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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mary Wollstonecraft + +Author: Elizabeth Robins Pennell + +Release Date: September 29, 2007 [EBook #22800] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Louise Pryor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img height="684" width="450" src="images/cover01.jpg" alt="Cover of orig book" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img class="biggap" height="136" width="500" src="images/tp01.png" alt="" title="FAMOUS WOMEN" /> +</div> + + +<h1> +MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.</h1> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center bigger">ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL.</p> + + +<p class="center gap">BOSTON:<br /> +ROBERTS BROTHERS.<br /> +1890.</p> + + +<p class="center little biggap"><i>Copyright, 1884</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By Roberts Brothers</span>.</p> + +<p class="center little gap"><span class="smcap">University Press: +John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.</span> +</p> + + + +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>Comparatively little has been written about the life of <span class="smcap">Mary +Wollstonecraft</span>. The two authorities upon the subject are Godwin and Mr. +C. Kegan Paul. In writing the following Biography I have relied chiefly +upon the Memoir written by the former, and the Life of Godwin and +Prefatory Memoir to the Letters to Imlay of the latter. I have endeavored +to supplement the facts recorded in these books by a careful analysis of +Mary Wollstonecraft’s writings and study of the period in which she +lived.</p> + +<p>I must here express my thanks to Mr. Garnett, of the British Museum, and +to Mr. C. Kegan Paul, for the kind assistance they have given me in my +work. To the first named of these gentlemen I am indebted for the loan of +a manuscript containing some particulars of Mary Wollstonecraft’s last +illness which have never yet appeared in print, and to Mr. Paul for the +gift, as well as the loan, of several important books.</p> + +<p class="little signature"> +E. R. P.</p> +<p class="little indent1"><span class="smcap">London</span>, August, 1884. +</p> + + + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="centered"> + <tr><td colspan="3" class="little toright"> Page</td></tr> + <tr><td colspan="2" class="smcap"><a + href="#INTRODUCTION">Introduction</a></td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + <tr><td class="little toright">Chapter</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr> + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Childhood and Early Youth. 1759-1778 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a>.</td><td class="smcap">First Years of Work. 1778-1785 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Life as Governess. 1786-1788 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Literary Life. 1788-1791 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Literary Work. 1788-1791 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a>.</td><td class="smcap">“Vindication of the Rights of Women” </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Visit to Paris. 1792-1793 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Life with Imlay. 1793-1794 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Imlay’s Desertion. 1794-1795 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Literary Work. 1793-1796 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Retrospective. 1794-1796 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a>.</td><td class="smcap">William Godwin </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Life with Godwin: Marriage. 1796-1797 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td class="toright"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a>.</td><td class="smcap">Last Months: Death. 1797 </td><td class="toright"><a href="#Page_340">340</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + + + + +<h1 class="biggap"> +<span class="pagebreak" title="1"> </span><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a> +MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.</h1> + + + + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION.</h2> + + +<p>Few women have worked so faithfully for the cause of humanity as Mary +Wollstonecraft, and few have been the objects of such bitter censure. She +devoted herself to the relief of her suffering fellow-beings with the +ardor of a Saint Vincent de Paul, and in return she was considered by +them a moral scourge of God. Because she had the courage to express +opinions new to her generation, and the independence to live according to +her own standard of right and wrong, she was denounced as another +Messalina. The young were bidden not to read her books, and the more +mature warned not to follow her example, the miseries she endured being +declared the just retribution of her actions. Indeed, the infamy attached +to her name is almost incredible in the present age, when new theories +are more patiently criticised, and when purity of motive has been +accepted as the vindication of at least one well-known breach of social +laws. The malignant attacks made upon her character since her death have +been too great to be ignored. They had best be stated here, that the life +which follows may serve as their refutation.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="2"> </span><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a> +As a rule, the notices which were published after she was dead were +harsher and more uncompromising than those written during her lifetime. +There were happily one or two exceptions. The writer of her obituary +notice in the “Monthly Magazine” for September, 1797, speaks of her in +terms of unlimited admiration.</p> + +<p>“This extraordinary woman,” he writes, “no less distinguished by +admirable talents and a masculine tone of understanding, than by active +humanity, exquisite sensibility, and endearing qualities of heart, +commanding the respect and winning the affections of all who were favored +with her friendship or confidence, or who were within the sphere of her +influence, may justly be considered as a public loss. Quick to feel, and +indignant to resist, the iron hand of despotism, whether civil or +intellectual, her exertions to awaken in the minds of her oppressed sex a +sense of their degradation, and to restore them to the dignity of reason +and virtue, were active and incessant; by her impassioned reasoning and +glowing eloquence, the fabric of voluptuous prejudice has been shaken to +its foundation and totters towards its fall; while her philosophic mind, +taking a wider range, perceived and lamented in the defects of civil +institutions interwoven in their texture and inseparable from them the +causes of those partial evils, destructive to virtue and happiness, which +poison social intercourse and deform domestic life.” Her eulogist +concludes by calling her the “ornament of her sex, the enlightened +advocate for freedom, and the benevolent friend of humankind.”