The first shock to the happiness of Carlile and Isis was caused by the
receipt of a letter from her brother which induced the following:--
"Health and Tranquillity! A letter from Bolton has at length found its
way to London, and my bosom is bursting with indignation and sorrow,
with indignation for the contemptible and satirical style and manner
in which the letter is written; and sorrow for a parent's suffering. My
God! what shall I do? Leave you, my dear Richard, I cannot, it would be
death to me and your hopes, and your and my cause. My own hopes are that
mother is not so ill as represented, and that they have written in such
a strain to induce me to give up my purpose. What must I do? Oh! how I
wish that you were at liberty to advise and comfort me. I am quite alone
in this large place. David wished to go out with Thomas, and I could
not refuse, 'tis the first time the request was made. Mrs. Hudson merely
gave me the letter and then went out again; all is shut up and I feel
to want your presence so much. Oh! Richard, I think my heart will burst,
that cruel, taunting, unkind, insulting letter. I could have forgiven
him if it had not contained the distressing intelligence of my mother's
illness (inconsiderate, unfeeling wretch, you have not written in haste,
but must have sat and premeditated every word, so-that you might doubly
wound, doubly wring my over-whelmed heart). My dear Richard, what must I
do? You are all the world to me, yet I cannot divest myself of those
feelings which are now almost too much for me to bear. Were I to return
home to-morrow it would perhaps avail nothing, and the idea is madness
itself to me. You must forgive me, Richard, for troubling you with my
grief and sorrow; but methinks my brain will turn if I do not give you a
little of them. Remember you are my friend, my husband, and never did I
require your love, your care so much as now. My brother has probed to my
heart's core, by heaven, I think I shall never forgive him. I will never
again write to him. He shall never hear from me. I will write to my
sister to-morrow; how I feel for her, poor Maria. My heart is torn with
contending emotion. I long to go home for mother's sake and Maria's, but
for my own sake I wish to remain with you. I feel quite assured that if
I return home that I shall never see you again, and what say you to
that? Are you willing to relinquish your Isis, your bride? Oh Richard,
do endeavor for my sake to obtain your liberty. I will endeavor to be
all that you can wish. I will strive to equal Miss F. Wright. My eyes
are quite swollen with tears, the first I have shed since I came to
town. I wish much to breakfast with you this morning, but really I am
afraid the Governor will think my visits too frequent. I, however, hope
to see you some part of the day and to hear from you early in the
morning. I am afraid, my dear Richard, you will think me very weak, very
unlike a philosopher. It was only to-day I was boasting of courage and
firmness. I cannot but think that empty vessels make the greatest sound.
"Good Night."
After this it was agreed between Carlile and Isis that she should return
home for a short visit and satisfy herself as to her mother's condition,
and to ease her mother's mind as to her own well-being, which certainly
was the wisest thing to do. In the following letter she takes leave of
Carlile for a time:--
"Of all men the most intelligent and the most beloved! When you receive
this note I shall be in person many miles distant, but united in heart,
in thought, in corresponding sentiment, in mind, in soul, in mutual love
and affection. These are the two first days that we have been separated,
that we have been taken away from each other; and although I am writing
this before my departure, because there will be no opportunity of
sending during my absence, I can very easily anticipate what my feeling
and disposition will be on. Sunday morning. I shall be surrounded by
friends anxious to make me comfortable, and they will wear a smile upon
their faces; but my bosom will pant for him whom it has-been accustomed
to meet, and whom it adores. It will pant for its accustomed embrace
from him on whom my eyes gaze with pleasure and delight, him whose
features shine with perfect integrity, with confidential affection, with
intelligence, with candor, with conscious dignity, with friendship, with
reciprocal love, and with manly beauty. My attachment becomes stronger
every day. The more I see and know of you the more I admire, love, and
esteem you, and the more reluctant I am to be absent one moment from
you. Oh! may it be always thus. In twenty years may we embrace each
other in tried affection, and again renew our engagement of everlasting
fidelity, honesty, and truth. I sincerely love you, and flatter myself
that my absence will be a little regretted to-day, the day on which I
shall request David to convey this note. Let us be happy in the kind
assurance of each other's love; let us bless each other with a free,
affable, and corresponding deportment towards each other. Let us
strengthen each other so as to be able to contend with existing evils,
but let us never deviate one moment from our principles. Let not the
presence of the Misses Laws on Sunday make you to forget me. Remember,
my love, that now I have a double claim to your protection, to your
assistance, to your kind protection, to your solicitude, to your love.
