MihaElla > Recent Status Updates

The first book I met with in my early years which I perused with pleasure was The Life of Hannibal; the next was The History of Sir William Wallace: for several of my early years I had few other authors; and many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their glorious, but unfortunate stories. In those boyish days I remember, in particular, being struck

I was, for some time past,fast getting into the pining, distrustful snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone,unfit for the struggle of life,shrinking at every rising cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere of fortune,while,all defenceless, I looked about in vain for a cover. It never occurred to me,with the force it deserved,that this world is a busy scene,and man, a creature destined for a progressive struggle

I know you will laugh at it when I tell you that your piano and you together have played the deuce somehow about my heart. My breast has been widowed these many months, and I thought myself proof against the fascinating witchcraft; but I am afraid you will "feelingly convince me what I am.". I say, I am afraid, because I am not sure what is the matter with me…

[to a young lady of 17, 1785]

MADAM,—Permit me to present you with the enclosed song as a small though grateful tribute for the honour of your acquaintance. I have in these verses attempted some faint sketch of your portrait in the unembellished simple manner of descriptive truth. Flattery I leave to your lovers whose exaggerating fancies may make them imagine you are still nearer perfection than you really are.

“In the matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone, particularly his Elegies; Thomson; Man of Feeling,—a book I prize next to the Bible; Man of the World; Sterne, especially his Sentimental Journey; Macpherson's Ossian, etc.;”

[LOCHLIE, 178l.]
MY DEAR E.,—I have often thought it a peculiarly unlucky circumstance in love, that though, in every other situation in life, telling the truth is not only the safest, but actually by far the easiest way of proceeding, a lover is never under greater difficulty in acting, or more puzzled for expression, than when his passion is sincere, and his intentions are honourable.

I begin to perceive, Abelard, that I take too much pleasure in writing to you; I ought to burn this letter. It shows that I still feel a deep passion for you, though at the beginning I tried to persuade you to the contrary. I am sensible of waves both of grace and passion, and by turns yield to each.

“How void of reason are men, said Seneca, to make distant evils present by reflections, and to take pains before death to lose all the joys of life.”

I had wished to find in philosophy and religion a remedy for my disgrace; I searched out an asylum to secure me from love. I was come to the sad experiment of making vows to harden my heart. But what have I gained by this? If my passion has been put under a restraint my thoughts yet run free. I promise myself that I will forget you, and yet cannot think of it without loving you

& if you wait for an opportunity to write pleasant & agreeable things to us,you will delay writing too long.Prosperity seldom chooses the side of the virtuous,& fortune is so blind that in a crowd in which there is perhaps but one wise & brave man it is not to be expected that she should single him out. Write to me then immediately & wait not for miracles;

“How gloomy you are to-day, Marechal!" interrupted the Marquise; "I hope that neither I nor my children will ever see that time. I no longer perceive your cheerful disposition, now that you talk like a politician. I expected to hear you give advice to my son. Henri, what troubles you? You seem very absent.”

To read was now impossible,music thrilled her to agony,& the charms of nature induced a reverie that redoubled her distress.Once so animated,now passed whole days in motionless silence.Her internal pangs were betrayed by a mortal paleness:her eyes were fixed upon her watch,though she knew not why should wish one hour to succeed another,since not one of them could bring her aught,save restless nights & despairing days

When genius is united with true feeling, our talents multiply our woes. We analyze, we make discoveries, and, the heart’s urn of tears being exhaustless, the more we think the more we feel it flow.

One woman, much more mental than the rest, said a few words to me which I can never forget: 'You give yourself a great deal of trouble to no purpose, my dear: you cannot change the nature of things: a little northern town, unconnected with the world, uncivilized by arts or letters, must remain what it is. If you are doomed to live here, submit cheerfully; but leave it if you can: these are your only alternatives.'

Seven years of experience have calmed me. I am more accustomed to myself. I know how to wait. I have, perchance, less confidence in the kindness of others, less eagerness for their applause: indeed, it is possible that there was then something strange about me! We have so much fire and imprudence in early youth, one faces life with such vivacity! Mind, however distinguished, cannot supply the work of time;

‘When man is capable of self-knowledge, he is rarely deceived as to his own fate; and presentiment is oft but judgment in disguise.’