</p> + +<p>It is more than probable, however, that this was written by a personal +friend; for a year later the same +<span class="pagebreak" title="3"> </span><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a> + magazine, in its semi-annual +retrospect of British literature, expressed somewhat altered opinions. +This time it says: “It is not for us to vindicate Mary Godwin from the +charge of multiplied immorality which is brought against her by the +candid as well as the censorious, by the sagacious as well as the +superstitious observer. Her character in our estimation is far from being +entitled to unqualified praise; she had many faults; she had many +transcendent virtues. But she is now dead, and we shall</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘No farther seek her merits to disclose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or draw her frailties from the dread abode;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There they alike in trembling hope repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bosom of her father and her God!’”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The notice in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for October, 1797, the month +after her death, is friendly, but there are limitations to its praise. +The following is the sentence it passed upon her: “Her manners were +gentle, easy, and elegant; her conversation intelligent and amusing, +without the least trait of literary pride, or the apparent consciousness +of powers above the level of her sex; and, for fondness of understanding +and sensibility of heart, she was, perhaps, never equalled. Her practical +skill in education was ever superior to her speculations upon that +subject; nor is it possible to express the misfortune sustained in that +respect by her children. This tribute we readily pay to her character, +however adverse we may be to the system she supported in politics and +morals, both by her writings and practice.”</p> + +<p>In 1798 Godwin published his Memoir of Mary, together with her posthumous +writings. He no doubt +<span class="pagebreak" title="4"> </span><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a> + hoped by a clear statement of the principal +incidents of her life to moderate the popular feeling against her. But he +was the last person to have undertaken the task. Outside of the small +circle of friends and sympathizers who really loved him, he was by no +means popular. There were some who even seemed to think that the greatest +hardship of Mary’s life was to have been his wife. Thus Roscoe, after +reading the Memoir, expressed the sentiments it aroused in him in the +following lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Hard was thy fate in all the scenes of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As daughter, sister, mother, friend, and wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But harder still thy fate in death we own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus mourned by Godwin with a heart of stone.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Moreover, Godwin’s views about marriage, as set forth in his “Political +Justice,” were held in such abhorrence that the fact that he approved of +Mary’s conduct was reason enough for the multitude to disapprove of it. +His book, therefore, was not a success as far as Mary’s reputation was +concerned. Indeed, it increased rather than lessened the asperity of her +detractors. It was greeted by the “European Magazine” for April, 1798, +almost immediately after its publication, by one of the most scathing +denunciations of Mary’s character which had yet appeared.</p> + +<p>“The lady,” the article begins, “whose memoirs are now before us, appears +to have possessed good abilities, and originally a good disposition, but, +with an overweening conceit of herself, much obstinacy and self-will, and +a disposition to run counter to established practices and opinions. Her +conduct in the early part of her life was blameless, if not exemplary; +but the +<span class="pagebreak" title="5"> </span><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a> + latter part of it was blemished with actions which must consign +her name to posterity (in spite of all palliatives) as one whose example, +if followed, would be attended with the most pernicious consequences to +society: a female who could brave the opinion of the world in the most +delicate point; a philosophical wanton, breaking down the bars designed +to restrain licentiousness; and a mother, deserting a helpless offspring +disgracefully brought into the world by herself, by an intended act of +suicide.” Here follows a short sketch of the incidents recorded by +Godwin, and then the article concludes: “Such was the catastrophe of a +female philosopher of the new order, such the events of her life, and +such the apology for her conduct. It will be read with disgust by every +female who has any pretensions to delicacy; with detestation by every one +attached to the interests of religion and morality; and with indignation +by any one who might feel any regard for the unhappy woman, whose +frailties should have been buried in oblivion. Licentious as the times +are, we trust it will obtain no imitators of the heroine in this country. +It may act, however, as a warning to those who fancy themselves at +liberty to dispense with the laws of propriety and decency, and who +suppose the possession of perverted talents will atone for the well +government of society and the happiness of mankind.”</p> + +<p>This opinion of the “European Magazine” was the one most generally +adopted. It was re-echoed almost invariably when Mary Wollstonecraft’s +name was mentioned in print. A Mrs. West, who, in 1801, published a +series of “Letters to a Young Man,” full of goodly +<span class="pagebreak" title="6"> </span><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a> + discourse and moral +exhortation, found occasion to warn him against Mary’s works, which she +did with as much energy as if the latter had been the Scarlet Woman of +Babylon in the flesh. “This unfortunate woman,” she says in conclusion, +“has <i>terribly</i> terminated her guilty career; terribly, I say, because +the account of her last moments, though intentionally panegyrical, proves +that she died as she lived; and her posthumous writings show that her +soul was in the most unfit state to meet her pure and holy judge.”</p> + +<p>A writer in the “Beauties of England and Wales,” though animated by the +same spirit, saw no reason to caution his readers against Mary’s +pernicious influence, because of his certainty that in another generation +she would be forgotten. “Few writers have attained a larger share of +temporary celebrity,” he admits. “This was the triumph of wit and +eloquence of style. To the age next succeeding it is probable that her +name will be nearly unknown; for the calamities of her life so miserably +prove the impropriety of her doctrines that it becomes a point of charity +to close the volume treating of the Rights of Women with mingled wonder +and pity.”