800 Years of Women's Letters (19 page)

The matter was settled at last. Mlle de Sévigné was to marry a man who was neither handsome nor young (he was then about forty) and who had had two wives already. But François Adhémar, Count of Grignan, had other qualifications. He belonged to one of the oldest and best families in France. One of his ancestors had been mentioned by Tasso, and the Adhémars had held the comté of Grignan, in Provence, for more than a century.

Here she writes to her cousin for his consent:

Paris, 4th December, 1668

I must tell you some news I am sure you will be delighted to hear. ‘The prettiest girl in France' is to be married, not to the handsomest young fellow, but to one of the most worthy men in the kingdom – to M. de Grignan, whom you have known for a long time. All his wives have died to give place to your cousin; and, with extraordinary kindness, his father and son have died too, so that he is richer than he has ever been before. And since by his birth, his establishments and his own good qualities he is all that we could wish, we have not bargained with him in the usual way, but have relied on the two families that have preceded us. He seems very pleased at the thought of being allied with us; and as we expect to hear from his uncle, the Archbishop of Arles (his other uncle, the Bishop of Uzès, is here), the affair will no doubt be concluded before the end of this year.

As I like to do what is usual on all occasions, I now ask for your advice and approval. People outside our family seem to be satisfied, which is a good thing; for we are foolish enough to be influenced by other people's opinions.

TRANS. L. TANCOCK,
MADAME DE SÉVIGNÉ: SELECTED LETTERS
(1982)

Madame de Sévigné adored her only daughter, who stayed with her in Paris for months after her wedding, and felt at a loss when her daughter finally left. Here she writes to her daughter to comfort her and share the grief they both feel after their first separation.

To Madame de Grignan

[Paris, Wednesday 18 February 1671]

I do urge you, dear heart, to look after your eyes – as to mine, you know they must be used up in your service. You must realize, my love, that because of the way you write to me I have to cry when I read your letters. To understand something of the state I am in over you, add to the tenderness and natural feeling I have for you this little circumstance that I am quite sure you love me, and then consider my overwhelming emotion. Naughty girl! Why do you sometimes hide such precious treasures from me? Are you afraid I might die of joy? But aren't you also afraid that I should die of sorrow at believing I see the opposite? I call d'Hacqueville as witness to the state he saw me in once before. But let's leave these gloomy memories and let me enjoy a blessing without which life is hard and unpleasant; and these are not mere words, they are truths. Mme de Guénégaud has told me of the state she saw you in on my account. Do please keep the reason, but let us have no more tears, I beg you – they are not so healthy for you as for me. At the moment I am fairly reasonable. I can control myself if need be, and sometimes I go for four or five hours just like anyone else, but the slightest thing throws me back into my first condition. A memory, a place, a word, a thought if a little too clear, above all your letters (and even my own as I am writing them), someone talking about you, these things are rocks on which my constancy founders, and these breakers are often met with.

I have often seen Raymond at the Comtesse du Lude's. She sang me a new solo from the ballet – quite admirable. But if you want someone to sing it, do it yourself. I see Mme de Villars and enjoy seeing her because she enters into my sentiments. She sends you her kindest regards. Mme de La Fayette [the gifted novelist] also appreciates fully the affection I feel for you and is touched by the affection you show me. I am most often in my family circle, sometimes here in the evening out of weariness, though not often.

So far I have only felt like going to see Mme de La Fayette. People are very eager to look me up and take me out, and that frightens me to death.

I do urge you, my dear child, to look after your health. Look after it for my sake, and don't give yourself up to that cruel self-neglect from which it seems to me one cannot recover. I embrace you with a love that can have no possible equal, with due respect to everybody else's.

TRANS. L. TANCOCK,
MADAME DE SÉVIGNÉ: SELECTED LETTERS
(1982)

Elizabeth Montagu was called ‘Queen of the Bluestockings'. Here she discusses financial arrangements of her son's marriage in a letter to Mrs Robinson, 15 March 1785.

