I suppose, that I am now writing with somebody in the room with me, and
---- is waiting to carry this to Mr. ----'s. I will then kiss the girl
for you, and bid you adieu.
I desired you, in one of my other letters, to bring back to me your
barrier-face--or that you should not be loved by my barrier-girl. I know
that you will love her more and more, for she is a little affectionate,
intelligent creature, with as much vivacity, I should think, as you could
wish for.
I was going to tell you of two or three things which displease me here;
but they are not of sufficient consequence to interrupt pleasing
sensations. I have received a letter from Mr. ----. I want you to bring
----with you. Madame S---- is by me, reading a German translation of your
letters--she desires me to give her love to you, on account of what you
say of the negroes.
Yours most affectionately,
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXV.
Paris, Sept. 28.
I HAVE written to you three or four letters; but different causes have
prevented my sending them by the persons who promised to take or forward
them. The inclosed is one I wrote to go by B----; yet, finding that he
will not arrive, before I hope, and believe, you will have set out on
your return, I inclose it to you, and shall give it in charge to ----, as
Mr. ---- is detained, to whom I also gave a letter.
I cannot help being anxious to hear from you; but I shall not harrass you
with accounts of inquietudes, or of cares that arise from peculiar
circumstances.--I have had so many little plagues here, that I have
almost lamented that I left H----. ----, who is at best a most helpless
creature, is now, on account of her pregnancy, more trouble than use to
me, so that I still continue to be almost a slave to the child.--She
indeed rewards me, for she is a sweet little creature; for, setting aside
a mother's fondness (which, by the bye, is growing on me, her little
intelligent smiles sinking into my heart), she has an astonishing degree
of sensibility and observation. The other day by B----'s child, a fine
one, she looked like a little sprite.--She is all life and motion, and
her eyes are not the eyes of a fool--I will swear.
I slept at St. Germain's, in the very room (if you have not forgot) in
which you pressed me very tenderly to your heart.--I did not forget to
fold my darling to mine, with sensations that are almost too sacred to
be alluded to.
Adieu, my love! Take care of yourself, if you wish to be the protector of
your child, and the comfort of her mother.
I have received, for you, letters from --------. I want to hear how that
affair finishes, though I do not know whether I have most contempt for
his folly or knavery.
Your own
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXVI.
October 1.
IT is a heartless task to write letters, without knowing whether they
will ever reach you.--I have given two to ----, who has been a-going,
a-going, every day, for a week past; and three others, which were written
in a low-spirited strain, a little querulous or so, I have not been able
to forward by the opportunities that were mentioned to me. _Tant mieux!_
you will say, and I will not say nay; for I should be sorry that the
contents of a letter, when you are so far away, should damp the pleasure
that the sight of it would afford--judging of your feelings by my own. I
just now stumbled on one of the kind letters, which you wrote during your
last absence. You are then a dear affectionate creature, and I will not
plague you. The letter which you chance to receive, when the absence is
so long, ought to bring only tears of tenderness, without any bitter
alloy, into your eyes.
After your return I hope indeed, that you will not be so immersed in
business, as during the last three or four months past--for even money,
taking into the account all the future comforts it is to procure, may be
gained at too dear a rate, if painful impressions are left on the
mind.--These impressions were much more lively, soon after you went away,
than at present--for a thousand tender recollections efface the
melancholy traces they left on my mind--and every emotion is on the same
side as my reason, which always was on yours.--Separated, it would be
almost impious to dwell on real or imaginary imperfections of
character.--I feel that I love you; and, if I cannot be happy with you, I
will seek it no where else.
My little darling grows every day more dear to me--and she often has a
kiss, when we are alone together, which I give her for you, with all my
heart.
I have been interrupted--and must send off my letter. The liberty of the
press will produce a great effect here--the _cry of blood will not be
vain_!--Some more monsters will perish--and the Jacobins are
conquered.--Yet I almost fear the last slap of the tail of the beast.