</p> + +<p>But probably the article which was most influential in perpetuating the +ill-repute in which she stood with her contemporaries, is the sketch of +her life given in Chalmers’s “Biographical Dictionary.” The papers and +many books of the day soon passed out of sight, but the Dictionary was +long used as a standard work of reference. In this particular article +every action of Mary’s life is construed unfavorably, and her character +shamefully vilified. Judging from Godwin’s Memoir, +<span class="pagebreak" title="7"> </span><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a> + it decides that Mary +“appears to have been a woman of strong intellect, which might have +elevated her to the highest ranks of English female writers, had not her +genius run wild for want of cultivation. Her passions were consequently +ungovernable, and she accustomed herself to yield to them without +scruple, treating female honor and delicacy as vulgar prejudices. She was +therefore a voluptuary and sensualist, without that refinement for which +she seemed to contend on other subjects. Her history, indeed, forms +entirely a warning, and in no part an example. Singular she was, it must +be allowed, for it is not easily to be conceived that such another +heroine will ever appear, unless in a novel, where a latitude is given to +that extravagance of character which she attempted to bring into real +life.” Beloe, in the “Sexagenarian,” borrowed the scurrilous abuse of the +“Biographical Dictionary,” which was furthermore accepted by almost every +history of English literature and encyclopædia as the correct estimate of +Mary’s character and teachings. It is, therefore, no wonder that the +immorality of her doctrines and unwomanliness of her conduct came to be +believed in implicitly by the too credulous public.</p> + +<p>That she fully deserved this disapprobation and contempt seemed to many +confirmed by the fact that her daughter, Mary Godwin, consented to live +with Shelley before their union could be legalized. The independence of +mother and daughter excited private as well as public animosity. There is +in the British Museum a book containing a collection of drawings, +newspaper slips, and written notes, illustrative of the history and +topography of the parish of Saint Pancras. As Mary +<span class="pagebreak" title="8"> </span><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a> + Wollstonecraft was +buried in the graveyard of Saint Pancras Church, mention is made of her. +A copy of the painting<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnnum">1</a> by Opie, which was supposed until very recently +to be her portrait, is pasted on one of the pages of this book, and +opposite to it is the following note, written on a slip of paper, and +dated 1821: “Mary Wollstonecraft, a disgrace to modesty, an eminent +instance of a perverted strong mind, the defender of the ‘Rights of +Women,’ but an ill example to them, soon terminated her life of error, +and her remains were laid in the cemetery of Saint Pancras, amidst the +believers of the papal creed.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><span class="label"><a href="#FNanchor_1_1">1</a></span> It was engraved and published in the “Monthly Mirror,” with +Mary’s name attached to it, during her lifetime. When Mr. Kegan Paul +published the “Letters to Imlay,” in 1879, there seemed no doubt of its +authenticity. But since then it has been proved to be the portrait of the +wife of an artist who lived in the latter part of the eighteenth +century.</p></div></div> + +<p>“There is a monument placed over her remains, being a square pillar.” +(The inscription here follows.) “A willow was planted on each side of the +pillar, but, like the character of Mary, they do not flourish. Her +unfortunate daughters were reared by their infamous father for +prostitution,—one is sold to the wicked poet Shelley, and the other to +attend upon her. The former became Mrs. Shelley.” The prejudice of the +writer of these lines against the subject of them, together with his +readiness to accept all the ill spoken of her, is at once shown in his +reference to Claire, who was the daughter of the second Mrs. Godwin by +her first husband, and hence no relation whatever to Mrs. Shelley. This +mistake proves that he relied overmuch upon current gossip.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="9"> </span><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a> +During all these years Mary was not entirely without friends, but their +number was small. In 1803 an anonymous admirer published a defence of her +character and conduct, “founded on principles of nature and reason as +applied to the peculiar circumstances of her case,” in a series of nine +letters to a lady. But his defence is less satisfactory to his readers +than it is to be presumed it was to himself. In it he carefully repeats +those details of Godwin’s Memoir which were most severely criticised, and +to some of them gives a new and scarcely more favorable construction. He +candidly admits that he does not pretend to vindicate the <i>whole</i> of her +conduct. He merely wishes to apologize for it by demonstrating the +motives from which she acted. But to accomplish this he evolves his +arguments chiefly from his inner consciousness. Had he appealed more +directly to her writings, and thought less of showing his own ingenuity +in reasoning, he would have written to better purpose.</p> + +<p>Southey was always enthusiastic in his admiration. His letters are full +of her praises. “We are going to dine on Wednesday next with Mary +Wollstonecraft, of all the literary characters the one I most admire,” he +wrote to Thomas Southey, on April 28, 1797. And a year or two after her +death, he declared in a letter to Miss Barker, “I never praised living +being yet, except Mary Wollstonecraft.” He made at least one public +profession of his esteem in these lines, prefixed to his “Triumph of +Woman:”—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The lily cheek, the ‘purple light of love,’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The liquid lustre of the melting eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mary! of these the Poet sung, for these<br /></span> + +<span class="pagebreak" title="10"> </span><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a> +<span class="i0">Did Woman triumph ... turn not thou away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contemptuous from the theme. No Maid of Arc<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had, in those ages, for her country’s cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wielded the sword of freedom; no Roland<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had borne the palm of female fortitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No Condé with self-sacrificing zeal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had glorified again the Avenger’s name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As erst when Cæsar perished; haply too<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some strains may hence be drawn, befitting me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To offer, nor unworthy thy regard.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Shelley too offered her the tribute of his praise in verse. In the +dedication of the “Revolt of Islam,” addressed to his wife, he thus +alludes to the latter’s famous mother:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of glorious parents, thou aspiring child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder not; for one then left the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose life was like a setting planet mild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of its departing glory.