counsel is still applicable today.

A gentleman should not be presented to a lady without her permission being previously asked and granted. This formality is not necessary between men alone; but, still, you should not present any one, even at his own request, to another, unless you are quite well assured that the acquaintance will be agreeable to the latter. You may decline upon the ground of not being sufficiently intimate yourself. A man does himself no service with another when he obliges him to know people whom he would rather avoid.

If you are walking down the street in company with another person, and stop to say something to one of your friends, or are joined by a friend who walks with you for a long time, do not commit the too common, but most flagrant error, of presenting such persons to one another. Never present morning visitors to one another, who happen to meet in your parlour without being acquainted. If you should be so presented, remember that the acquaintance afterwards goes for nothing; you have not the slightest right to expect that the other will ever speak to you. But observe, that in all such cases you should converse with the stranger as if you knew him perfectly well; you are to consider him an acquaintance for the nonce.

When two Americans, who “have not been introduced,” meet in some public place, as in a theatre, a stagecoach, or a steamboat, they will sit for an hour staring in one another’s faces, but without a word of conversation. This form of unpoliteness has been adopted from the English, and it is as little worthy of imitation as the form of their government. Good sense and convenience are the foundations of good breeding; and it is assuredly vastly more reasonable and more agreeable to enjoy a passing gratification when no sequent evil is to be apprehended than to be rendered uncomfortable by an ill-founded pride. It is, therefore, better to carry on an easy and civil conversation. A snuff-box, or some polite accommodation rendered, may serve for an opening. Talk only about generalities, – the play, the roads, the weather. Avoid speaking of persons or politics, for, if the individual is of the opposite party to yourself, you will be engaged in a controversy: if he holds the same opinions, you will be overwhelmed with a flood of vulgar intelligence, which may soil your mind. Be reservedly civil while the colloquy lasts, and let the acquaintance cease with the occasion.

If you see a lady whom you do not know, unattended, and wanting the assistance of a man, offer your services to her immediately. Do it with great courtesy, taking off your hat and begging the honour of assisting her. This precept, although universally observed in France, is constantly violated in England and America by the demi-bred, perhaps by all but the thorough-bred. The “mob of gentlemen” in this country seem to act in these cases as if a gentleman ipso facto ceased to be a MAN, and as if the form of presentation was established to prevent intercourse and not to increase it. Charles Lamb’s phrase, “a human gentleman,” was, after all, no great tautology.

Check it out! This book was owned by William Smith in 1837.