I received both your Monday letters before I wrote the inclosed,
which, however, I send you. The kind letter was written and sent
Friday morning, and I did not receive yours till Saturday noon. To
speak truth, you would never have had it else; there were so many
things in yours to put me out of humor. Thus, you see, it was on no
design to repair anything that offended you. You only show me how
industrious you are to find faults in me: why will you not suffer me
to be pleased with you?
I would see you if I could (tho perhaps it may be wrong); but in the
way that I am here, 'tis impossible. I can't come to town but in
company with my sister-in-law: I can carry her nowhere but where she
pleases; or if I could, I would trust her with nothing. I could not
walk out alone without giving suspicion to the whole family; should I
be watched, and seen to meet a man--judge of the consequences!
You speak of treating with my father, as if you believed he would come
to terms afterward. I will not suffer you to remain in the thought,
however advantageous it might be to me; I will deceive you in nothing.
I am fully persuaded he will never hear of terms afterward. You may
say, 'tis talking oddly of him. I can't answer to that; but 'tis my
real opinion, and I think I know him. You talk to me of estates, as if
I was the most interested woman in the world. Whatever faults I may
have shown in my life, I know not one action in it that ever proved me
mercenary. I think there can not be a greater proof to the contrary
than my treating with you, where I am to depend entirely upon your
generosity, at the same time that I may have settled on me £500 per
annum pin-money, and a considerable jointure, in another place; not to
reckon that I may have by his temper what command of his estate I
please: and with you I have nothing to pretend to. I do not, however,
make a merit to you: money is very little to me, because all beyond
necessaries I do not value that is to be purchased by it. If the man
proposed to me had £10,000 per annum, and I was sure to dispose of it
all, I should act just as I do. I have in my life known a good deal of
show, and never found myself the happier for it.
In proposing to you to follow the scheme proposed by that friend, I
think 'tis absolutely necessary for both our sakes. I would have you
want no pleasure which a single life would afford you. You own you
think nothing so agreeable. A woman that adds nothing to a man's
fortune ought not to take from his happiness. If possible, I would add
to it; but I will not take from you any satisfaction you could enjoy
without me. On my own side, I endeavor to form as right a judgment of
the temper of human nature, and of my own in particular, as I am
capable of. I would throw off all partiality and passion, and be calm
in my opinion. Almost all people are apt to run into a mistake, that
when they once feel or give a passion, there needs nothing to
entertain it. This mistake makes, in the number of women that inspire
even violent passions, hardly one preserve one after possession. If we
marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another; 'tis
principally my concern to think of the most probable method of making
that love eternal. You object against living in London: I am not fond
of it myself, and readily give it up to you; tho I am assured there
needs more art to keep a fondness alive in solitude, where it
generally preys upon itself.
There is one article absolutely necessary: to be ever beloved, one
must ever be agreeable. There is no such thing as being agreeable
without a thorough good-humor, a natural sweetness of temper,
enlivened by cheerfulness. Whatever natural funds of gaiety one is
born with, 'tis necessary to be entertained with agreeable objects.
Anybody capable of tasting pleasure when they confine themselves to
one place, should take care 'tis the place in the world the most
agreeable. Whatever you may now think (now, perhaps, you have some
fondness for me), tho your love should continue in its full force
there are hours when the most beloved mistress would be troublesome.
People are not forever (nor is it in human nature that they should be)
disposed to be fond; you would be glad to find in me the friend and
the companion. To be agreeably the last, it is necessary to be gay and
entertaining. A perpetual solitude, in a place where you see nothing
to raise your spirits, at length wears them out, and conversation
insensibly becomes dull and insipid. When I have no more to say to
you, you will like me no longer.
How dreadful is that view! You will reflect for my sake you have
abandoned the conversation of a friend that you liked, and your
situation in a country where all things would have contributed to make
your life pass in (the true _volupté_) a smooth tranquillity. I shall
lose the vivacity which should entertain you, and you will have
nothing to recompense you for what you have lost. Very few people that
have settled entirely in the country, but have grown at length weary
of one another. The lady's conversation generally falls into a
thousand impertinent effects of idleness; and the gentleman falls in
love with his dogs and his horses, and out of love with everything
else. I am not now arguing in favor of the town: you have answered me
as to that point.
In respect of your health, 'tis the first thing to be considered, and
I shall never ask you to do anything injurious to that. But 'tis my
opinion, 'tis necessary, to be happy, that we neither of us think any
place more agreeable than that where we are. I have nothing to do in
London; and 'tis indifferent to me if I never see it more. I know not
how to answer your mentioning gallantry, nor in what sense to
understand you: whomever I marry, when I am married I renounce all
things of the kind. I am willing to abandon all conversation but
yours; I will part with anything for you, but you. I will not have you
a month, to lose you for the rest of my life. If you can pursue the
plan of happiness begun with your friend, and take me for that friend,
I am ever yours. I have examined my own heart whether I can leave
everything for you; I think I can: if I change my mind, you shall know
before Sunday; after that I will not change my mind.
If 'tis necessary for your affairs to stay in England, to assist your
father in his business, as I suppose the time will be short, I would
be as little injurious to your fortune as I can, and I will do it. But
I am still of opinion nothing is so likely to make us both happy as
what I propose. I foresee I may break with you on this point, and I
shall certainly be displeased with myself for it, and wish a thousand
times that I had done whatever you pleased; but, however, I hope I
shall always remember how much more miserable than anything else
would make me, should I be to live with you and to please you no
longer. You can be pleased with nothing when you are not pleased with
your wife. One of the "Spectators" is very just that says, "A man
ought always to be upon his guard against spleen and a too severe
philosophy; a woman, against levity and coquetry." If we go to Naples,
I will make no acquaintance there of any kind, and you will be in a
place where a variety of agreeable objects will dispose you to be ever
pleased. If such a thing is possible, this will secure our everlasting
happiness; and I am ready to wait on you without leaving a thought
behind me.