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But the mere admiration of Southey and Shelley had little weight against +popular prejudice. Year by year Mary’s books, like so many other literary +productions, were less frequently read, and the prediction that in +another generation her name would be unknown bade fair to be fulfilled. +But the latest of her admirers, Mr. Kegan Paul, has, by his zealous +efforts in her behalf, succeeded in vindicating her character and +reviving interest in her writings. By his careful history of her life, +and noble words in her defence, he has re-established her reputation. As +he says himself, “Only eighty years after her death has any serious +attempt been made to set her right in the eyes of those who will choose +to see her as she was.” His attempt has been +<span class="pagebreak" title="11"> </span><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a> + successful. No one after +reading her sad story as he tells it in his Life of Godwin, can doubt her +moral uprightness. His statement of her case attracted the attention it +deserved. Two years after it appeared, Miss Mathilde Blind published, in +the “New Quarterly Review,” a paper containing a briefer sketch of the +incidents he recorded, and expressing an honest recognition of this great +but much-maligned woman.</p> + +<p>Thus, at this late day, the attacks of her enemies are being defeated. +The critic who declared the condition of the trees planted near her grave +to be symbolical of her fate, were he living now, would be forced to +change the conclusions he drew from his comparison. In that part of Saint +Pancras Churchyard which lies between the two railroad bridges, and which +has not been included in the restored garden, but remains a dreary waste, +fenced about with broken gravestones, the one fresh green spot is the +corner occupied by the monument<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnnum">1</a> erected to the memory of Mary +Wollstonecraft, and separated from the open space by an iron railing. +There is no sign of withering willows in this enclosure. Its trees are of +goodly growth and fair promise. And, like them, her character now +<i>flourishes</i>, for justice is at last being done to her.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><span class="label"><a href="#FNanchor_1_2">1</a></span> Her body has been removed to Bournemouth.</p></div></div> + + +<h2><span class="pagebreak" title="12"> </span><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p class="center">CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH.</p> + +<p class="center">1759-1778.</p> + + +<p>Mary Wollstonecraft was born on the 27th of April, 1759, but whether in +London or in Epping Forest, where she spent the first five years of her +life, is not quite certain. There is no history of her ancestors to show +from whom she inherited the intellectual greatness which distinguished +her, but which characterized neither of her parents. Her paternal +grandfather was a manufacturer in Spitalfields, of whom little is known, +except that he was of Irish extraction and that he himself was +respectable and prosperous. To his son, Edward John, Mary’s father, he +left a fortune of ten thousand pounds, no inconsiderable sum in those +days for a man of his social position. Her mother was Elizabeth, daughter +of Mr. Dixon, of Ballyshannon, Ireland, who belonged to an eminently good +family. Mary was the second of six children. The eldest, Edward, who was +more successful in his worldly affairs than the others, and James, who +went to sea to seek his fortunes, both passed to a great extent out of +her life. But her two sisters, Eliza and Everina, and her youngest +brother, Charles, were so dependent upon her for assistance in their many +troubles that their career is intimately associated with hers.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="13"> </span><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a> +With her very first years Mary Wollstonecraft began a bitter training in +the school of experience, which was to no small degree instrumental in +developing her character and forming her philosophy. There are few +details of her childhood, and no anecdotes indicating a precocious +genius. But enough is known of her early life to make us understand what +were the principal influences to which she was exposed. Her strength +sprang from the very uncongeniality of her home and her successful +struggles against the poverty and vice which surrounded her. Her father +was a selfish, hot-tempered despot, whose natural bad qualities were +aggravated by his dissipated habits. His chief characteristic was his +instability. He could persevere in nothing. Apparently brought up to no +special profession, he was by turns a gentleman of leisure, a farmer, a +man of business. It seems to have been sufficient for him to settle in +any one place to almost immediately wish to depart from it. The history +of the first fifteen or twenty years of his married life is that of one +long series of migrations. The discomforts and petty miseries unavoidable +to travellers with large families in pre-railroad days necessarily +increased his irascibility. The inevitable consequence of these many +changes was loss of money and still greater loss of temper. That his +financial experiments proved to be failures, is certain from the abject +poverty of his later years. That they were bad for him morally, is shown +in the fact that his children, when grown up, found it impossible to live +under the same roof with him. His indifference in one particular to their +wishes and welfare led in the end to disregard of them in all matters.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="14"> </span><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a> +It is more than probable that Mary, in her “Wrongs of Woman,” drew +largely from her own experience for the characters therein represented, +and we shall not err in identifying the father she describes in this +novel with Mr. Wollstonecraft himself. “His orders,” she writes, “were +not to be disputed; and the whole house was expected to fly at the word +of command.... He was to be instantaneously obeyed, especially by my +mother, whom he very benevolently married for love; but took care to +remind her of the obligation when she dared in the slightest instance to +question his absolute authority.” He was, in a word, an egotist of the +worst description, who found no brutality too low once his anger was +aroused, and no amount of despotism too odious when the rights and +comforts of others interfered with his own desires. When contradicted or +thwarted his rage was ungovernable, and he used personal violence not +only to his dogs and children, but even to his wife. Drink and +unrestrained selfishness had utterly degraded him. Such was Mary’s +father.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wollstonecraft was her husband’s most abject slave, but was in turn +somewhat of a tyrant herself. She approved of stern discipline for the +young. She was too indolent to give much attention to the education of +her children, and devoted what little energy she possessed to enforcing +their unquestioning obedience even in trifles, and to making them as +afraid of her displeasure as they were of their father’s anger. “It is +perhaps difficult to give you an idea of the petty cares which obscured +the morning of my life,” Mary declares through her heroine,—“continual +restraint in the most trivial matters, unconditional submission to +orders, which +<span class="pagebreak" title="15"> </span><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a> + as a mere child I soon discovered to be unreasonable, +because inconsistent and contradictory. Thus are we destined to +experience a mixture of bitterness with the recollection of our most +innocent enjoyment.” Edward, as the mother’s favorite, escaped her +severity; but it fell upon Mary with double force, and was with her +carried out with a thoroughness that laid its shortcomings bare, and +consequently forced Mrs. Wollstonecraft to modify her treatment of her +younger children. This concession on her part shows that she must have +had their well-being at heart, even when her policy in their regard was +most misguided, and that her unkindness was not, like her husband’s +cruelty, born of caprice. But it was sad for Mary that her mother did not +discover her mistake sooner.