He was much dejected during the first day’s journey, which I made a short one, as I saw the expedition of our travelling increased his uneasiness. A profound silence was observed on both sides; on my part, the rather, as I am sensible that ill-timed condolence only imbitters violent affliction. Coldness and indifference easily find words, but silent sorrow is in those cases the language of true friendship. I began yesterday to perceive the first sparks of the fury which naturally succeeded. At dinner time we had been scarce a quarter of an hour out of the chaise, before he turned to me, with an air of impatience, and asked me with an ill-natured smile, why we rested a moment so near Eloisa? In the evening he affected to be very talkative, but without saying a word of her, asking the same questions over and over again. He wanted one moment to know if we had reached the French territories, and the next if we should soon arrive at Vevey. The first thing he did at every stage was to sit down to write a letter, which he rumpled up, or tore to pieces, the moment afterwards. I picked up two or three of these blotted fragments, by which you may judge of the situation of his mind. I believe, however, he has by this time written a compleat letter.----The extravagance which these first symptoms of passion threaten is easily foreseen; but I cannot pretend to guess what will be its effect, or how long may be its continuance; these depend on a combination of circumstances, as the character of the man, the degree and nature of his passion, and of a thousand things which no human sagacity can determine. For my part, I can answer for the transports of his rage, but not for the sullenness of his despair; for, do as we will, every man has always his life in his own power. I flatter myself, however, that he will pay a due regard to his life and my assiduities; though I depend less on the effects of my zeal, which nevertheless shall be exerted to the utmost, than on the nature of his passion, and the character of his mistress. The mind cannot long employ itself in contemplating a beloved object, without contracting a disposition similar to what it admires. The extreme sweetness of Eloisa’s temper must therefore have softened the harshness of that passion it inspired; and I doubt not but love, in a man of such lively passions, is always more alive and violent than it would be in others. I have some dependence also upon his heart: it was formed to struggle, and to conquer. A love like his is not so much a weakness, as strength badly exerted. A violent and unhappy passion may smother for a time, perhaps for ever, some of his faculties; but it is itself a proof of their excellence, and of the use that may be made of them to cultivate his understanding. The sublimest wisdom is attained by the same vigour of mind which gives rise to the violent passions; and philosophy must be attained by as fervent a zeal as that which we feel for a mistress.