by Olga Kenyon
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)
A BLUE STOCKING’S SON’S MARRIAGE
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 ON HER MARRIAGE
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 ADVISES A FRIEND
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)
A GREAT HAPPINESS
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 kit
chen,’ 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 . . .
PRIVATE COLLECTION, O. KENYON AND M. FOSTER
April, 1847, Pisa.
. . . Robert’s goodness and tenderness are past speaking of . . . He reads to me, talks and jests to make me laugh, tells me stories, improvises verses in all sorts of languages . . . Sings songs, explains the difference between Mendelssohn and Spohr by playing on the table, and when he has thoroughly amused me accepts it as a triumph . . . Of course I am spoilt to the uttermost – who could escape – I think sometimes of your opinion on the demoralizing effects of ‘a long courtship.’ and then I admit that ‘the courtship,’ with me, was by no means the most dangerous thing. There has been a hundred times as much attention, tenderness, nay, flattery even, ever since – and isn’t this the close of the seventh month Arabel? Isn’t it? We never do ‘quarrel’!
PRIVATE COLLECTION, O. KENYON AND M. FOSTER
GEORGE ELIOT’S SECOND MARRIAGE
Reactions differed to George Eliot’s marriage to John Cross after the death of her great love Lewes. Some radical friends were shocked. Jowett wrote ‘You know that you are a very celebrated person and therefore the world will talk a little about you, but they will not talk long, and what they say does not much signify. It would be foolish to give up affection for the sake of what people say.’ On 17 May, 1880, her brother wrote at last, after so many years of silence over Lewes, ‘to break the long silence which has existed between us, by offering our united and sincere congratulations to you and Mr Cross . . . My wife joins me in sincerely hoping it will afford you much happiness and comfort. She and the younger branches unite with me in kind love and every good wish.’ Marian replied from Milan, 26 May:
My dear Brother
Your letter was forwarded to me here, and it was a great joy to me to have your kind words of sympathy, for our long silence has never broken the affection for you which began when we were little ones. My Husband too was much pleased to read your letter. I have known his family for nine years, and they have received me amongst them very lovingly. He is of a most solid, well tried character and has had a great deal of experience. The only point to be regretted in our marriage is that I am much older than he, but his affection has made him chose this lot of caring for me rather than any other of the various lots open to him.
Always your affectionate sister
Mary Ann Cross
ED. G. HAIGHT, SELECTED LETTERS OF GEORGE ELIOT (1968)
Her good friend, the writer Barbara Bodichon wrote:
My dear
I hope and I think you will be happy. Tell Johnny Cross I should have done exactly what he has done if you would have let me and I had been a man.
You see I know all love is so different that I do not see it unnatural to love in new ways – nor to be unfaithful to any memory. If I knew Mr Lewes he would be glad as I am that you have a new friend.
I was glad to hear you were going to Italy but I did not guess this. My love to your friend if you will.
Your loving
Barbara
ED. G. HAIGHT (1968)
TWO CONTRASTING VICTORIAN VIEWS ON MARRIAGE
Many men felt, as did this male letter-writer to the Daily Telegraph in 1888, that
monogamous marriage was instituted for the protection of women, and as a means of raising our own more debased ideas of love, and that any woman is a fool, and any man a criminal, who tries to tamper with an institution which has always been held sacred in the great and noble ages of the world. (Quoted in Harry Quilter ed., Is Marriage a Failure (1888).)
Annie Besant, the social reformer, took a quite different view as she writes in 1882. She was to lead the match-girls’ strike, to help the exploited underpaid women workers.
Looking at a woman’s position both as wife and mother, it is impossible not to recognise the fact that marriage is a direct disadvantage to her. In an unlegalised union the woman retains possession of all her natural rights; she is mistress of her own actions, of her body, of her property; she is able to legally defend herself against attack; all the Courts are open to protect her; she forfeits none of her rights as an Englishwoman; she keeps intact her liberty and her independence; she has no master; she owes obedience to the laws alone.
Anne Besant
A. BESANT, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY (1893)
A PUBLIC QUARREL
The New Zealand writer Katherine Mansfield married Middleton Murry, a friend of D.H. Lawrence. During the First World War they lived fairly near each other for a time. Here she describes one of the famous, public marital quarrels. Note her reporting of details, her building up of effects based on observation.
[1916?]
Let me tell you what happened on Friday. I went across to them for tea. Frieda said Shelley’s Ode to a Skylark was false. Lawrence said: ‘You are showing off; you don’t know anything about it.’ Then she began. ‘Now I have had enough. Out of my house – you little God Almighty you. Ive had enough of you. Are you going to keep your mouth shut or aren’t you.’ Said Lawrence: ‘I’ll give you a dab on the cheek to quiet you, you dirty hussy.’ Etc. Etc. So I left the house. At dinner time Frieda appeared. ‘I have finally done with him. It is all over for ever.’ She then went out of the kitchen & began to walk round and round the house in the dark. Suddenly Lawrence appeared and made a kind of horrible blind rush at her and they began to scream and scuffle. He beat her – he beat her to death – her head and face and breast and pulled out her hair. All the while she screamed for Murry to help her. Finally they dashed into the kitchen and round and round the table. I shall never forget how L. looked. He was so white – almost green and he just hit – thumped the big soft woman. Then he fell into one chair and she into another. No one said a word. A silence fell except for Frieda’s sobs and sniffs. In a way I felt almost g
lad that the tension between them was over for ever – and that they had made an end of the ‘intimacy’. L. sat staring at the floor, biting his nails. Frieda sobbed. Suddenly, after a long time – about quarter of an hour – L. looked up and asked Murry a question about French literature. Murry replied. Little by little, the three drew up to the table. Then F. poured herself out some coffee. Then she and L. glided into talk, began to discuss some ‘very rich but very good macaroni cheese.’ And next day, L. whipped himself, and far more thoroughly than he had ever beaten Frieda; he was running about taking her up her breakfast to her bed and trimming her a hat.
CLAIRE TOMALIN, KATHERINE MANSFIED: A SECRET LIFE (1987)
EDITH WHARTON (1862–1937) WRITES REASONABLY TO HER HUSBAND
The American novelist’s husband was not her intellectual equal and refused to value her writing, or her friends. To put an end to his verbal aggession, she offered him a generous monthly allowance.