I have had several trifling teazing inconveniencies here, which I shall
not now trouble you with a detail of.--I am sending ---- back; her
pregnancy rendered her useless. The girl I have got has more vivacity,
which is better for the child.
I long to hear from you.--Bring a copy of ---- and ---- with you.
---- is still here: he is a lost man.--He really loves his wife, and is
anxious about his children; but his indiscriminate hospitality and social
feelings have given him an inveterate habit of drinking, that destroys
his health, as well as renders his person disgusting.--If his wife had
more sense, or delicacy, she might restrain him: as it is, nothing will
save him.
Yours most truly and affectionately
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXVII.
October 26.
MY dear love, I began to wish so earnestly to hear from you, that the
sight of your letters occasioned such pleasurable emotions, I was obliged
to throw them aside till the little girl and I were alone together; and
this said little girl, our darling, is become a most intelligent little
creature, and as gay as a lark, and that in the morning too, which I do
not find quite so convenient. I once told you, that the sensations before
she was born, and when she is sucking, were pleasant; but they do not
deserve to be compared to the emotions I feel, when she stops to smile
upon me, or laughs outright on meeting me unexpectedly in the street, or
after a short absence. She has now the advantage of having two good
nurses, and I am at present able to discharge my duty to her, without
being the slave of it.
I have therefore employed and amused myself since I got rid of ----, and
am making a progress in the language amongst other things. I have also
made some new acquaintance. I have almost _charmed_ a judge of the
tribunal, R----, who, though I should not have thought it possible, has
humanity, if not _beaucoup d'esprit_. But let me tell you, if you do not
make haste back, I shall be half in love with the author of the
_Marseillaise_, who is a handsome man, a little too broad-faced or so,
and plays sweetly on the violin.
What do you say to this threat?--why, _entre nous_, I like to give way to
a sprightly vein, when writing to you, that is, when I am pleased with
you. "The devil," you know, is proverbially said to be "in a good humour,
when he is pleased." Will you not then be a good boy, and come back
quickly to play with your girls? but I shall not allow you to love the
new-comer best.
-- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- --
My heart longs for your return, my love, and only looks for, and seeks
happiness with you; yet do not imagine that I childishly wish you to come
back, before you have arranged things in such a manner, that it will not
be necessary for you to leave us soon again; or to make exertions which
injure your constitution.
Yours most truly and tenderly
* * * *
P.S. "You would oblige me by delivering the inclosed to Mr. ----, and
pray call for an answer.--It is for a person uncomfortably situated.
* * * * *
LETTER XXVIII.
Dec. 26.
I HAVE been, my love, for some days tormented by fears, that I would not
allow to assume a form--I had been expecting you daily--and I heard that
many vessels had been driven on shore during the late gale.--Well, I now
see your letter--and find that you are safe; I will not regret then that
your exertions have hitherto been so unavailing.
-- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- --
Be that as it may, return to me when you have arranged the other matters,
which ---- has been crowding on you. I want to be sure that you are
safe--and not separated from me by a sea that must be passed. For,
feeling that I am happier than I ever was, do you wonder at my sometimes
dreading that fate has not done persecuting me? Come to me, my dearest
friend, husband, father of my child!--All these fond ties glow at my
heart at this moment, and dim my eyes.--With you an independence is
desirable; and it is always within our reach, if affluence escapes
us--without you the world again appears empty to me. But I am recurring
to some of the melancholy thoughts that have flitted across my mind for
some days past, and haunted my dreams.
My little darling is indeed a sweet child; and I am sorry that you are
not here, to see her little mind unfold itself. You talk of "dalliance;"
but certainly no lover was ever more attached to his mistress, than she
is to me. Her eyes follow me every where, and by affection I have the
most despotic power over her. She is all vivacity or softness--yes; I
love her more than I thought I should. When I have been hurt at your
stay, I have embraced her as my only comfort--when pleased with you, for
looking and laughing like you; nay, I cannot, I find, long be angry with
you, whilst I am kissing her for resembling you. But there would be no
end to these details. Fold us both to your heart; for I am truly and
affectionately
Yours
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXIX.
