_[Paris] Feb. 19 [1795]._
When I first received your letter, putting off your return to an
indefinite time, I felt so hurt, that I know not what I wrote. I am now
calmer, though it was not the kind of wound over which time has the
quickest effect; on the contrary, the more I think, the sadder I grow.
Society fatigues me inexpressibly--So much so, that finding fault with
every one, I have only reason enough, to discover that the fault is in
myself. My child alone interests me, and, but for her, I should not take
any pains to recover my health.
As it is, I shall wean her, and try if by that step (to which I feel a
repugnance, for it is my only solace) I can get rid of my cough.
Physicians talk much of the danger attending any complaint on the lungs,
after a woman has suckled for some months. They lay a stress also on the
necessity of keeping the mind tranquil--and, my God! how has mine be
harrassed! But whilst the caprices of other women are gratified, "the wind
of heaven not suffered to visit them too rudely," I have not found a
guardian angel, in heaven or on earth, to ward off sorrow or care from my
bosom.
What sacrifices have you not made for a woman you did not respect!--But I
will not go over this ground--I want to tell you that I do not understand
you. You say that you have not given up all thoughts of returning
here--and I know that it will be necessary--nay, is. I cannot explain
myself; but if you have not lost your memory, you will easily divine my
meaning. What! is our life then only to be made up of separations? and am
I only to return to a country, that has not merely lost all charms for me,
but for which I feel a repugnance that almost amounts to horror, only to
be left there a prey to it!
Why is it so necessary that I should return?--brought up here, my girl
would be freer. Indeed, expecting you to join us, I had formed some plans
of usefulness that have now vanished with my hopes of happiness.
In the bitterness of my heart, I could complain with reason, that I am
left here dependent on a man, whose avidity to acquire a fortune has
rendered him callous to every sentiment connected with social or
affectionate emotions.--With a brutal insensibility, he cannot help
displaying the pleasure your determination to stay gives him, in spite of
the effect it is visible it has had on me.
Till I can earn money, I shall endeavour to borrow some, for I want to
avoid asking him continually for the sum necessary to maintain me.--Do not
mistake me, I have never been refused.--Yet I have gone half a dozen times
to the house to ask for it, and come away without speaking--you must guess
why--Besides, I wish to avoid hearing of the eternal projects to which
you have sacrificed my peace--not remembering--but I will be silent for
ever.----