</p> + +<p>When Mary was five years old, and before she had had time to form any +strong impressions of her earliest home, her father moved to another part +of Epping Forest near the Chelmsford Road. Then, at the end of a year, he +carried his family to Barking in Essex, where he established them in a +comfortable home, a little way out of the town. Many of the London +markets were then supplied from the farms around Barking, so that the +chance for his success here was promising.</p> + +<p>This place was the scene of Mary’s principal childish recollections and +associations. Natural surroundings were with her of much more importance +than they usually are to the very young, because she depended upon them +for her pleasures. She cared nothing for dolls and the ordinary +amusements of girls. Having received few caresses and little tender +nursing, she did not know how to play the part of mother. Her recreation +led +<span class="pagebreak" title="16"> </span><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a> + her out of doors with her brothers. That she lived much in the open +air and became thoroughly acquainted with the town and the neighborhood, +seems certain from the eagerness with which she visited it years +afterwards with Godwin. This was in 1796, and Mary with enthusiasm sought +out the old house in which she had lived. It was unoccupied, and the +garden around it was a wild and tangled mass. Then she went through the +town itself; to the market-place, which had perhaps been the Mecca of +frequent pilgrimages in the old times; to the wharves, the bustle and +excitement of which had held her spellbound many a long summer afternoon; +and finally from one street to another, each the scene of well-remembered +rambles and adventures. Time can soften sharp and rugged lines and +lighten deep shadows, and the pleasant reminiscences of Barking days made +her overlook bitterer memories.</p> + +<p>That there were many of the latter, cannot be doubted. Only too often the +victim of her father’s cruel fury, and at all times a sufferer because of +her mother’s theories, she had little chance for happiness during her +childhood. She was, like Carlyle’s hero of “Sartor Resartus,” one of +those children whose sad fate it is to weep “in the playtime of the +others.” Not even to the David Copperfields and Paul Dombeys of fiction +has there fallen a lot so hard to bear and so sad to record, as that of +the little Mary Wollstonecraft. She was then the most deserving object of +that pity which later, as a woman, she was always ready to bestow upon +others. Her affections were unusually warm and deep, but they could find +no outlet. She met, on the +<span class="pagebreak" title="17"> </span><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a> + one hand, indifference and sternness; on the +other, injustice and ill-usage. It is when reading the story of her +after-life, and learning from it how, despite her masculine intellect, +she possessed a heart truly feminine, that we fully appreciate the +barrenness of her early years. She was one of those who, to use her own +words, “cannot live without loving, as poets love.” At the strongest +period of her strong womanhood she felt, as she so touchingly confesses +in her appeals to Imlay, the need of some one to lean upon,—some one to +give her the love and sympathy, which were to her what light and heat are +to flowers. It can therefore easily be imagined how much greater was the +necessity, and consequently the craving caused by its non-gratification, +when she was nothing but a child. Overflowing with tenderness, she dared +not lavish it on the mother who should have been so ready to receive it. +Instead of the confidence which should exist between mother and daughter, +there was in their case nothing but cold formality. Nor was there for her +much compensation in the occasional caresses of her father. Sensitive to +a fault, she could not forgive his blows and unkindness so quickly as to +be able to enjoy his smiles and favors. Moreover, she had little chance +of finding, without, the devotion and gentle care which were denied to +her within her own family. Mr. Wollstonecraft remained so short a time in +each locality in which he made his home, that his wife saw but little of +her relations and old acquaintances; while no sooner had his children +made new friends, than they were separated from them.</p> + +<p>To whatever town they went, the Wollstonecrafts +<span class="pagebreak" title="18"> </span><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a> + seem to have given signs +of gentility and good social standing, which won for them, if not many, +at least respectable friends. At Barking an intimacy sprang up between +them and the family of Mr. Bamber Gascoyne, Member of Parliament. But +Mary was too young to profit by this friendship. It was most ruthlessly +interrupted three years later, when, in 1768, the restless head of the +house, whose industry in Barking had not equalled the enterprise which +brought him there, took his departure for Beverly, in Yorkshire.</p> + +<p>This was the most complete change that he had as yet made. Heretofore his +wanderings had been confined to Essex. But he either found in his new +home more promising occupation and congenial companionship than he had +hitherto, or else there was a short respite to his feverish restlessness, +for he continued in it for six years. It was here Mary received almost +all the education that was ever given her by regular schooling. Beverly +was nothing but a small market-town, though she in her youthful +enthusiasm thought it large and handsome, and its inhabitants brilliant +and elegant, and was much disappointed, when she passed through it many +years afterwards, on her way to Norway, to see how far the reality fell +short of her youthful idealizations. Its schools could not have been of a +very high order, and we do not need Godwin’s assurance to know that Mary +owed little of her subsequent culture to them. But her education may be +said to have really begun in 1775, when her father, tired of farming and +tempted by commercial hopes, left Beverly for Hoxton, near London.