Posthumous Works of the Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman Part 21

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.

LETTER x.x.xI.

December 30.

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.

* * * *[91-A]

LETTER x.x.xII.

January 9.

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.

I do not mean to complain of subordinate inconveniences----yet I will simply observe, that, led to expect you every week, I did not make the arrangements required by the present circ.u.mstances, to procure the necessaries of life. In order to have them, a servant, for that purpose only, is indispensible--The want of wood, has made me catch the most violent cold I ever had; and my head is so disturbed by continual coughing, that I am unable to write without stopping frequently to recollect myself.--This however is one of the common evils which must be borne with----bodily pain does not touch the heart, though it fatigues the spirits.

Still as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, I have determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my child.--It is too soon for her to begin to divide sorrow!--And as one has well said, "despair is a freeman," we will go and seek our fortune together.

This is not a caprice of the moment--for your absence has given new weight to some conclusions, that I was very reluctantly forming before you left me.--I do not chuse to be a secondary object.--If your feelings were in unison with mine, you would not sacrifice so much to visionary prospects of future advantage.

LETTER x.x.xIII.

Jan. 15.

I WAS just going to begin my letter with the f.a.g end of a song, which would only have told you, what I may as well say simply, that it is pleasant to forgive those we love. I have received your two letters, dated the 26th and 28th of December, and my anger died away. You can scarcely conceive the effect some of your letters have produced on me.

After longing to hear from you during a tedious interval of suspense, I have seen a superscription written by you.--Promising myself pleasure, and feeling emotion, I have laid it by me, till the person who brought it, left the room--when, behold! on opening it, I have found only half a dozen hasty lines, that have damped all the rising affection of my soul.

Well, now for business-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

My animal is well; I have not yet taught her to eat, but nature is doing the business. I gave her a crust to a.s.sist the cutting of her teeth; and now she has two, she makes good use of them to gnaw a crust, biscuit, &c.

You would laugh to see her; she is just like a little squirrel; she will guard a crust for two hours; and, after fixing her eye on an object for some time, dart on it with an aim as sure as a bird of prey--nothing can equal her life and spirits. I suffer from a cold; but it does not affect her. Adieu! do not forget to love us--and come soon to tell us that you do.

LETTER x.x.xIV.

Jan. 30.

FROM the purport of your last letters, I would suppose that this will scarcely reach you; and I have already written so many letters, that you have either not received, or neglected to acknowledge, I do not find it pleasant, or rather I have no inclination, to go over the same ground again. If you have received them, and are still detained by new projects, it is useless for me to say any more on the subject. I have done with it for ever--yet I ought to remind you that your pecuniary interest suffers by your absence.

For my part, my head is turned giddy, by only hearing of plans to make money, and my contemptuous feelings have sometimes burst out. I therefore was glad that a violent cold gave me a pretext to stay at home, lest I should have uttered unseasonable truths.

My child is well, and the spring will perhaps restore me to myself.--I have endured many inconveniences this winter, which should I be ashamed to mention, if they had been unavoidable. "The secondary pleasures of life," you say, "are very necessary to my comfort:" it may be so; but I have ever considered them as secondary. If therefore you accuse me of wanting the resolution necessary to bear the _common_[100-A] evils of life; I should answer, that I have not fas.h.i.+oned my mind to sustain them, because I would avoid them, cost what it would----

Adieu!

LETTER x.x.xV.

February 9.

THE melancholy presentiment has for some time hung on my spirits, that we were parted for ever; and the letters I received this day, by Mr. ----, convince me that it was not without foundation. You allude to some other letters, which I suppose have miscarried; for most of those I have got, were only a few hasty lines, calculated to wound the tenderness the sight of the superscriptions excited.

I mean not however to complain; yet so many feelings are struggling for utterance, and agitating a heart almost bursting with anguish, that I find it very difficult to write with any degree of coherence.

You left me indisposed, though you have taken no notice of it; and the most fatiguing journey I ever had, contributed to continue it. However, I recovered my health; but a neglected cold, and continual inquietude during the last two months, have reduced me to a state of weakness I never before experienced. Those who did not know that the canker-worm was at work at the core, cautioned me about suckling my child too long.--G.o.d preserve this poor child, and render her happier than her mother!

But I am wandering from my subject: indeed my head turns giddy, when I think that all the confidence I have had in the affection of others is come to this.

I did not expect this blow from you. I have done my duty to you and my child; and if I am not to have any return of affection to reward me, I have the sad consolation of knowing that I deserved a better fate. My soul is weary--I am sick at heart; and, but for this little darling, I would cease to care about a life, which is now stripped of every charm.

You see how stupid I am, uttering declamation, when I meant simply to tell you, that I consider your requesting me to come to you, as merely dictated by honour.--Indeed, I scarcely understand you.--You request me to come, and then tell me, that you have not given up all thoughts of returning to this place.

When I determined to live with you, I was only governed by affection.--I would share poverty with you, but I turn with affright from the sea of trouble on which you are entering.--I have certain principles of action: I know what I look for to found my happiness on.--It is not money.--With you I wished for sufficient to procure the comforts of life--as it is, less will do.--I can still exert myself to obtain the necessaries of life for my child, and she does not want more at present.--I have two or three plans in my head to earn our subsistence; for do not suppose that, neglected by you, I will lie under obligations of a pecuniary kind to you!--No; I would sooner submit to menial service.--I wanted the support of your affection--that gone, all is over!--I did not think, when I complained of ----'s contemptible avidity to acc.u.mulate money, that he would have dragged you into his schemes.

I cannot write.--I inclose a fragment of a letter, written soon after your departure, and another which tenderness made me keep back when it was written.--You will see then the sentiments of a calmer, though not a more determined, moment.--Do not insult me by saying, that "our being together is paramount to every other consideration!" Were it, you would not be running after a bubble, at the expence of my peace of mind.