December 28.
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
I do, my love, indeed sincerely sympathize with you in all your
disappointments.--Yet, knowing that you are well, and think of me with
affection, I only lament other disappointments, because I am sorry that
you should thus exert yourself in vain, and that you are kept from me.
------, I know, urges you to stay, and is continually branching out into
new projects, because he has the idle desire to amass a large fortune,
rather an immense one, merely to have the credit of having made it. But
we who are governed by other motives, ought not to be led on by him. When
we meet, we will discuss this subject--You will listen to reason, and it
has probably occurred to you, that it will be better, in future, to
pursue some sober plan, which may demand more time, and still enable you
to arrive at the same end. It appears to me absurd to waste life in
preparing to live.
Would it not now be possible to arrange your business in such a manner
as to avoid the inquietudes, of which I have had my share since your
departure? Is it not possible to enter into business, as an employment
necessary to keep the faculties awake, and (to sink a little in the
expressions) the pot boiling, without suffering what must ever be
considered as a secondary object, to engross the mind, and drive
sentiment and affection out of the heart?
I am in a hurry to give this letter to the person who has promised to
forward it with ------'s. I wish then to counteract, in some measure,
what he has doubtless recommended most warmly.
Stay, my friend, whilst it is _absolutely_ necessary.--I will give you no
tenderer name, though it glows at my heart, unless you come the moment
the settling the _present_ objects permit.--_I do not consent_ to your
taking any other journey--or the little woman and I will be off, the Lord
knows where. But, as I had rather owe every thing to your affection, and,
I may add, to your reason, (for this immoderate desire of wealth, which
makes ------ so eager to have you remain, is contrary to your principles
of action), I will not importune you.--I will only tell you, that I long
to see you--and, being at peace with you, I shall be hurt, rather than
made angry, by delays.--Having suffered so much in life, do not be
surprised if I sometimes, when left to myself, grow gloomy, and suppose
that it was all a dream, and that my happiness is not to last. I say
happiness, because remembrance retrenches all the dark shades of the
picture.
My little one begins to show her teeth, and use her legs--She wants you
to bear your part in the nursing business, for I am fatigued with dancing
her, and yet she is not satisfied--she wants you to thank her mother for
taking such care of her, as you only can.
Yours truly
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXX.
December 29.
THOUGH I suppose you have later intelligence, yet, as ------ has just
informed me that he has an opportunity of sending immediately to you, I
take advantage of it to inclose you
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
How I hate this crooked business! This intercourse with the world, which
obliges one to see the worst side of human nature! Why cannot you be
content with the object you had first in view, when you entered into this
wearisome labyrinth?--I know very well that you have imperceptibly been
drawn on; yet why does one project, successful or abortive, only give
place to two others? Is it not sufficient to avoid poverty?--I am
contented to do my part; and, even here, sufficient to escape from
wretchedness is not difficult to obtain. And, let me tell you, I have my
project also--and, if you do not soon return, the little girl and I will
take care of ourselves; we will not accept any of your cold
kindness--your distant civilities--no; not we.
This is but half jesting, for I am really tormented by the desire which
------ manifests to have you remain where you are.--Yet why do I talk to
you?--If he can persuade you--let him!--for, if you are not happier with
me, and your own wishes do not make you throw aside these eternal
projects, I am above using any arguments, though reason as well as
affection seems to offer them--if our affection be mutual, they will
occur to you--and you will act accordingly.
Since my arrival here, I have found the German lady, of whom you have
heard me speak. Her first child died in the month; but she has another,
about the age of my ------, a fine little creature. They are still but
contriving to live----earning their daily bread--yet, though they are
but just above poverty, I envy them.--She is a tender, affectionate
mother--fatigued even by her attention.--However she has an affectionate
husband in her turn, to render her care light, and to share her pleasure.
