Yours most affectionately,
T. Grenville.
MR. THOMAS GRENVILLE TO LORD TEMPLE.
Paris, July 9th, 1782.
My Dearest Brother,
Your letter was given to me last night, and since I have been able to read I never felt so much agitated. I hastily send back the messenger, but he carries with him a letter to Lord Shelburne, in which I formally request my immediate recal.
My dear brother, you do not know my situation, or you would see in the first instant, as you will so soon as I can speak to you, that if I continued at Paris, I should be the meanest and most contemptible wretch that was ever born into the world; I should falsify my word, I should betray my honour, I should repay the confidence that was reposed in me with the most cowardly treachery, I should disgrace every feeling that is honourable and respectable between man and man. I have no choice; my immediate return is as much a duty and obligation upon me as can in human society be laid upon one who would not renounce the character of a gentleman. Judge, then, of the distressful situation I must have been in at the time of decyphering your last lines, and judge how sacred and indispensable those circumstances must be, that do not give me even room to hesitate in a difficulty of so much delicacy. I love you, my dearest brother, with the truest and sincerest affection; my pride and ambition are ten-fold more gratified in your situation of life than in any that could be mine; nor, so help me God! do I think there is an interest, an advantage, present or future, that I would not gladly sacrifice for you, if it could add one step to your greatness; but you love me too well not to shrink at the thought of my disgracing myself, and a fouler disgrace there could not be, than I should inevitably incur by staying at Paris as Minister.
One part of my difficulty you see already; it is that I dare not write even in cypher, what would save me all the embarrassment of this letter, and you the uneasiness of its obscurity, till I see you. My dear brother, reflect, if it is not too late, upon the opinions we have held in common, upon the judgment we have formed in common, of the rectitude and integrity of some men, and the utter and absolute want of it in others. Recollect, if it is possible, the uneasiness that you felt, the doubt that you expressed and I made light of, in the very last conversations we had together. Think over all that might have happened, and be persuaded that all has; think over the most pleasing parts of your last letter, and be persuaded that a few plain words, whenever I see you, will make you blot it out with indignation. But above all, I do conjure you, in the most solemn terms, to guard against expressing the surmises this letter may suggest to you, and to drop no word of suspicion or jealousy till I see you. The caution of this letter—to which I dare not add a cypher, however it must grieve me to speak to you in the dark—every circumstance, must show you how deeply my honour, how much more deeply than human wisdom could apprehend, my honour is involved in this business.
One word more, though I think every minute an hour till the messenger is gone. Trust me till you hear me; and above all, if you are applied to persuade me to stay, do not think of so doing; it may make the delay of one post, and that will hurt me; it can do no more.
God Almighty bless you, my dearest brother; a warmer affection no man can bear you. Think of all my impatience to see you, and do not forget that in pressing my recal, you do me a more essential and honourable service than you know. Once more, God bless you, my dearest brother.