</p> + +<p>Mary was at this time in her sixteenth year. The +<span class="pagebreak" title="19"> </span><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a> + effect of her home +life, under which most children would have succumbed, had been to develop +her character at an earlier age than is usual with women. In spite of the +tyranny and caprice of her parents, and, indeed, perhaps because of them, +she had soon asserted her individuality and superiority. When she had +recognized the mistaken motives of her mother and the weakness of her +father, she had been forced to rely upon her own judgment and +self-command. It is a wonderful proof of her fine instincts that, though +she must have known her strength, she did not rebel, and that her keen +insight into the injustice of some actions did not prevent her realizing +the justice of others. Her mind seems to have been from the beginning too +evenly balanced for any such misconceptions. When reprimanded, she +deservedly found in the reprimand, as she once told Godwin, the one means +by which she became reconciled to herself for the fault which had called +it forth. As she matured, her immediate relations could not but yield to +the influence which she exercised over all with whom she was brought into +close contact. If there be such a thing as animal magnetism, she +possessed it in perfection. Her personal attractions commanded love, and +her great powers of sympathy drew people, without their knowing why, to +lean upon her for moral support. In the end she became an authority in +her family. Mrs. Wollstonecraft was in time compelled to bestow upon her +the affection which she had first withheld. It was the ugly duckling +after all who proved to be the swan of the flock. Mr. Wollstonecraft +learned to hold his eldest daughter in awe, and his wrath sometimes +diminished in her presence.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="20"> </span><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a> +Pity was always Mary’s ruling passion. Feeling deeply the family +sorrows, she was quick to forget herself in her efforts to lighten them +when this privilege was allowed to her. There were opportunities enough +for self-sacrifice. With every year Mr. Wollstonecraft squandered more +money, and grew idler and more dissipated. Home became unbearable, the +wife’s burden heavier. Mary, emancipated from the restraints of +childhood, no longer remained a silent spectator of her father’s fits of +passion. When her mother was the victim of his violence, she interposed +boldly between them, determined that if his blows fell upon any one, it +should be upon herself. There were occasions when she so feared the +results of his drunken rage that she would not even go to bed at night, +but, throwing herself upon the floor outside her room, would wait there, +on the alert, to meet whatever horrors darkness might bring forth. Could +there be a picture more tragical than this of the young girl, a weary +woman before her time, protecting the mother who should have protected +her, fighting against the vices of a father who should have shielded her +from knowledge of them! Already before she had left her home there must +have come into her eyes that strangely sad expression, which Kegan Paul, +in speaking of her portrait by Opie, says reminds him of nothing unless +it be of the agonized sorrow in the face of Guido’s Beatrice Cenci. No +one can wonder that she doubted if marriage can be the highest possible +relationship between the sexes, when it is remembered that for years she +had constantly before her, proofs of the power man possesses, by sheer +physical strength and simple brutality, to destroy the happiness of an +entire household.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="21"> </span><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a> +It was fortunate for her that she spent these wretched years in or very +near the country. She could wear off the effects of the stifling home +atmosphere by races over neighboring heaths, or by walks through lanes +and woods. Constant exercise in the open air is the best of stimulants. +It helped her to escape the many ills which childish flesh is heir to; it +lessened the morbid tendency of her nature; and it developed an energy of +character which proved her greatest safeguard against her sensitive and +excitable temperament. Besides this, she seems to have taken real delight +in her out-of-doors life. If at a later age she loved to sit in solitude +and listen to the singing of a robin and the falling of the leaves, she +must, as a child, have possessed much of that imaginative power which +transforms all nature into fairyland. If, in the bitter consciousness +that she was a betrayed and much-sinned-against woman, she could still +find moments of exquisite pleasure in wandering through woods and over +rocks, such haunts must have been as dear to her when she sought in them +escape from her young misery. It is probable that she refers to herself +when she makes her heroine, Maria, say, “An enthusiastic fondness for the +varying charms of nature is the first sentiment I recollect.”</p> + +<p>Mary’s existence up to 1775 had been, save when disturbed by family +storms, quiet, lonely, and uneventful. As yet no special incident had +occurred in it, nor had she been awakened to intellectual activity. But +in Hoxton she contracted a friendship which, though it was with a girl of +her own age, was always esteemed by her as the chief and leading event in +her existence. This it was which first aroused her love of study and of +<span class="pagebreak" title="22"> </span><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a> + +independence, and opened a channel for the outpouring of her too-long +suppressed affections. Her love for Fanny Blood was the spark which +kindled the latent fire of her genius. Her arrival in Hoxton, therefore, +marks the first important era in her life.</p> + +<p>She owed this new pleasure to Mr. Clare, a clergyman, and his wife, who +lived next to the Wollstonecrafts in Hoxton. The acquaintanceship formed +with their neighbors ripened in Mary’s case into intimacy. Mr. Clare was +deformed and delicate, and, because of his great physical weakness, led +the existence of a hermit. He rarely, if ever, went out, and his habits +were so essentially sedentary that a pair of shoes lasted him for +fourteen years. It is hardly necessary to add that he was eccentric. But +he was a man of a certain amount of culture. He had read largely, his +opportunity for so doing being great. He was attracted by Mary, whom he +soon discovered to be no ordinary girl, and he interested himself in +forming and training her mind. She, in return, liked him. His deformity +alone would have appealed to her, but she found him a congenial +companion, and, as she proved herself a willing pupil, he was glad to +have her much with him. She was a friend of Mrs. Clare as well; indeed, +the latter remained true to her through later storms which wrecked many +other less sincere friendships. Mary sometimes spent days and even weeks +in the house of these good people; and it was on one of these occasions, +probably, that Mrs. Clare took her to Newington Butts, then a village at +the extreme southern end of London, and there introduced her to Frances +Blood.</p> + +<p>The first meeting between them, Godwin says, “bore +<span class="pagebreak" title="23"> </span><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a> + a resemblance to the +first interview of Werter with Charlotte.” The Bloods lived in a small, +but scrupulously well-kept house, and when its door was first opened for +Mary, Fanny, a bright-looking girl about her own age, was busy, like +another Lotte, in superintending the meal of her younger brothers and +sisters. It was a scene well calculated to excite Mary’s interest. She, +better than any one else, could understand its full worth. It revealed to +her at a glance the skeleton in the family closet,—the inefficiency of +the parents to care for the children whom they had brought into the +world, and the poverty which prevented their hiring others to do their +work for them. And at the same time it showed her the noble unselfishness +of the daughter, who not only took upon herself the burden so easily +shifted by the parents, but who accepted her fate cheerfully. +Cheerfulness is a virtue but too lightly prized. When maintained in the +face of difficulties and unhappiness it becomes the finest heroism. The +recognition of this heroic side of Fanny’s nature commanded the instant +admiration and respect of her visitor. Mary then and there vowed in her +heart eternal friendship for her new acquaintance, and the vow was never +broken.