I will own to you that, feeling extreme tenderness for my little girl, I
grow sad very often when I am playing with her, that you are not here, to
observe with me how her mind unfolds, and her little heart becomes
attached!--These appear to me to be true pleasures--and still you suffer
them to escape you, in search of what we may never enjoy.--It is your own
maxim to "live in the present moment."--_If you do_--stay, for God's
sake; but tell me the truth--if not, tell me when I may expect to see
you, and let me not be always vainly looking for you, till I grow sick at
heart.
Adieu! I am a little hurt.--I must take my darling to my bosom to comfort
me.
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXXI.
December 30.
SHOULD you receive three or four of the letters at once which I have
written lately, do not think of Sir John Brute, for I do not mean to wife
you. I only take advantage of every occasion, that one out of three of my
epistles may reach your hands, and inform you that I am not of ------'s
opinion, who talks till he makes me angry, of the necessity of your
staying two or three months longer. I do not like this life of continual
inquietude--and, _entre nous_, I am determined to try to earn some money
here myself, in order to convince you that, if you chuse to run about the
world to get a fortune, it is for yourself--for the little girl and I
will live without your assistance, unless you are with us. I may be
termed proud--Be it so--but I will never abandon certain principles of
action.
The common run of men have such an ignoble way of thinking, that, if they
debauch their hearts, and prostitute their persons, following perhaps a
gust of inebriation, they suppose the wife, slave rather, whom they
maintain, has no right to complain, and ought to receive the sultan,
whenever he deigns to return, with open arms, though his have been
polluted by half an hundred promiscuous amours during his absence.
I consider fidelity and constancy as two distinct things; yet the former
is necessary, to give life to the other--and such a degree of respect do
I think due to myself, that, if only probity, which is a good thing in
its place, brings you back, never return!--for, if a wandering of the
heart, or even a caprice of the imagination detains you--there is an end
of all my hopes of happiness--I could not forgive it, if I would.
I have gotten into a melancholy mood, you perceive. You know my opinion
of men in general; you know that I think them systematic tyrants, and
that it is the rarest thing in the world, to meet with a man with
sufficient delicacy of feeling to govern desire. When I am thus sad, I
lament that my little darling, fondly as I doat on her, is a girl.--I am
sorry to have a tie to a world that for me is ever sown with thorns.
You will call this an ill-humoured letter, when, in fact, it is the
strongest proof of affection I can give, to dread to lose you. ------ has
taken such pains to convince me that you must and ought to stay, that it
has inconceivably depressed my spirits--You have always known my
opinion--I have ever declared, that two people, who mean to live
together, ought not to be long separated.--If certain things are more
necessary to you than me--search for them--Say but one word, and you
shall never hear of me more.--If not--for God's sake, let us struggle
with poverty--with any evil, but these continual inquietudes of business,
which I have been told were to last but a few months, though every day
the end appears more distant! This is the first letter in this strain
that I have determined to forward to you; the rest lie by, because I was
unwilling to give you pain, and I should not now write, if I did not
think that there would be no conclusion to the schemes, which demand, as
I am told, your presence.
* * * *[91-A]
* * * * *
LETTER XXXII.
January 9.
I JUST now received one of your hasty _notes_; for business so entirely
occupies you, that you have not time, or sufficient command of thought,
to write letters. Beware! you seem to be got into a whirl of projects and
schemes, which are drawing you into a gulph, that, if it do not absorb
your happiness, will infallibly destroy mine.
Fatigued during my youth by the most arduous struggles, not only to
obtain independence, but to render myself useful, not merely pleasure,
for which I had the most lively taste, I mean the simple pleasures that
flow from passion and affection, escaped me, but the most melancholy
views of life were impressed by a disappointed heart on my mind. Since I
knew you, I have been endeavouring to go back to my former nature, and
have allowed some time to glide away, winged with the delight which only
spontaneous enjoyment can give.--Why have you so soon dissolved the
charm?
I am really unable to bear the continual inquietude which your and
------'s never-ending plans produce. This you may term want of
firmness--but you are mistaken--I have still sufficient firmness to
pursue my principle of action. The present misery, I cannot find a softer
word to do justice to my feelings, appears to me unnecessary--and
therefore I have not firmness to support it as you may think I ought. I
should have been content, and still wish, to retire with you to a
farm--My God! any thing, but these continual anxieties--any thing but
commerce, which debases the mind, and roots out affection from the heart.
