The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay Part 7

LETTER XXVIII

_[Paris] Dec. 26 [1794]._

I have been, my love, for some days tormented by fears, that I would not allow to a.s.sume a form--I had been expecting you daily--and I heard that many vessels had been driven on sh.o.r.e 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 pa.s.sed. 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, MARY.

LETTER XXIX

_[Paris] December 28 [1794]._

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 ama.s.s 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, MARY.

LETTER x.x.x

_[Paris] December 29 [1794]._

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 f.a.n.n.y, 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 G.o.d'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.

MARY.

LETTER x.x.xI

_[Paris] December 30 [1794]._

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 a.s.sistance, 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 ign.o.ble way of thinking, that, if they debauch their hearts, and prost.i.tute 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 G.o.d'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.

MARY.[9]

LETTER x.x.xII

_[Paris] January 9 [1795]._

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 pa.s.sion 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 G.o.d! any thing, but these continual anxieties--any thing but commerce, which debases the mind, and roots out affection from the heart.