_[Laurvig, Norway] July 14 [1795]._
I am now on my journey to Tonsberg. I felt more at leaving my child, than
I thought I should--and, whilst at night I imagined every instant that I
heard the half-formed sounds of her voice,--I asked myself how I could
think of parting with her for ever, of leaving her thus helpless?
Poor lamb! It may run very well in a tale, that "God will temper the winds
to the shorn lamb!" but how can I expect that she will be shielded, when
my naked bosom has had to brave continually the pitiless storm? Yes; I
could add, with poor Lear--What is the war of elements to the pangs of
disappointed affection, and the horror arising from a discovery of a
breach of confidence, that snaps every social tie!
All is not right somewhere!--When you first knew me, I was not thus lost.
I could still confide--for I opened my heart to you--of this only comfort
you have deprived me, whilst my happiness, you tell me, was your first
object. Strange want of judgment!
I will not complain; but, from the soundness of your understanding, I am
convinced, if you give yourself leave to reflect, you will also feel, that
your conduct to me, so far from being generous, has not been just.--I mean
not to allude to factitious principles of morality; but to the simple
basis of all rectitude.--However I did not intend to argue--Your not
writing is cruel--and my reason is perhaps disturbed by constant
wretchedness.
Poor ---- would fain have accompanied me, out of tenderness; for my
fainting, or rather convulsion, when I landed, and my sudden changes of
countenance since, have alarmed her so much, that she is perpetually
afraid of some accident.--But it would have injured the child this warm
season, as she is cutting her teeth.
I hear not of your having written to me at Stromstad. Very well! Act as
you please--there is nothing I fear or care for! When I see whether I
can, or cannot obtain the money I am come here about, I will not trouble
you with letters to which you do not reply.