I do not mean to complain of subordinate inconveniences----yet I will
simply observe, that, led to expect you every week, I did not make the
arrangements required by the present circumstances, to procure the
necessaries of life. In order to have them, a servant, for that purpose
only, is indispensible--The want of wood, has made me catch the most
violent cold I ever had; and my head is so disturbed by continual
coughing, that I am unable to write without stopping frequently to
recollect myself.--This however is one of the common evils which must be
borne with----bodily pain does not touch the heart, though it fatigues
the spirits.
Still as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, I have
determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my child.--It is too
soon for her to begin to divide sorrow!--And as one has well said,
"despair is a freeman," we will go and seek our fortune together.
This is not a caprice of the moment--for your absence has given new
weight to some conclusions, that I was very reluctantly forming before
you left me.--I do not chuse to be a secondary object.--If your feelings
were in unison with mine, you would not sacrifice so much to visionary
prospects of future advantage.
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXXIII.
Jan. 15.
I WAS just going to begin my letter with the fag end of a song, which
would only have told you, what I may as well say simply, that it is
pleasant to forgive those we love. I have received your two letters,
dated the 26th and 28th of December, and my anger died away. You can
scarcely conceive the effect some of your letters have produced on me.
After longing to hear from you during a tedious interval of suspense, I
have seen a superscription written by you.--Promising myself pleasure,
and feeling emotion, I have laid it by me, till the person who brought
it, left the room--when, behold! on opening it, I have found only half a
dozen hasty lines, that have damped all the rising affection of my soul.
Well, now for business--
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
My animal is well; I have not yet taught her to eat, but nature is doing
the business. I gave her a crust to assist the cutting of her teeth; and
now she has two, she makes good use of them to gnaw a crust, biscuit, &c.
You would laugh to see her; she is just like a little squirrel; she will
guard a crust for two hours; and, after fixing her eye on an object for
some time, dart on it with an aim as sure as a bird of prey--nothing can
equal her life and spirits. I suffer from a cold; but it does not affect
her. Adieu! do not forget to love us--and come soon to tell us that you
do.
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXXIV.
Jan. 30.
FROM the purport of your last letters, I would suppose that this will
scarcely reach you; and I have already written so many letters, that you
have either not received, or neglected to acknowledge, I do not find it
pleasant, or rather I have no inclination, to go over the same ground
again. If you have received them, and are still detained by new projects,
it is useless for me to say any more on the subject. I have done with it
for ever--yet I ought to remind you that your pecuniary interest suffers
by your absence.
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
For my part, my head is turned giddy, by only hearing of plans to make
money, and my contemptuous feelings have sometimes burst out. I therefore
was glad that a violent cold gave me a pretext to stay at home, lest I
should have uttered unseasonable truths.
My child is well, and the spring will perhaps restore me to myself.--I
have endured many inconveniences this winter, which should I be ashamed
to mention, if they had been unavoidable. "The secondary pleasures of
life," you say, "are very necessary to my comfort:" it may be so; but I
have ever considered them as secondary. If therefore you accuse me of
wanting the resolution necessary to bear the _common_[100-A] evils of
life; I should answer, that I have not fashioned my mind to sustain them,
because I would avoid them, cost what it would----
Adieu!
* * * *
* * * * *
LETTER XXXV.
February 9.
THE melancholy presentiment has for some time hung on my spirits, that we
were parted for ever; and the letters I received this day, by Mr. ----,
convince me that it was not without foundation. You allude to some other
letters, which I suppose have miscarried; for most of those I have got,
were only a few hasty lines, calculated to wound the tenderness the sight
of the superscriptions excited.
I mean not however to complain; yet so many feelings are struggling for
utterance, and agitating a heart almost bursting with anguish, that I
find it very difficult to write with any degree of coherence.