I was therefore, in defiance of cold and dirt, out in the air the greater part of yesterday; and, if I get over this evening without a return of the fever that has tormented me, I shall talk no more of illness. I have promised the little creature, that its mother, who ought to cherish it, will not again plague it, and begged it to pardon me; and, since I could not hug either it or you to my breast, I have to my heart. – I am afraid to read over this prattle – but it is only for your eye.
I have been seriously vexed, to find that, whilst you were harrassed by impediments in your undertakings, I was giving you additional uneasiness. – If you can make any of your plans answer – it is well, I do not think a little money inconvenient; but, should they fail, we will struggle cheerfully together – drawn closer by the pinching blasts of poverty.
Adieu, my love! Write often to your poor girl, and write long letters; for I not only like them for being longer, but because more heart steals into them; and I am happy to catch your heart whenever I can.
LETTER XVI
I seize this opportunity to inform you, that I am to set out on Thursday with Mr. – , and hope to tell you soon (on your lips) how glad I shall be to see you. I have just got my passport, for I do not foresee any impediment to my reaching Havre, to bid you good-night next Friday in my new apartment – where I am to meet you and love, in spite of care, to smile me to sleep – for I have not caught much rest since we parted.
You have, by your tenderness and worth, twisted yourself more artfully round my heart, than I supposed possible. – Let me indulge the thought, that I have thrown out some tendrils to cling to the elm by which I wish to be supported. – This is talking a new language for me! – But, knowing that I am not a parasite-plant, I am willing to receive the proofs of affection, that every pulse replies to, when I think of being once more in the same house with you. God bless you!
LETTER XVII
I only send this as an avant-coureur, without jack-boots, to tell you, that I am again on the wing, and hope to be with you a few hours after you receive it. I shall find you well, and composed, I am sure; or, more properly speaking, cheerful. – What is the reason that my spirits are not as manageable as yours? Yet, now I think of it, I will not allow that your temper is even, though I have promised myself, in order to obtain my own forgiveness, that I will not ruffle it for a long, long time – I am afraid to say never.
Farewell for a moment! – Do not forget that I am driving towards you in person! My mind, unfettered, has flown to you long since, or rather has never left you.
I am well, and have no apprehension that I shall find the journey too fatiguing, when I follow the lead of my heart. – With my face turned to Havre my spirits will not sink – and my mind has always hitherto enabled my body to do whatever I wished.
LETTER XVIII
We are such creatures of habit, my love, that, though I cannot say I was sorry, childishly so, for your going,4 when I knew that you were to stay such a short time, and I had a plan of employment; yet I could not sleep. – I turned to your side of the bed, and tried to make the most of the comfort of the pillow, which you used to tell me I was churlish about; but all would not do. – I took nevertheless my walk before breakfast, though the weather was not very inviting – and here I am, wishing you a finer day, and seeing you peep over my shoulder, as I write, with one of your kindest looks – when your eyes glisten, and a suffusion creeps over your relaxing features.
But I do not mean to dally with you this morning – So God bless you! Take care of yourself – and sometimes fold to your heart your affectionate
LETTER XIX
Do not call me stupid, for leaving on the table the little bit of paper I was to inclose. – This comes of being in love at the fag-end of a letter of business. – You know, you say, they will not chime together. – I had got you by the fire-side, with the gigot smoking on the board, to lard your poor bare ribs – and behold, I closed my letter without taking the paper up, that was directly under my eyes! What had I got in them to render me so blind? – I give you leave to answer the question, if you will not scold; for I am,
LETTER XX
I have promised – to go with him to his country-house, where he is now permitted to dine – I, and the little darling, to be sure5– whom I cannot help kissing with more fondness, since you left us. I think I shall enjoy the fine prospect, and that it will rather enliven, than satiate my imagination.
I have called on Mrs. – . She has the manners of a gentlewoman, with a dash of the easy French coquetry, which renders her piquante. – But Monsieur her husband, whom nature never dreamed of casting in either the mould of a gentleman or lover, makes but an aukward figure in the foreground of the picture.
The H – s are very ugly, without doubt – and the house smelt of commerce from top to toe – so that his abortive attempt to display taste, only proved it to be one of the things not to be bought with gold. I was in a room a moment alone, and my attention was attracted by the pendule– A nymph was offering up her vows before a smoking altar, to a fat-bottomed Cupid (saving your presence), who was kicking his heels in the air. – Ah! kick on, thought I; for the demon of traffic will ever fright away the loves and graces, that streak with the rosy beams of infant fancy the sombre day of life – whilst the imagination, not allowing us to see things as they are, enables us to catch a hasty draught of the running stream of delight, the thirst for which seems to be given only to tantalize us.
But I am philosophizing; nay, perhaps you will call me severe, and bid me let the square-headed money-getters alone. – Peace to them! though none of the social sprites (and there are not a few of different descriptions, who sport about the various inlets to my heart) gave me a twitch to restrain my pen.
I have been writing on, expecting poor – to come; for, when I began, I merely thought of business; and, as this is the idea that most naturally associates with your image, I wonder I stumbled on any other.
Yet, as common life, in my opinion, is scarcely worth having, even with a gigot every day, and a pudding added thereunto, I will allow you to cultivate my judgment, if you will permit me to keep alive the sentiments in your heart, which may be termed romantic, because, the offspring of the senses and the imagination, they resemble the mother more than the father,6 when they produce the suffusion I admire. – In spite of icy age, I hope still to see it, if you have not determined only to eat and drink, and be stupidly useful to the stupid —
LETTER XXI
I received both your letters to-day – I had reckoned on hearing from you yesterday, therefore was disappointed, though I imputed your silence