Notes for Michael Barstow: According to the reminiscences of Elizabeth Barstow (1827-1926) Michael Barstow was a trader in Baltic timber, apparently taking up residence in Danzig when his father married, for the third time, a woman of whom he disapproved. There he fell in love with Maria Maclean.Letters to his future wife survive: These are quoted in Elizabeth Barstow's memoir. She writes: " The first letter we have is dated 1783, addressed to his "loveliest Angel", wherein he tells her "His heart being full of her grew too large for his bosom and stopped for a time "all utterance". Again he tells her "This night I saw you again lovely and more charming than Venus, when first she sprang from the waves. In another be writes "Oh that thy Angel form could Angel-like descend into the midst of our circle and I could hail thee my Marichena and thou be once more restored to us to bless us with thy smiles thou rosy featured maid.Ame de mon ame, for thee I well could die; for thee alone I wish to live. Written across the cover was " I hope you liked the herring. I sent you and tbat they were good, a practical remark that probably carried as much weight as all the high flown nonsense. These letters are also full of poetry in various languages which I cannot deci- pher, but one dated Feb. 10th, 1783, I must try to copy in extenso
"My dearest Mary,
If you could possibly conceive the dread anxiety of my situation, I think you would drop me some small line of comfort, it certainly cannot be indifferent to you or I am wretched indeed. Is it possible that I have not as yet made any impression on your heart,or is that so cold, so very cold as to yield up implicitly its feelings, without as much as daring to acknowledge them. You cannot possibly think the man who you yourself allowed to ask your hand base enough to take advantage of the graceful weakness of your heart, should he be accepted would not your tender kindness be doubly un- speakably grateful, and should he be refused, he would derive a comfort from it which might keep him from some deed of des- paration. The letter I have just received from your father is not a refusal, but it is so very civil and polite that I tremble at the thoughts of what may follow.
All my hopes are in Mr. John Simpson, who I believe wishes me well. Oncle Henry will doubtless tell you more; if all depended on him I should then indeed be happy. I have a letter from my friend in York dated Jan. 22nd, who writes me, I have now the pleasure to inform you that your Father is much better and I hope with care will get perfectly free of his complaint. I had the pleasure of dining with him at the Dean’s. last week and at the Recorder’s the week before. Dr. Hunter is afraid his disorder may return, but at present he is quite free from it. Should any alteration take place I will write immediately and give you every intelli- gence in my power, and I shall directly communicate to you, my Mary. Oncle Henry and his Capelmeister’ are not long gone, they came at 8.30 and supped with me, when your health was drunk in a bumper, indeed it is always when we meet . Marichen is our first and last toast, and do you sometimes think of us, loveliest Angel? You have now letters I wrote to you under cover to your father, under cover to your Oncle Henry, and under cover to your best of Mother’s and still I have not a syllable from you. You might have told me how my demand would have been taken, what were your hopes, fears. Indeed, sweetest Mary, I think you are too hard on me. Oh it strikes 12 o’clock, too soon as yet to wish you good morrow, for you are now I fancy buried in sleep. Oh could I but hope your best dreams were now of me , Then must I sleep too that our spirits may hold sweet converse, I will search for you through boundless space and should I meet with it, I will tell you tomorrow, and now goodnight, and finish as Romeo, Goodnight, Goodnight, Parting is such sweet sorrow I could say Good night till it were tomorrow, loveliest Angel, sweetest, dearest Mary, good night then. And I have seen my sweetest Mary. I met with her at Conradshammer. It was spring and in the garden green as lovely May, your bower had been repaired and was covered with Woodbine and Jessamine both in full flower, so was the parterre in front with roses of various sorts and other sweet flowers. The pond was beset with gloomy Cyprus and under the Weeping Willow grew beautiful Forget-me-not, in fact it was an enchanting scene, not a little beautified by the sporting of numerous gold and silver fish upon which the sun shot his dazzling rays. But the figure that gave the most charm to the scene was thine dearest Nymph for like one of Diana’s fairest thou seemed to me, clothed in a loose morning gown, beautifully white, at the waist it was closed by a sky blue silk girdle. Your hair hung carelessly upon your shoulders for you were but just come from bathing, and there seated in the bower your head reclining on my breast, you confessed your passion and vowed eternal love, and swore by the little symbol of fidelity that hung in your Garter on my breast, that you would ever be faithful to your word to me and to yourself, which you confirmed with so tender a kiss, as penetrated my very soul and awoke me, in the most perfect scene of imaginary happiness. Oh Mary, what can this vision mean? Is it a true one and shall I indeed be happy. Best and truest of girls say yes. Give me your hand upon it. Thanks dearest, loveliest Mary, thanks from your trembling, Barstow.
More About Michael Barstow and Maria Maclean: Marriage: 1785, Prussia.
Children of Michael Barstow and Maria Maclean are:
Maria Barstow, b. July 17, 1786, Danzig, d. date unknown.
Michael Barstow (b. June 23, 1740, d. March 10, 1794)
Notes for Michael Barstow: