Part 9 (1/2)

_[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 G.o.d! how has mine be harra.s.sed! 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.----

LETTER x.x.xVIII

_[Havre] April 7 [1795]._

Here I am at Havre, on the wing towards you, and I write now, only to tell you, that you may expect me in the course of three or four days; for I shall not attempt to give vent to the different emotions which agitate my heart--You may term a feeling, which appears to me to be a degree of delicacy that naturally arises from sensibility, pride--Still I cannot indulge the very affectionate tenderness which glows in my bosom, without trembling, till I see, by your eyes, that it is mutual.

I sit, lost in thought, looking at the sea--and tears rush into my eyes, when I find that I am cheris.h.i.+ng any fond expectations.--I have indeed been so unhappy this winter, I find it as difficult to acquire fresh hopes, as to regain tranquillity.--Enough of this--lie still, foolish heart!--But for the little girl, I could almost wish that it should cease to beat, to be no more alive to the anguish of disappointment.

Sweet little creature! I deprived myself of my only pleasure, when I weaned her, about ten days ago.--I am however glad I conquered my repugnance.--It was necessary it should be done soon, and I did not wish to embitter the renewal of your acquaintance with her, by putting it off till we met.--It was a painful exertion to me, and I thought it best to throw this inquietude with the rest, into the sack that I would fain throw over my shoulder.--I wished to endure it alone, in short--Yet, after sending her to sleep in the next room for three or four nights, you cannot think with what joy I took her back again to sleep in my bosom!

I suppose I shall find you, when I arrive, for I do not see any necessity for your coming to me.--Pray inform Mr. ----, that I have his little friend with me.--My wis.h.i.+ng to oblige him, made me put myself to some inconvenience----and delay my departure; which was irksome to me, who have not quite as much philosophy, I would not for the world say indifference, as you. G.o.d bless you!

Yours truly MARY.

LETTER x.x.xIX

_Brighthelmstone, Sat.u.r.day, April 11 [1795]._

Here we are, my love, and mean to set out early in the morning; and, if I can find you, I hope to dine with you to-morrow.--I shall drive to ----'s hotel, where ---- tells me you have been--and, if you have left it, I hope you will take care to be there to receive us.

I have brought with me Mr. ----'s little friend, and a girl whom I like to take care of our little darling--not on the way, for that fell to my share.--But why do I write about trifles?--or any thing?--Are we not to meet soon?--What does your heart say?

Yours truly MARY.