</p> + +<p>Balzac, in his “Cousine Bette,” says that there is no stronger passion +than the love of one woman for another. Mary Wollstonecraft’s affection +for Frances Blood is a striking illustration of the truth of his +statement. It was strong as that of a Sappho for an Erinna; tender and +constant as that of a mother for her child. From the moment they met +until they were separated by poor Fanny’s untimely death, Mary never +wavered in her devotion and its active expression, nor could the +<span class="pagebreak" title="24"> </span><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a> + +vicissitudes and joys of her later life destroy her loving loyalty to the +memory of her first and dearest friend. “When a warm heart has strong +impressions,” she wrote in a letter long years afterwards, “they are not +to be effaced. Emotions become sentiments; and the imagination renders +even transient sensations permanent, by fondly retracing them. I cannot +without a thrill of delight recollect views I have seen, which are not to +be forgotten, nor looks I have felt in every nerve, which I shall never +more meet. The grave has closed over a dear friend, the friend of my +youth; still she is present with me, and I hear her soft voice warbling +as I stray over the heath.”</p> + +<p>There was much to draw the two friends together. They had many miseries +and many tastes and interests in common. Fanny’s parents were poor, and +her father, like Mr. Wollstonecraft, was idle and dissipated. There were +young children to be reared, and an incompetent mother to do it. Fanny +was only two years older than Mary, but was, at that time, far more +advanced mentally. Her education had been more complete. She was in a +small way both musician and artist, was fond of reading, and had even +tried her powers at writing. But her drawing had proved her most +profitable accomplishment, and by it she supported her entire family. +Mary as yet had perfected herself in nothing, and was helpless where +money-making was concerned. Her true intellectual education had but just +begun under Mr. Clare’s direction. She had previously read voluminously, +but, having done so for mere immediate gratification, had derived but +little profit therefrom. As she lived in Hoxton, +<span class="pagebreak" title="25"> </span><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a> + and Fanny in Newington +Butts, they could not see each other very often, and so in the intervals +between their visits they corresponded. Mary found that her letters were +far inferior to those of her friend. She could not spell so well; she had +none of Fanny’s ease in shaping her thoughts into words. Her pride was +hurt and her ambition stirred. She determined to make herself at least +Fanny’s intellectual equal. It was humiliating to know herself powerless +to improve her own condition, when her friend was already earning an +income large enough not only to meet her own wants but those of others +depending upon her. To prepare herself for a like struggle with the +world, a struggle which in all likelihood she would be obliged to make +single-handed, she studied earnestly. Books acquired new value in her +eyes. She read no longer for passing amusement, but to strengthen and +cultivate her mind for future work. It cannot be doubted that under any +circumstances she would, in the course of a few years, have become +conscious of her power and the necessity to exercise it. But to Fanny +Blood belongs the honor of having given the first incentive to her +intellectual energy. This brave, heavily burdened young English girl, +accepting toils and tribulations with stout heart, would, with many +another silent heroine or hero, have been forgotten, had it not been for +the stimulus her love and example were to an even stronger +sister-sufferer. The larger field of interests thus opened for Mary was +like the bright dawn after a long and dark night. For the first time she +was happy.</p> + +<p>There was therefore much in her life at Hoxton to relieve the gloomy +influence of the family troubles. +<span class="pagebreak" title="26"> </span><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a> + Work for a definite end is in itself a +great joy. Many pleasant hours were spent with the Clares, and occasional +gala-days with Fanny. These last two pleasures, however, were +short-lived. The inexorable family tyrant, her father, grew tired of +commerce, as indeed he did of everything, and in the spring of 1776 he +abandoned it for agriculture, this time settling in Pembroke, Wales, +where he owned some little property. With a heavy heart Mary bade +farewell to her new friends.</p> + +<p>It is well worth recording that in 1775, while Mary Wollstonecraft was +living in Hoxton, William Godwin was a student at the Dissenting College +in that town. Godwin, in his short Memoir of his wife, pauses to +speculate as to what would have been the result had they then met and +loved. In his characteristic philosophical way he asks, “Which would have +been predominant,—the disadvantages of obscurity and the pressure of a +family, or the gratifications and improvement that might have flowed from +their intercourse?” But the vital question is: Would an acquaintanceship +formed <a name="c26" id="c26"></a><a href="#tn26" class="correction" title="changed from 'beween'">between</a> them at that time have ever become more than +mere friendship? She was then a wild, untrained girl, and had not reduced +her contempt for established institutions to fixed principles. Godwin, +the son of a Dissenting clergyman, was studying to be one himself, and +his opinions of the rights of man were still unformed. Neither had +developed the ideas and doctrines which afterwards were the bond of +sympathy between them. One thing is certain: while they might have +benefited had they married twenty years earlier than they did, the world +would have lost. Godwin, under the influence of a wife’s tender love, +would never +<span class="pagebreak" title="27"> </span><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a> + have became a cold, systematic philosopher. And Mary, had +she found a haven from her misery so soon, would not have felt as +strongly about the wrongs of women. Whatever her world’s work under those +circumstances might have been, she would not have become the champion of +her sex.