Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Thomas Charles Morgan to Sydney Owen, 29 December 1811
Saturday, December 29th.
I could almost fancy, my dearest life, that there was
something more than chance in your having inclosed the billet
douceureux; that I, too, might have something
pleasant to peruse to-day, and so sympathise with you in the delight with which
you are now reading my letter of Thursday last. Ten thousand thanks for it! How
little do you know my temper; that small note has a power over my mind beyond
comparison greater than your grave, sententious epistles; you will never scold me into yielding a point; but coax me, out of
whatever you will, though it be my heart’s blood. I cannot think of your
stupid Irish post without vexation. Two whole days of torment added to your
sufferings, and to my repentance. But I have sinned, and
must bear your anger till the return of post on Monday relieves me. When I look
back at my senseless irritability, I am more than ashamed. It was the excess of
love; but I am sure ![]()
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un peu plus d’indifference,
would have been more excusable. However, at last you have gained a triumph, and
I bow submissive at your feet. Enjoy your victory with moderation, and as you
are stout, be merciful. You may partly guess what the sacrifice has cost me.
You have not only vanquished love, and ardent, passionate, yet tender anxiety
to possess you; but you have overcome my fixed principles of conduct and compelled me (according to my ideas) to
risk our happiness, by protracting courtship; the whims and
caprices I mean are those little peculiarities of habit, which can
only be known to us by the close contact of matrimony. All the courtship in the
world will never teach them. What the conquest has cost you, you do not know. If love had a triumph over reason, reason has,
in its turn, gained the advantage of love. I love you certainly less than I
did. It is more T. C. M. and Miss O., and less Mortimer
and Glorvina. Yet I hope I have stock enough on hand, to
carry us through the vale of years. “Such as you are,” you are necessary to my
happiness, so I must e’en marry you, your
“sensible men” and
all. I hope and trust all unpleasant discussion is over between us.
Burn my “eloquence” that it may not rise in judgment against me,
and if you can, forget the ungenerous reveries in which I have indulged. You must, I hope feel, that in spite of my nonsense, I am ready to sacrifice every
feeling of self to your happiness. I do not wish me
faire valoir, but you cannot conceive the convulsive
throes of my mind, even now, at trusting my hopes into
your possession. If you had asked Clarke, ![]()
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he would have told you in what funds
my little all lies. My long annuity stands in my own name; my wife’s settlement is vested
in the Three per Cents., in the names (I think) of George
Hammond, Anthony H. John Buckshaw and
Francis Const, the trustees to the settlement. So
ma’am you are accountable to no one on earth but me. Oh, that I could now
kiss my thanks to you for the sweet avowal; prepare to find in me a rigid accountant, demanding the long arrear of love you
owe me, and one who will not let you off “till you have paid the
uttermost farthing.” Thank your sister for her note, she, too, shall love me; kiss her for me.
Sir Arthur Clarke (1778-1857)
Irish physician and fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons; in 1808 he married Olivia
Owenson, sister of Lady Morgan.
Sir Thomas Charles Morgan (1780-1843)
English physician and philosophical essayist who married the novelist Sydney Owenson in
1812; he was the author of
Sketches of the Philosophy of Morals
(1822). He corresponded with Cyrus Redding.