Oh! do be faithful, be constant, do not encourage a thought to arise
that will, in the least, stem the torrent of affection with which my
bosom is overflowing.
"I hope ere this your cold is better. Do, my dear Richard, take care
of yourself. The name of Richard is doubly dear to me; my father, my
beloved father's name was Richard, and now my husband's, my lover's name
is Richard. I love to dwell upon it. Adieu, most valued, most beloved of
men. God bless you, my philosopher!"
This little visit to Bolton relieved the mind of Isis of some anxiety
in regard to the mother she had so abruptly left, and convinced also the
mother that the determination to follow the course she had mapped out
for herself was no idle purpose, but one of principle and duty. Besides,
she was wholly linked to Carlile in spirit, in principle, in the object
to be attained, in business, and in the strongest bond of all--that of
love. As she said herself, "Her spirit was wedded to the spirit of her
husband before she had spoken to him". With him was life, without
him was death. Probably never before had a prison witnessed such an
exhibition of awakening love and almost perfect happiness. To Isis it
was not only the opening up of the fountain of knowledge, but that of
love also, and seldom have those two all-powerful streams been more
beautifully and more fittingly blended. Their agreement was that they
should make the best marriage contract that could be made at that time,
that she should unite her name with his and be known as Mrs. Sharples
Carlile, her private signature to be Elizabeth Sharples Carlile, and the
public announcement of their moral marriage to be made immediately upon
his liberation from the Giltspur Street Compter, which was then in early
prospect. But the action of the authorities in refusing her admission to
the gaol caused an earlier explanation of the facts of the association
to be made, and was understood by all their private friends. It was
not, however, till May 29th, 1834, that it was publicly announced in the
dedication of the first volume of the _Isis_. An outbreak of cholera in
the city of London gave to the authorities of the gaol an excuse to keep
out all visitors. This was truly an unexpected blow to both, but to
poor Isis it was almost a killing blow. Carlile had to find courage and
fortitude for them both. The letters that passed daily between them were
of the most affectionate character, and Isis poured out her soul in love
and adoration through them. Unfortunately for the better sequence of
this correspondence, many of Carlile's letters have been lost, but
enough remains to show the character of it. It is very difficult to
arrange these letters in proper order, owing to the fact that they were
not dated, being exchanged by bearers or messengers making regular
trips once or twice a day. It is only by a searching out of dates and
of facts, otherwise known, that it is possible to place them with any
degree of accuracy or fitness.
This love which Isis poured out so lavishly was of the old-fashioned
kind, of happily an old-fashioned time: the time when women had no other
avenue for their pent-up feelings or ambitions, the only avenue which
opened up for them except their church, their sewing, or their household
cares, their dresses or their gossips; when they were wholly dependent
upon their relatives for their support; when no diplomas awaited their
eager studies; when the luxury of self-earned money was unknown to them;
when the curse of Puritan propriety was laid on them, when a skip or a
jump was a crime against young ladyhood; when all the possibilities of
the present age were undreamed of, and women were bound by the iron
rule of precedent and respectability. Even our poor Isis was only in a
transitional state, and had much to unlearn and overcome.
Here are some extracts from her letters of that time:--
"Your letter to me of to-day is really a most delightful one. I have
read it over and over again, pressed it as frequently to my lips and
blessed its author. I feel the value of your friendship most fervently,
and feel myself happy in your choice. How kind, how very kind and
considerate is your behaviour toward me. Believe me, your acquaintance
is duly appreciated, and expect and hope that twenty years hence our
feelings and affection will be still the same. I feel that mine will
never change, whatever fortune may allot me. I am very much in arrears
with you in letter writing. I believe a bankruptcy will have to take
place, at least a compromise. I send you an _Observer_, loaf sugar, and
a little tea, as much as can be afforded this evening. Heaven bless you,
my love, anchor of my affection and my hope, solace and comfort of my
life, inferior to none and without an equal."
"The light-fingered goddess to her friend and beloved companion. You
desire me to be happy; and you, my friend, a prisoner. Be really happy,
you say. Think of my situation for a moment, and then you will be led
to exclaim, 'No, poor girl, I must make her happy, her happiness will
depend upon me '. I am waiting, oh! how anxiously, for your
liberation, and then, and not till then shall I be able to say, 'I am
happy'."
