The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay Chapter 17: Part 17

more explicitly--and determine on some mode of conduct.--I cannot endure this suspense--Decide--Do you fear to strike another blow? We live together, or eternally part!--I shall not write to you again, till I receive an answer to this. I must compose my tortured soul, before I write on indifferent subjects. * * * * * I do not know whether I write intelligibly, for my head is disturbed. But this you ought to pardon--for it is with difficulty frequently that I make out what you mean to say--You write, I suppose, at Mr. ----'s after dinner, when your head is not the clearest--and as for your heart, if you have one, I see nothing like the dictates of affection, unless a glimpse when you mention the child--Adieu! LETTER LXVI _[Hamburg] September 25 [1795]._ I have just finished a letter, to be given in charge to captain ----. In that I complained of your silence, and expressed my surprise that three mails should have arrived without bringing a line for me. Since I closed it, I hear of another, and still no letter.--I am labouring to write calmly--this silence is a refinement on cruelty. Had captain ---- remained a few days longer, I would have returned with him to England. What have I to do here? I have repeatedly written to you fully. Do you do the same--and quickly. Do not leave me in suspense. I have not deserved this of you. I cannot write, my mind is so distressed. Adieu! MARY. LETTER LXVII _[Hamburg] September 27 [1795]._ When you receive this, I shall either have landed, or be hovering on the British coast--your letter of the 18th decided me. By what criterion of principle or affection, you term my questions extraordinary and unnecessary, I cannot determine.--You desire me to decide--I had decided. You must have had long ago two letters of mine, from ----, to the same purport, to consider.--In these, God knows! there was but too much affection, and the agonies of a distracted mind were but too faithfully pourtrayed!--What more then had I to say?--The negative was to come from you.--You had perpetually recurred to your promise of meeting me in the autumn--Was it extraordinary that I should demand a yes, or no?--Your letter is written with extreme harshness, coldness I am accustomed to, in it I find not a trace of the tenderness of humanity, much less of friendship.--I only see a desire to heave a load off your shoulders. I am above disputing about words.--It matters not in what terms you decide. The tremendous power who formed this heart, must have foreseen that, in a world in which self-interest, in various shapes, is the principal mobile, I had little chance of escaping misery.--To the fiat of fate I submit.--I am content to be wretched; but I will not be contemptible.--Of me you have no cause to complain, but for having had too much regard for you--for having expected a degree of permanent happiness, when you only sought for a momentary gratification. I am strangely deficient in sagacity.--Uniting myself to you, your tenderness seemed to make me amends for all my former misfortunes.--On this tenderness and affection with what confidence did I rest!--but I leaned on a spear, that has pierced me to the heart.--You have thrown off a faithful friend, to pursue the caprices of the moment.--We certainly are differently organized; for even now, when conviction has been stamped on my soul by sorrow, I can scarcely believe it possible. It depends at present on you, whether you will see me or not.--I shall take no step, till I see or hear from you. Preparing myself for the worst--I have determined, if your next letter be like the last, to write to Mr. ---- to procure me an obscure lodging, and not to inform any body of my arrival.--There I will endeavour in a few months to obtain the sum necessary to take me to France--from you I will not receive any more.--I am not yet sufficiently humbled to depend on your beneficence. Some people, whom my unhappiness has interested, though they know not the extent of it, will assist me to attain the object I have in view, the independence of my child. Should a peace take place, ready money will go a great way in France--and I will borrow a sum, which my industry _shall_ enable me to pay at my leisure, to purchase a small estate for my girl.--The assistance I shall find necessary to complete her education, I can get at an easy rate at Paris--I can introduce her to such society as she will like--and thus, securing for her all the chance for happiness, which depends on me, I shall die in peace, persuaded that the felicity which has hitherto cheated my expectation, will not always elude my grasp. No poor temptest-tossed mariner ever more earnestly longed to arrive at his port. MARY. I shall not come up in the vessel all the way, because I have no place to go to. Captain ---- will inform you where I am. It is needless to add, that I am not in a state of mind to bear suspense--and that I wish to see you, though it be for the last time. LETTER LXVIII _[Dover] Sunday, October 4 [1795]._ I wrote to you by the packet, to inform you, that your letter of the 18th of last month, had determined me to set out with captain ----; but, as we sailed very quick, I take it for granted, that you have not yet received it. You say, I must decide for myself.