Posthumous Works of Mary Wollstonecraft/Volume 3/Letter 10
LETTER X.
Wednesday Night [January 1.]
As I have been, you tell me, three days without writing, I ought not to complain of two: yet, as I expected to receive a letter this afternoon, I am hurt; and why should I, by concealing it, affect the heroism I do not feel?
I hate commerce. How differently must ———'s head and heart be organized from mine! You will tell me, that exertions are necessary: I am weary of them! The face of things, public and private, vexes me. The "peace" and clemency which seemed to be dawning a few days ago, disappear again. "I am fallen," as Milton said, "on evil days;" for I really believe that Europe will be in a state of convulsion, during half a century at least. Life is but a labour of patience: it is always rolling a great stone up a hill; for, before a person can find a resting-place, imagining it is lodged, down it comes again, and all the work is to be done over anew!
Should I attempt to write any more, I could not change the strain. My head aches, and my heart is heavy. The world appears an "unweeded garden," where "things rank and vile" flourish best.
If you do not return soon—or, which is no such mighty matter, talk of it—I will throw your slippers out at window, and be off—nobody knows where.
* * * *
Finding that I was observed, I told the good women, the two Mrs. ———s, simply that I was with child: and let them stare! and ———, and ———, nay, all the world, may know it for aught I care!—Yet I wish to avoid ———'s coarse jokes.
Considering the care and anxiety a woman must have about a child before it comes into the world, it seems to me, by a natural right, to belong to her. When men get immersed in the world, they seem to lose all sensations, excepting those necessary to continue or produce life!—Are these the privileges of reason? Amongst the feathered race, whilst the hen keeps the young warm, her mate stays by to cheer her; but it is sufficient for man to condescend to get a child, in order to claim it.—A man is a tyrant!
You may now tell me, that, if it were not for me, you would be laughing away with some honest fellows in L—n. The casual exercise of social sympathy would not be sufficient for me—I should not think such an heartless life worth preserving.—It is necessary to be in good-humour with you, to be pleased with the world.
Thursday Morning.
I was very low-spirited last night, ready to quarrel with your cheerful temper, which makes absence easy to you.—And, why should I mince the the matter? I was offended at your not even mentioning it.—I do not want to be loved like a goddess; but I wish to be necessary to you. God bless you[1]!
- ↑ Some further letters, written during the remainder of the week, in a similar strain to the preceding, appear to have been destroyed by the person to whom they were addressed.