"Happiness!
"There was only one object wanting to render Mr. Owen's institution a
perfect paradise. The company was very numerous, being, I suppose, about
2,000 individuals in attendance, upon whose countenances joy, health and
happiness seemed to beam. Oh! what folly to look beyond this world for
heaven, I thought, as I gazed upon the happy throng. Oh! that man would
become rational, make, for it is in his power, a heaven upon the earth;
instead of which, like the dog in the fable, he is grasping at a shadow
and losing the substance. Oh! that man would cease to be inconsistent,
that he would cease to act so contrary to reason and common sense by
soaring above his comprehension and understanding in search of that
which is in his immediate possession. My evening's amusement was greatly
enhanced by the introductions which took place between myself and
several of the delegates, particularly those who came from Lancashire. I
was introduced as the 'Lady Isis', and was indeed warmly, and I may say
affectionately, received. My fame, they were pleased to say, had spread
abroad in Lancashire, and the co-operators were anxiously awaiting the
time when you and I could pay them a visit. Your name being introduced,
and with so much ardor and respect, afforded me additional pleasure. Two
or three were requested by the society to see you, if possible, and are
calling to-day at Fleet Street in order to be taken by me to prison.
What think you, love, must I attend them or send Mullins? You must
decide. Do say yes, because remember I did not see you yesterday. I
promise not to stay a moment with you; and I really have a great deal to
say, for I have seen a gentleman from Bolton who heard a sermon preached
in our church on the Farce day, and all about me. Now must not I come
just while I tell you the news? The hour appointed for the two gent.'s
to call here is one o'clock. Now, love, if you think it will be more
prudent to remain at my post, I will submit cheerfully, although
to-morrow I may not see you. My visit to the amiable Misses Laws must be
deferred to-morrow, I cannot go and lecture too. Mr. Smith is going, he
told me. I saw Mr. Prout last evening, and had a nice chat with him. I
have sent you a number of the _Co-operative Society_. I thought of
filling up this bit of paper, but Thomas is waiting. Adieu."
"Now, love, I have just a moment to spare. I assure you that with the
exception of the short time it took to prepare your little dinner, my
absence from the shop has not amounted to more than half-an-hour. The
dinner was rather late, in consequence of my being detained in the shop.
I did not fidget about it, because I felt desirous that you should have
time to enjoy it. Oh, my dearest Richard, excuse me, but really I must
mention the subject that lays nearest and dearest to my heart first,
my separation from you; everything else sinks into nothingness in
comparison of that greatest of all evils and troubles and trials--my
separation; overcome this point, and I will be happy and cheerful and
gay. On the contrary, I am sure, I shall not survive a month. It
is nonsense to preach patience and philosophy, I'll not hear it, my
patience is exhausted and all my philosophy falls to the ground. All
my thoughts, all my hopes tend towards seeing you on Sunday. If I am
disappointed, I shall bid farewell to all hope. You must insist upon
seeing me just once to explain matters of business, etc., etc. Oh,
dear, I will see you. Indeed, I must! Now, love, the second trouble. I
have sent to Standige's, and they very politely said L15 would satisfy
them until next week. I have sent the L15, so let your mind be at ease
on that point. Do, do, Richard, if you love me, obtain me an interview;
it will reward me for a world of pain and suffering. You know not how
this separation presses upon my heart, and to-morrow--But I will not
anticipate anything unfavorable, you, I know dear, you will do your
best. I wish I was Miss Newell* for a day or two. Copeland is waiting,
love. I send you a _Crisis_ and two oranges, in haste. Bless you. Good
night, my beloved, my honored Richard. I hope we shall yet be happy."
* Miss Newell was the artist who painted the portrait of
Carlile while in the Compter. She begged and received
permission to paint the portraits of Carlile and Rev. Robert
Taylor, and gave them each a painting, and kept one of each
for herself. Carlile was so pleased with his own that he
urged her to paint the portrait of Isis. But this, she said.
