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 _Ma.r.s.eillaise_, 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 const.i.tution.
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 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
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 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
LETTER x.x.x.
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.