. . . I know my brother and you and your daughters will be glad to hear Montagu is going to be married, in a manner which is agreeable to himself and to me. The young lady is so form'd and qualified to please both the fancy and the judgement, and her fortune such as to content any reasonable wishes. She has 45,000 l. in present; 3,000

l. more is to remain in the funds to secure an annuity to a very old person during his life, and who has been sometime bedridden; so it will soon come into Miss Charlton. She has also an annuity of 300

l. a year on the life of a young prodigal; but the regular payment of this is not to be depended upon. She has also some other little contingencies; so that her fortune is not estimated at less than fifty thousands pounds, by her guardians.

DR DORAN,
A LADY OF THE LAST CENTURY: MRS ELIZABETH MONTAGU
(1873)

Fanny Burney wrote to a friend about her marriage to the impoverished Général d'Arblay, who left Paris soon after the French Revolution. Though middle-aged, and a respected writer, she was worried about her father's reactions. He was Dr Burney, the eminent musicologist.

1793

My father's apprehensions from the smallness of our income have made him cold and averse; and though he granted his consent, I could not even solicit his presence. I feel satisfied, however, that time will convince him I have not been so imprudent as he now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of all our worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for another in what will produce it. To me, wealth and ambition would always be unavailing; I have always seen that the happiness of the richest and the greatest has been the moment of retiring from riches and from power. Domestic comfort and social affection have invariably been the sole as well as ultimate objects of my choice, and I have always been a stranger to any other species of felicity.

M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature, and a passion for reading and writing, as marked as my own; this is a sympathy to rob retirement of all superfluous leisure, and insure to us both occupation, constantly edifying or entertaining. He has seen so much of life, and has suffered so severely from its disappointments, that retreat, with a chosen companion, is become his final desire.

Mr Locke has given M. d'Arblay a piece of ground in his beautiful park, upon which we shall build a little neat and plain habitation. We shall continue, meanwhile, in his neighbourhood, to superintend the little edifice, and enjoy the society of his exquisite house, and that of my beloved sister Phillips. We are now within two miles of both, at a farmhouse, where we have what apartments we require, and no more, in a most beautiful and healthy situation, a mile and a half from any town. The nearest is Bookham; but I beg that my letters may be directed to me at Captain Phillips's, Mickleham, as the post does not come this way, and I may else miss them for a week.

Whatever may be the general wonder, and perhaps blame, of general people, at this connexion, equally indiscreet in pecuniary points for us both, I feel sure that the truly liberal and truly intellectual judgment of the most venerated character would have accorded its sanction, when acquainted with the worthiness of the object who would wish it.

Adieu, my sweet friend. Give my best compliments to Mr ——, and give me your kind wishes, your kind prayers, my ever dear M ——.

F.D'A

ED. A. DOBSON,
THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MME D'ARBLAY
(1904)

Charlotte Brontë writes to Ellen Nussey, her close friend, on Willie Weightman, whom her sister Anne probably loved.

15th May 1840

I am fully convinced, Ellen, that he is a thorough maleflirt, his sighs are deeper than ever and his treading on toes more assiduous. – I find he has scattered his impressions far and wide – Keighley has yielded him a fruitful field of conquest, Sarah Sugden is quite smitten so is Caroline Dury – she however has left – and his Reverence has not yet ceased to idolise her memory – I find he is perfectly conscious of his irresistibleness and is as vain as a peacock on the subject – I am not at all surprised at this – it is perfectly natural – a handsome

– clean – prepossessing – good-humoured young man – will never want troops of victims amongst young ladies – So long as you are not among the number it is all right – He has not mentioned you to me, and I have not mentioned you to him – I believe we fully understand each other on the subject. I have seen little of him lately and talked precious little to him – now that he has got his spirits up and found plenty of acquaintances I don't care and he does not care either.

There is no doubt he will get nobly through his examinations, he is a
clever
lad.