"was a different matter, and she should require her regular
fee of ten guineas". This was agreed upon, and she painted
the picture of Isis. These portraits are as fresh and
beautiful to-day as they were when painted over 60 years
ago, and are copied for this work. Necessarily the copies
lose much of the beauty of the painting, as the delicate
beauty of the coloring is all lost. It is most noticeable in
that of Isis, in whose complexion the purity of the lily and
the warmth of the rose were marvellously blended. The
abundant hair curled naturally, and was of a soft pale
auburn. The eyes a violet blue, with a mild but intelligent
expression. The head, features, and face were of perfectly
harmonious outline, each part perfect in itself, and perfect
as a whole. The figure, too, was naturally perfect, tall,
and slender, with a very graceful carriage; shoulders thrown
well back and head well poised. Her neck and shoulders were
beautifully moulded, and her waist, though innocent of stays
or corsets, measured but 18 inches. Her hands were very
beautiful, with long slender fingers, and the skin of such
delicate texture as to appear transparent. In after years it
was a favorite amusement of her children to try and look
through their mother's hand by holding it up to the sun or
lamp. Add to this that she was well bred, well educated,
well read, and possessed of a fine singing and speaking
voice. She was very neat and stylish in her dress, and it
was no wonder then that she turned the heads of many of the
younger men of liberal principles at the Rotunda, when she
stepped upon the rostrum to fill the gap made by the
imprisonment of Carlile and Rev. Robert Taylor.
And now comes another style of letter.
"Isis to her well-beloved Richard--'Happiness'.
"I was surprised by a visit from two ladies last night after nine
o'clock, and who do you think they were? Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Brooks,
they wondered what had become of me, and felt anxious to know. Mr. Owen
has likewise been very punctual in his enquiries, and wishes much to see
me."
Phrenologically speaking, her head was said to be the exact counterpart
of that of Lafayette, and the similarity was often alluded to by
lecturers on the then new and fashionable study of phrenology. While
this has been said frequently, the writer thinks a mistake has been
made, for having recently seen photographs of the death mask of
Lafayette, she can detect no similarity. The head of Isis was purely
feminine in form; one cannot say this of the head of the French general,
if these masks be genuine.
Mrs. Robinson mentioned Friday for my first visit, and I inadvertently
agreed to go, where I shall have the pleasure of being introduced to
other members and Owenites. Let me be wherever I may, my heart is always
with you. I never am so happy as when with you, and allow me, again and
again, to assure you of my love, friendship, and esteem. My hope is,
Richard, that you will survive me, after twenty years' engagement, that
you will receive my last sigh, that my latest breath will be received on
your affectionate bosom; the firm reliance that I have on your honor and
character gives strength to my love. I feel that you are the best man
in the world, and I the most favored woman. I want my lecture for this
evening, to study. When may I expect the one for Sunday? You are really
worked to death, and I am ashamed of myself. What can I send you, love?"
"Pardon for my neglect. I have been busily engaged in reading the
discourse for last Sunday evening, which has afforded me infinite
pleasure. I really think, love, it is superior to any of the former
ones, and much regret that I had not an opportunity of delivering it.
How beautifully sentimental in all its passages. I am pleased beyond
measure. The paragraph, particularly, commencing with 'Let me again and
again impress upon your minds that there can be no error in a well-spent
life', I admire. I am glad to hear of your good health and spirits. May
they always remain tranquil. Copeland is waiting with the newspapers,
and I must not detain him. Must I visit you to-morrow? I hope so;
if not, I will ask Mrs. Smith to accompany me in a walk to-morrow
afternoon. My heart is aching."
Carlile wanted Isis to become a philosophical lover, and had written her
something to that effect, which called forth the following letter:--
"Why, my dear, this very paragraph alone is sufficient to turn the
argument in my favor. You say that you should have by right given me
on the first onset five or seven years of hard study in philosophy; and
then again you say, perhaps had you done so, I should ere this have run
away, you not being so situated as to be able to lock me up, or I should
have died. Does not that prove that there is nothing charming about
philosophy; or why fear me? I am enamored with love. I love with all my
heart, with all my mind, and with all my soul, and with all my strength.
I very soon found out the beauties of love; I have experienced the
delightful sensation that love produces. I have felt its power; I have
received its cheering influence, and have drank deep draughts from the
fountain of love. In vain have I been endeavoring to find out the charms
of this divine philosophy. The charms of love presented themselves
immediately to my view. But no, like the glorious Constitution of
England, its charms are lost, are hidden, and the more you become
acquainted with either the more anxious are you to run away from both.
