Mary Wollstonecraft - The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay

Two o’Clock [ Paris, June 1793].

My dear love, after making my arrangements for our snug dinner to-day, I have been taken by storm, and obliged to promise to dine, at an early hour, with the Miss – s, the only day they intend to pass here. I shall however leave the key in the door, and hope to find you at my fire-side when I return, about eight o’clock. Will you not wait for poor Joan? – whom you will find better, and till then think very affectionately of her.

Yours, truly, MARY.

I am sitting down to dinner; so do not send an answer.

Past Twelve o’Clock, Monday Night [ Paris, Aug. 1793].

I obey an emotion of my heart, which made me think of wishing thee, my love, good-night! before I go to rest, with more tenderness than I can to-morrow, when writing a hasty line or two under Colonel – ’s eye. You can scarcely imagine with what pleasure I anticipate the day, when we are to begin almost to live together; and you would smile to hear how many plans of employment I have in my head, now that I am confident my heart has found peace in your bosom. – Cherish me with that dignified tenderness, which I have only found in you; and your own dear girl will try to keep under a quickness of feeling, that has sometimes given you pain. – Yes, I will be good , that I may deserve to be happy; and whilst you love me, I cannot again fall into the miserable state, which rendered life a burthen almost too heavy to be borne.

But, good-night! – God bless you! Sterne says, that is equal to a kiss – yet I would rather give you the kiss into the bargain, glowing with gratitude to Heaven, and affection to you. I like the word affection, because it signifies something habitual; and we are soon to meet, to try whether we have mind enough to keep our hearts warm.

MARY.

I will be at the barrier a little after ten o’clock to-morrow. 1 1 The child is in a subsequent letter called the “barrier girl,” probably from a supposition that she owed her existence to this interview. – W. G. – Yours —

Wednesday Morning [ Paris, Aug. 1793].

You have often called me, dear girl, but you would now say good, did you know how very attentive I have been to the – ever since I came to Paris. I am not however going to trouble you with the account, because I like to see your eyes praise me; and Milton insinuates, that, during such recitals, there are interruptions, not ungrateful to the heart, when the honey that drops from the lips is not merely words.

Yet, I shall not (let me tell you before these people enter, to force me to huddle away my letter) be content with only a kiss of DUTY – you must be glad to see me – because you are glad – or I will make love to the shade of Mirabeau, to whom my heart continually turned, whilst I was talking with Madame – , forcibly telling me, that it will ever have sufficient warmth to love, whether I will or not, sentiment, though I so highly respect principle. —

Not that I think Mirabeau utterly devoid of principles – Far from it – and, if I had not begun to form a new theory respecting men, I should, in the vanity of my heart, have imagined that I could have made something of his – it was composed of such materials – Hush! here they come – and love flies away in the twinkling of an eye, leaving a little brush of his wing on my pale cheeks.

I hope to see Dr. – this morning; I am going to Mr. – ’s to meet him. – , and some others, are invited to dine with us to-day; and to-morrow I am to spend the day with – .

I shall probably not be able to return to – to-morrow; but it is no matter, because I must take a carriage, I have so many books, that I immediately want, to take with me. – On Friday then I shall expect you to dine with me – and, if you come a little before dinner, it is so long since I have seen you, you will not be scolded by yours affectionately,

MARY.

Friday Morning [ Paris, Sept. 1793].

A man, whom a letter from Mr. – previously announced, called here yesterday for the payment of a draft; and, as he seemed disappointed at not finding you at home, I sent him to Mr. – . I have since seen him, and he tells me that he has settled the business.

So much for business! – May I venture to talk a little longer about less weighty affairs? – How are you? – I have been following you all along the road this comfortless weather; for, when I am absent from those I love, my imagination is as lively, as if my senses had never been gratified by their presence – I was going to say caresses – and why should I not? I have found out that I have more mind than you, in one respect; because I can, without any violent effort of reason, find food for love in the same object, much longer than you can. – The way to my senses is through my heart; but, forgive me! I think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours.

With ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very sufficient dash of folly is necessary to render a woman piquante , a soft word for desirable; and, beyond these casual ebullitions of sympathy, few look for enjoyment by fostering a passion in their hearts. One reason, in short, why I wish my whole sex to become wiser, is, that the foolish ones may not, by their pretty folly, rob those whose sensibility keeps down their vanity, of the few roses that afford them some solace in the thorny road of life.

I do not know how I fell into these reflections, excepting one thought produced it – that these continual separations were necessary to warm your affection. – Of late, we are always separating. – Crack! – crack! – and away you go. – This joke wears the sallow cast of thought; for, though I began to write cheerfully, some melancholy tears have found their way into my eyes, that linger there, whilst a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers that you are one of the best creatures in the world. – Pardon then the vagaries of a mind, that has been almost “crazed by care,” as well as “crossed in hapless love,” and bear with me a little longer! – When we are settled in the country together, more duties will open before me, and my heart, which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every emotion that awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will learn to rest on yours, with that dignity your character, not to talk of my own, demands.

Take care of yourself – and write soon to your own girl (you may add dear, if you please) who sincerely loves you, and will try to convince you of it, by becoming happier.

MARY. Sunday Night [ Paris , 1793].

I have just received your letter, and feel as if I could not go to bed tranquilly without saying a few words in reply – merely to tell you, that my mind is serene and my heart affectionate.

Ever since you last saw me inclined to faint, I have felt some gentle twitches, which make me begin to think, that I am nourishing a creature who will soon be sensible of my care. – This thought has not only produced an overflowing of tenderness to you, but made me very attentive to calm my mind and take exercise, lest I should destroy an object, in whom we are to have a mutual interest, you know. Yesterday – do not smile! – finding that I had hurt myself by lifting precipitately a large log of wood, I sat down in an agony, till I felt those said twitches again.

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