I write in a hurry, because the little one, who has been sleeping a long time, begins to call for me. Poor thing! when I am sad, I lament that all my affections grow on me, till they become too strong for my peace, though they all afford me s.n.a.t.c.hes of exquisite enjoyment--This for our little girl was at first very reasonable--more the effect of reason, a sense of duty, than feeling--now, she has got into my heart and imagination, and when I walk out without her, her little figure is ever dancing before me.
You too have somehow clung round my heart--I found I could not eat my dinner in the great room--and, when I took up the large knife to carve for myself, tears rushed into my eyes.--Do not however suppose that I am melancholy--for, when you are from me, I not only wonder how I can find fault with you--but how I can doubt your affection.
I will not mix any comments on the inclosed (it roused my indignation) with the effusion of tenderness, with which I a.s.sure you, that you are the friend of my bosom, and the prop of my heart.
LETTER XXII.
H--, August 20.
I WANT to know what steps you have taken respecting ----. Knavery always rouses my indignation--I should be gratified to hear that the law had chastised ------ severely; but I do not wish you to see him, because the business does not now admit of peaceful discussion, and I do not exactly know how you would express your contempt.
Pray ask some questions about Tallien--I am still pleased with the dignity of his conduct.--The other day, in the cause of humanity, he made use of a degree of address, which I admire--and mean to point out to you, as one of the few instances of address which do credit to the abilities of the man, without taking away from that confidence in his openness of heart, which is the true basis of both public and private friendship.
Do not suppose that I mean to allude to a little reserve of temper in you, of which I have sometimes complained! You have been used to a cunning woman, and you almost look for cunning--Nay, in _managing_ my happiness, you now and then wounded my sensibility, concealing yourself, till honest sympathy, giving you to me without disguise, lets me look into a heart, which my half-broken one wishes to creep into, to be revived and cherished.----You have frankness of heart, but not often exactly that overflowing (_epanchement de coeur_), which becoming almost childish, appears a weakness only to the weak.
But I have left poor Tallien. I wanted you to enquire likewise whether, as a member declared in the convention, Robespierre really maintained a _number_ of mistresses.--Should it prove so, I suspect that they rather flattered his vanity than his senses.
Here is a chatting, desultory epistle! But do not suppose that I mean to close it without mentioning the little damsel--who has been almost springing out of my arm--she certainly looks very like you--but I do not love her the less for that, whether I am angry or pleased with you.--
Yours affectionately
LETTER XXIII[58-A].
September 22.
I HAVE just written two letters, that are going by other conveyances, and which I reckon on your receiving long before this. I therefore merely write, because I know I should be disappointed at seeing any one who had left you, if you did not send a letter, were it ever so short, to tell me why you did not write a longer--and you will want to be told, over and over again, that our little Hercules is quite recovered.
Besides looking at me, there are three other things, which delight her--to ride in a coach, to look at a scarlet waistcoat, and hear loud music--yesterday, at the _fete_, she enjoyed the two latter; but, to honour J. J. Rousseau, I intend to give her a sash, the first she has ever had round her--and why not?--for I have always been half in love with him.
Well, this you will say is trifling--shall I talk about alum or soap?
There is nothing picturesque in your present pursuits; my imagination then rather chuses to ramble back to the barrier with you, or to see you coming to meet me, and my basket of grapes.--With what pleasure do I recollect your looks and words, when I have been sitting on the window, regarding the waving corn!
Believe me, sage sir, you have not sufficient respect for the imagination--I could prove to you in a trice that it is the mother of sentiment, the great distinction of our nature, the only purifier of the pa.s.sions--animals have a portion of reason, and equal, if not more exquisite, senses; but no trace of imagination, or her offspring taste, appears in any of their actions. The impulse of the senses, pa.s.sions, if you will, and the conclusions of reason, draw men together; but the imagination is the true fire, stolen from heaven, to animate this cold creature of clay, producing all those fine sympathies that lead to rapture, rendering men social by expanding their hearts, instead of leaving them leisure to calculate how many comforts society affords.
If you call these observations romantic, a phrase in this place which would be tantamount to nonsensical, I shall be apt to retort, that you are embruted by trade, and the vulgar enjoyments of life--Bring me then back your barrier-face, or you shall have nothing to say to my barrier-girl; and I shall fly from you, to cherish the remembrances that will ever be dear to me; for I am yours truly
LETTER XXIV.
Evening, Sept. 23.
I HAVE been playing and laughing with the little girl so long, that I cannot take up my pen to address you without emotion. Pressing her to my bosom, she looked so like you (_entre nous_, your best looks, for I do not admire your commercial face) every nerve seemed to vibrate to the touch, and I began to think that there was something in the a.s.sertion of man and wife being one--for you seemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my heart, and lending me the sympathetic tears you excited.
Have I any thing more to say to you? No; not for the present--the rest is all flown away; and, indulging tenderness for you, I cannot now complain of some people here, who have ruffled my temper for two or three days past.
Morning.
YESTERDAY B---- sent to me for my packet of letters. He called on me before; and I like him better than I did--that is, I have the same opinion of his understanding, but I think with you, he has more tenderness and real delicacy of feeling with respect to women, than are commonly to be met with. His manner too of speaking of his little girl, about the age of mine, interested me. I gave him a letter for my sister, and requested him to see her.
I have been interrupted. Mr. ----I suppose will write about business.
Public affairs I do not descant on, except to tell you that they write now with great freedom and truth, and this liberty of the press will overthrow the Jacobins, I plainly perceive.
I hope you take care of your health. I have got a habit of restlessness at night, which arises, I believe, from activity of mind; for, when I am alone, that is, not near one to whom I can open my heart, I sink into reveries and trains of thinking, which agitate and fatigue me.
This is my third letter; when am I to hear from you? I need not tell you, 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 harra.s.s you with accounts of inquietudes, or of cares that arise from peculiar circ.u.mstances.--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