Such is the impression that remains still upon the mind. And your
letter, believe me, has advocated the cause of love more ardently than
even mine did, for one word in favor of philosophy you have bestowed
twenty in favor of love. 'Tis true, indeed, the first sheet of paper
was entirely occupied with the subject of love. The commencement of the
second sheet, says, 'How charming is divine philosophy, not dull and
crabbed. It is the perfection of love, and to this I want to bring you.'
Then again you fall into full strain and sing the praises and glories of
love. I confess myself that I have never been a philosopher, because
I saw nothing in it to admire. I saw everything in love, and I want to
become a scientific lover--not a philosopher, but an unequalled lover,
a paragon of perfection, of constancy, and of faithful love--pure,
uncontaminated, unsophisticated, unmixed, natural love. Love sincere
and true wants not the aid of philosophy; does not want any restraint
and will not bear it, it cannot long exist in thraldom. It must be free
as the air we breathe. It will not be told that it must love thus far
and no further. No, no, that will never do. I do not say that it is to
be indulged in to the injury of other duties or claims; that it is
to satiate itself. No, that would be a mere carnal passion, an animal
propensity, and a profanation to call it love. It is not the love I
feel, not the kind of love that I am pleading the cause of: I want a
love, virtuous and pure, but still unbounded. When we talk of moderate
love, philosophical love, etc., it amounts to nothing. There is no
such a thing as a moderate true lover. Pray tell me how do you like a
moderate reformer? 'Tis just the same. A Whig, a half and half sort of a
Radical. Nay, the subject will not bear the comparison. I am an out
and out Republican, an enemy to kings, priests and lords, and have not
patience to hear anyone talk of being a politician when his head is
stuffed up with superstition. And how in the name of wonder can you
preach philosophy to me in my present situation, surrounded as I am by
almost insurmountable difficulties? If I had only one very large one
to overcome then I might listen with some degree of patience to-your
preaching and entreaties. But then I have a thousand little troubles,
real troubles, besides all my imaginary ones, and they are numberless.
And I have one as huge as a mountain, our separation. Ah! none of your
philosophy for me, I make no account of it, Diogenes (I don't know if
I am correct in spelling the name, but you will understand to whom I
allude). He might very comfortably preach philosophy he having nothing
to do with the practice of it--no-cares, no troubles, no nothing upon
his mind, and really he had nothing to engross his time but to roll an
old tub about and write moral sentences and philosophy. I tell you what,
Richard Carlile, I will make this agreement with you, that if you will
consent to my going into the country and taking up my abode in some
sequestered spot, far from the busy haunts of men, I will become all
you wish me to be, quite a philosopher in petticoats; I will write
pastorals. I shall then have no annoyances; I will even try to forget
you for a time. I think a few years' study would make me perfect, quite
inanimate. You say, 'imitate me'. I cannot, you're a man, and Richard
Carlile. Can the ass ever inherit the strength of the horse? Can
weakness ever become strength? Can woman become man? Can I change my
nature? I respect, I admire, I esteem, I love where I find it impossible
to imitate. You are an exception, and where you point out yourself as
an example you do not give me fair play. We are now in the nineteenth
century, and you cannot find me one dignified woman as an example. I
only ask you for one. I shall enter more fully into this subject again,
if I am allowed. I have not written well today. I was much pleased with
your effusion of love. I will not accept you as a father, as an example.
I am almost inclined to think that I am jealous of your superiority of
character over mine, and am aiming at being a more jealous lover than
you. Love is a delightful study; I feel and know it to be so, and shall
never be less a lover than now. I find the passion to grow upon me, and
I am not a wild-fire. You say let there be no more nonsense, and that
you do not like that foolish kind of love, wild and romantic. It is not
good nor lasting. Why, then, did you arouse, by your kindness, by your
attention, by your example, by everything but precept, my affection to
such a pitch of love? You have endeavored by every inducement that lay
in your power to implant the seed of love in my bosom, and now, when you
see the fruits, you are alarmed, you are distressed. What! did you not
know human nature better than to expect patience? Ah, you may talk, you
may preach, you may pretend, you may assume an angry appearance, you
may threaten; but it will not do. Now pray tell me, if you can, I say
mention but the name of one individual in whom the two passions have
been encouraged, in whose heart philosophy and love have taken up their
abode at one and the same time. I am young in philosophy, and yet you
are angry because I am not a sage. You are angry and distressed because
I have paid more regard to your example than to your preaching. I knew
a priest once that said: 'Do not do as I do, but do as I say.' Now there
was honesty. Well, well, you are, you may be a philosopher. I know
that in every affair that concerns us in the way of business and in the
generality of human affairs, that you are bold and honest, just, calm
and patient under the most trying circumstances. Cool, courageous, and
mild under disappointments and perplexities and difficulties, in fact
that you are a philosopher in everything but love. You may smile and
say I am mistaken. I tell you that I am right in my calculation, in
my conjecture; come, come, be honest on this point, give your love a
favorable answer. Yes, say, love me in your own way, that is, tenderly
and affectionately; love me and never mind philosophy. You blame me.