‘For it does one more harm to love by halves than to love with all one’s heart.’

“do good to mankind, that God may heal in your heart the wound of grief.”

Jesus Christ permitted a weak, and perhaps, repentant woman, to anoint His feet with the most precious perfumes, and repulsed those who advised that those perfumes should be reserved for a more profitable use. “Let her alone" said He, "for I am only with you for a short time."

The miserere,that is to say, have mercy on us, is a psalm, composed of verses,which are sung alternately in a very different manner.A celestial music is heard by turns,& the verse following, in recitative,is murmured in a dull & almost hoarse tone. One would say,that it is the reply of harsh & stern characters to sensitive hearts;that it is the reality of life which withers and repels the desires of generous souls.

Music is so fleeting a pleasure, that it glides away almost at the same time we feel it, in such a manner, that a melancholy impression is mingled with the gaiety which it excites; but when expressive of grief, it also gives birth to a sweet sentiment. The heart beats more quickly while listening to it,and the satisfaction caused by the regularity of the measure, by reminding us of the brevity of time,points out the

In conflicts of sentiment, who has not felt that kind of secret superstition which makes us take our own thoughts for presages, and our sufferings for a warning from heaven? Ah! how bitter is the struggle between passion and conscience, in susceptible minds!

“For God's sake do not leave me unless you wish to break my heart!"

These words, and the tone of voice in which they were uttered, deeply affected the soul of Oswald.

“Cruel woman! you see that I love you—you see that, twenty times a day, I am ready to offer you my hand and my heart; yet you will not inform me who you are! Tell me, Corinne, tell me the story of your past life.”

Perhaps the best way in which a woman of intellect can resume her coldness and dignity, is by seeking an asylum in her own mind.

The next day Oswald and Corinne set out with more confidence and serenity. They were friends travelling together;—they began to say we Ah! how touching is that we when pronounced by love! How timidly, yet how vividly expressed, is the declaration which it contains!
“We will go to the Capitol then," said Corinne.
“Yes, we will go there," replied Oswald.

“Had you come, you would have been very happy."

"Why so?" replied Oswald.

“Because yesterday I discovered, to a certainty, that you have greatly interested her."

“Still this levity," interrupted Lord Nelville; "know that I neither can nor will endure it."

“Do you call levity," said the Count, "the promptitude of my observation? Am I less in the right, because more quickly so?

Oswald was too much captivated by the charms of Corinne, to call to mind his old opinions upon that obscurity which became women; but he was inquiring of himself, whether it were possible to be beloved by her; whether any man could expect to concentrate in himself so many rays of light. In fact, he was at the same time dazzled and disturbed; and although, at his departure, she invited him, very politely, to come…

In the vast caravansary of Rome everything is foreign, even the Romans seem to inhabit there not as the possessors, but like pilgrims who repose beneath the ruins. Oswald shut himself up at home,& went not out to see the city. He was very far from thinking that this country, which he entered under such sadness & dejection of spirits, would soon become for him a source of so many new ideas and enjoyments.

Oh, mon Dieu,interrupted the Count d'Erfeuil,I shall find myself comfortable every where:when we are young & gay every thing accommodates itself to us. It is not from books,nor from meditation,that I have derived the philosophy which I possess,but from knowledge of the world,& trials of misfortune;& you see,my lord,that I have reason to reckon upon chance, since it has procured me the honour of travelling with you.

She was born on the 22nd of April 1766 and was the daughter of the Swiss financier, Necker… Her mother was Suzanne Curchod, the first love of Gibbon, a woman of a delicate beauty, of very considerable mental and social faculties, a kind of puritanical coquette, but devoted to her (by all accounts not particularly interesting) husband…

Because you’re happy you want everyone, absolutely everyone, to be happy too. It hurts you, it grieves you to be happy when others are not! So now you want to do your utmost to prove yourself worthy of this happiness and pull off some great, valiant feat in order to clear your conscience!