--I had decided, that it was most for the interest of my little girl, and for my own comfort, little as I expect, for us to live together; and I even thought that you would be glad, some years hence, when the tumult of business was over, to repose in the society of an affectionate friend, and mark the progress of our interesting child, whilst endeavouring to be of use in the circle you at last resolved to rest in: for you cannot run about for ever. From the tenour of your last letter however, I am led to imagine, that you have formed some new attachment.--If it be so, let me earnestly request you to see me once more, and immediately. This is the only proof I require of the friendship you profess for me. I will then decide, since you boggle about a mere form. I am labouring to write with calmness--but the extreme anguish I feel, at landing without having any friend to receive me, and even to be conscious that the friend whom I most wish to see, will feel a disagreeable sensation at being informed of my arrival, does not come under the description of common misery. Every emotion yields to an overwhelming flood of sorrow--and the playfulness of my child distresses me.--On her account, I wished to remain a few days here, comfortless as is my situation.--Besides, I did not wish to surprise you. You have told me, that you would make any sacrifice to promote my happiness--and, even in your last unkind letter, you talk of the ties which bind you to me and my child.--Tell me, that you wish it, and I will cut this Gordian knot. I now most earnestly intreat you to write to me, without fail, by the return of the post. Direct your letter to be left at the post-office, and tell me whether you will come to me here, or where you will meet me. I can receive your letter on Wednesday morning. Do not keep me in suspense.--I expect nothing from you, or any human being: my die is cast!--I have fortitude enough to determine to do my duty; yet I cannot raise my depressed spirits, or calm my trembling heart.--That being who moulded it thus, knows that I am unable to tear up by the roots the propensity to affection which has been the torment of my life--but life will have an end! Should you come here (a few months ago I could not have doubted it) you will find me at ----. If you prefer meeting me on the road, tell me where. Yours affectionately, MARY. LETTER LXIX _[London, Nov. 1795]._ I write to you now on my knees; imploring you to send my child and the maid with ----, to Paris, to be consigned to the care of Madame ----, rue ----, section de ----. Should they be removed, ---- can give their direction. Let the maid have all my clothes, without distinction. Pray pay the cook her wages, and do not mention the confession which I forced from her--a little sooner or later is of no consequence. Nothing but my extreme stupidity could have rendered me blind so long. Yet, whilst you assured me that you had no attachment, I thought we might still have lived together. I shall make no comments on your conduct; or any appeal to the world. Let my wrongs sleep with me! Soon, very soon shall I be at peace. When you receive this, my burning head will be cold. I would encounter a thousand deaths, rather than a night like the last. Your treatment has thrown my mind into a state of chaos; yet I am serene. I go to find comfort, and my only fear is, that my poor body will be insulted by an endeavour to recal my hated existence. But I shall plunge into the Thames where there is the least chance of my being snatched from the death I seek. God bless you! May you never know by experience what you have made me endure. Should your sensibility ever awake, remorse will find its way to your heart; and, in the midst of business and sensual pleasure, I shall appear before you, the victim of your deviation from rectitude. MARY. LETTER LXX _[London, Nov. 1795] Sunday Morning._ I have only to lament, that, when the bitterness of death was past, I was inhumanly brought back to life and misery. But a fixed determination is not to be baffled by disappointment; nor will I allow that to be a frantic attempt, which was one of the calmest acts of reason. In this respect, I am only accountable to myself. Did I care for what is termed reputation, it is by other circumstances that I should be dishonoured. You say, "that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the wretchedness into which we have been plunged." You are extricated long since.--But I forbear to comment.--If I am condemned to live longer, it is a living death. It appears to me, that you lay much more stress on delicacy, than on principle; for I am unable