How in the name of heaven can you expect me to be reasonable in such a
dilemma, between snow and heat, between two such extremes, and one
is pulling me one way and the other is dragging me in an opposite
direction? Decide, Richard Carlile, will you have your Isis, a wild,
romantic, erring, loving, kind, affectionate creature, sometimes weak
and making you a little angry at times, hoping, fearing, sincere,
faithful, changeable, warmhearted, kind, generous, thoughtful but
grateful, thankful for your kindness and sensible of your worth, say,
will you have me a woman, or will you have me a philosopher? Whichever
character you prefer, I will become that one. As a philosopher I will
not smile, I will view every change with philosophic indifference and
exclaim with Pope, 'Whatever is, is right'. My heart shall never be
overburdened with care, my countenance never change, I will neither
laugh nor cry, sorrow shall not make me weep, misfortune shall not
affect me, and when I again behold you I shall be a stoic: no expression
of love or of pleasure, no exhibition of feeling, no, no, that would be
disgraceful, my character would suffer. Charming philosophy! No, love,
I tell you again I cannot be both, that the two characters cannot
be associated in the same person, and I defy you to point out one
example--say 'Imitate this philosophical love, encouraging, admirable
woman!' And should you do so, should you happen to have hit upon one
female in the course of your deep reading and researches, I would
immediately tell you that she had not a lover in prison, and if she had
that she was not prohibited from occasionally beholding and conversing
with him; and if she was, that she was not within a few days of being a
mother, and if she was that she did not live at 62, Fleet Street; that
she had not to fear a despicable Whig Government; that she did not fear
for her lover's safety, and if she did, that her love did never equal
mine; and if, after encountering all these perplexities she could boast
calm fortitude and philosophical love and indifference, I do not envy,
do not wish to be possessed of such feeling. Ah, Richard, have not
wisdom, strength and power fled when love gains possession of the heart?
Of what use was Solomon's wisdom or Samson's strength? Where then was
philosophy? 'Tis nonsense to talk of both. Such a doctrine fails when
it comes to be put in practice, and you know it only you want honesty,
philosophy and love. You must be both. I will be both, but it must be
when our child is born; it must be the hero; I still must remain what I
am, a mere woman.
"Living in a retired, quiet spot of ground, having your mind at ease,
your wants supplied, and your wishes gratified, that is the hour, then
is the time to talk philosophically. I got into a little fit of love
this morning. I begged Miss Philosophy to help me over it, but the cross
old maiden lady used me very ill, just as you would fancy a cross old
maiden lady treating a young, lovely girl of twenty, did this maid
treat me. I thought of you, and then I was uneasy. I thought again
philosophically; then by way of a little stimulant, I rummaged for that
very ugly letter you sent me the week before we were separated. You must
remember it. A 'to be burnt' letter you called it. It assisted my bit
of philosophy most wonderfully. Do you remember the contents of that
letter? Oh, this letter has assisted my philosophy most wonderfully.
I almost think that if I received a note for admission in the compter
to-morrow morning, that I should have magnanimity of soul sufficient
for a Seneca's wife. Now what say you? I will have you make a choice.
No both. Must I practise love? I will adhere to either of the two
characters but not to both. I shall spoil myself and be neither one nor
the other. Make a choice, oh! make a choice. Pure nature's feeling for
me, altho' I may err 'tis not of the heart; let me be thought weak and
irresolute. I perhaps am so, but I never hoped to be called unfeeling.
Must your Isis love you or must she not? that is the question; or must
she assume an indifference that she does not feel: a cold, calculating,
philosophical, dignified indifference? Come, make a choice; oh, make a
choice; philosophy or love?"