EDS. T.J. WISE AND J.A. SYMINGTON,
THE BRONTËS: THEIR LIVES, FRIENDSHIPS AND CORRESPONDENCE IN FOUR VOLUMES
(1932)

‘A Grandmother's Advice' to Ellen Nussey concerning a young man was later provided by Charlotte (the Brontës' biographer, Winifred Gerin, suggests that the man in the letter is Branwell Brontë).

20th November 1840

. . . no young lady should fall in love, till the offer has been made, accepted – the marriage ceremony performed and the first half year of wedded life has passed away – a woman may then begin to love, but with great precaution – very coolly – very moderately – very rationally – if she ever love so much that a harsh word or cold look from her husband cuts her to the heart – she is a fool . . .

. . . Did I not once tell you of an instance of a Relative of mine who cared for a young lady till he began to suspect that she cared more for him and then instantly conceived a sort of contempt for her? You know to what I allude – never as you value your ears mention the circumstance – but I have two studies –
you
are my study for the success the credit, and the respectability of a quiet, tranquil character. Mary is my study – for the contempt, the remorse – the misconstruction which follow the development of feelings in themselves noble, warm – generous – devoted and profound – but which being too freely revealed – too frankly bestowed – are not estimated at their real value.

EDS. T.J. WISE AND J.A. SYMINGTON (1932)

Elizabeth Barrett writes to her sisters describing the great happiness she experiences with Robert Browning once married.

Feb 1847

He loves me more every day . . . If all married people lived as happily as we do how many good jokes it would spoil! . . . Flush [her dog] has grown from being simply insolent, a complete tyrant now . . . I was saying to Robert (who spoils him) the other day that soon we shd. have to engage a page for his sole use – a brown livery turned up with white. . . . I write like a racehorse ‘scouring the plain' . . . the haste drives the words before me.

On 9 March 1847, from Pisa, she wrote a long letter, ‘treating,' as she says, ‘of Heaven, cash and the kitchen,' and many other topics.

[After referring to the departure of her brother ‘Stormie' (Charles) for Jamaica and Mr Barrett's leave taking] . . . How much better it would be if Papa had spoken before, openly, calmly, kindly . . . and not kept for the hours of parting, confidences which would have brightened and softened the years of actual association. I know by myself his influence over me, how one is powerless . . . how I should have dropped . . . not the sense of a right . . . but the power of claiming a right . . . As to prayer, I really do
not
understand the principle he goes upon . . . I love him and grieve for him – he cannot be happy. I think, in the depths of his heart, when he can give no sympathy, extend no pardon, make no allowances – it must be a continual wrestling against those natural feelings, which he
HAS
, let him heap the stones over them ever so . . . and if he cast it from us, what remains? [Goes on to speak of publishing matters and money received from Moxon.]

. . . I assure you we shall make our way by poetry yet . . . [Thanks her for mittens she is sending and describes the clothes she is wearing.] . . . The green gown like yours [which] Robert likes so much [&c.] . . . [Sends news of Wilson (her maid) and Flush.] . . . Robert is very anxious for me to be free of the morphine . . . I gradually diminish to seventeen days for twenty-two doses which I used to take in eight days . . . [Gives an amusing description of their ‘plate and china'] . . . two silver spoons which have to put the sugar into the cups, then, stir the coffee, and then help the eggs. If I forget to stir my coffee before I break my egg, I turn to supplicate Robert for the use of his spoon . . . [Italian cookery] Robert: ‘Really Ba you are so prejudiced! Now this seems as good as possible': ‘Well dear, I am delighted that you like it . . . I only hope it won't poison you' – ‘Very good indeed! only rather rich . . . here, Flush, you shall have it!' [but pigeon pies were better] . . . Was I ever chronological in my life before, I wonder? Perhaps some of it is Robert's fault, who began by keeping the anniversary of our marriage once a week, and who now, three days in every month, as I assure him, says ‘Another month is gone, Ba!' He is fond of telling me that I have not ‘the least idea' of the depth of the love he feels for me and that by the time we have been married ‘ten years' I may guess at it perhaps . . .