</p> + +<p>Of external incidents the year in Wales was barren. The only one on +record is the intimacy which sprang up between the Wollstonecrafts and +the Allens. Two daughters of this family afterwards married sons of the +famous potter, Wedgwood, and the friendship then begun lasted for life. +To Mary herself, however, this year was full and fertile. It was devoted +to study and work. Hers was the only true genius,—the genius for +industry. She never relaxed in the task she had set for herself, and her +progress was rapid. The signs she soon manifested of her mental power +added to the respect with which her family now treated her. Realizing +that the assistance she could give by remaining at home was but little +compared to that which might result from her leaving it for some definite +employment, she seems at this period to have announced her intention of +seeking her fortunes abroad. But Mrs. Wollstonecraft looked upon the +presence of her daughter as a strong bulwark of defence against the +brutal attacks of her husband, and was loath to lose it. Mary yielded to +her entreaties to wait a little longer; but her sympathy and tender pity +for human suffering fortunately never destroyed her common sense. She +knew that the day must come when on her own individual exertions would +depend not only her own but a large share of her sisters’ and brothers’ +maintenance, and, in consenting to +<span class="pagebreak" title="28"> </span><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a> + remain at home, she exacted certain +conditions. She insisted upon being allowed freedom in the regulation of +her actions. She demanded that she should have a room for her exclusive +property, and that, when engaged in study, she should not be interrupted. +She would attend to certain domestic duties, and after they were over, +her time must be her own. It was little to ask. All she wanted was the +liberty to make herself independent of the paternal care which girls of +eighteen, as a rule, claim as their right. It was granted her.</p> + +<p>At the end of another year, the demon of restlessness again attacked Mr. +Wollstonecraft. Wales proved less attractive than it had appeared at a +distance. Orders were given to repack the family goods and chattels, and +to set out upon new wanderings. On this occasion, Mary interfered with a +strong hand. Since a change was to be made, it might as well be turned to +her advantage. She had, without a word, allowed herself to be carried to +Wales away from the one person she really loved, and she now knew the +sacrifice had been useless. It was clear to her that one place was no +better for her father than another; therefore he should go where it +pleased her. It was better that one member of the family should be +content, than that all should be equally miserable. She prevailed upon +him to choose Walworth as his next resting-place. Here she would be near +Fanny, and life would again hold some brightness for her.</p> + +<p>It was at Walworth that she took the first step in what was fated to be a +long life of independence and work. The conditions which she had made +with her family seem to have been here neglected, and study at home +<span class="pagebreak" title="29"> </span><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a> + +became more and more impossible. She was further stimulated to action by +the personal influence of her energetic friend, by the fact that the +younger children were growing up to receive their share of the family +sorrow and disgrace, and by her own great dread of poverty. “How writers +professing to be friends to freedom and the improvement of morals can +assert that poverty is no evil, I cannot imagine!” she exclaims in the +“Wrongs of Woman.” She cared nothing for the luxuries and the ease and +idleness which wealth gives, but she prized above everything the time and +opportunity for self-culture of which the poor, in their struggle for +existence, are deprived. The Wollstonecraft fortunes were at low ebb. Her +share in them, should she remain at home, would be drudgery and slavery, +which would grow greater with every year. Her one hope for the future +depended upon her profitable use of the present. The sooner she earned +money for herself, the sooner would she be able to free her brothers and +sisters from the yoke whose weight she knew full well because of her own +eagerness to throw it off. Unselfish as her father was selfish, she +thought quite as much of their welfare as of her own. Therefore when, at +the age of nineteen, a situation as lady’s companion was offered to her, +neither tears nor entreaties could alter her resolution to accept it. She +entered at once upon her new duties, and with them her career as woman +may be said to have begun.</p> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="30"> </span><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p class="center">FIRST YEARS OF WORK.</p> + +<p class="center">1778-1785.</p> + + +<p>Mary Wollstonecraft did not become famous at once. She began her career +as humbly as many a less gifted woman. Like the heroes of old, she had +tasks allotted her before she could attain the goal of her ambition. And +Heracles in his twelve labors, Jason in search of the Golden Fleece, +Sigurd in pursuit of the treasure, did not have greater hardships to +endure or dangers to overcome than she had before she won for herself +independence and fame.</p> + +<p>It is difficult for a young man without money, influential friends, or +professional education to make his way in the world. With a woman placed +in similar circumstances the difficulty is increased a hundred-fold. We +of to-day, when government and other clerkships are open to women, cannot +quite realize their helplessness a few generations back. In Mary +Wollstonecraft’s time those whose birth and training had unfitted them +for the more menial occupations—who could neither bake nor scrub—had +but two resources. They must either become governesses or ladies’ +companions. In neither case was their position enviable. They ranked as +little better than upper servants. Mary’s first appearance on the +world-stage, therefore, was not brilliant.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="31"> </span><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a> +The lady with whom she went to live was a Mrs. Dawson, a widow who had +but one child, a grown-up son. Her residence was in Bath. Mary must then +have given at least signs of the beauty which did not reach its full +development until many years later, her sorrows had not entirely +destroyed her natural gayety, and she was only nineteen years old. The +mission in Bath in those days of young girls of her age was to dance and +to flirt, to lose their hearts and to find husbands, to gossip, to listen +to the music, to show themselves in the Squares and Circus and on the +Parades, or, sometimes, when they were seriously inclined, to drink the +waters. Mary’s was to cater to the caprices of a cross-grained, peevish +woman. There was little sunshine in the morning of her life. She was +destined always to see the darkest side of human nature. Mrs. Dawson’s +temper was bad, and her companions, of whom there seem to have been many, +had hitherto fled before its outbreaks, as the leaves wither and fall at +the first breath of winter. Mary’s home-schooling was now turned to good +account. Mrs. Dawson’s rage could not, at its worst, equal her father’s +drunken violence; and long experience of the latter prepared her to bear +the former with apparent, if not real, stoicism. We have no particulars +of her life as companion nor knowledge of the exact nature of her duties. +But of one thing we are certain, the fulfilment of them cost her many a +heartache. Those who know her only as the vindicator of the Rights of +Women and the defiant rebel against social laws, may think her case calls +for little sympathy. But the truth is, there have been few women so +dependent for happiness upon human love, +<span class="pagebreak" title="32"> </span><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a> + so eager for the support of +their fellow-beings, and so keenly alive to neglects and slights. In Bath +she was separated from her friends, she was alone in her struggle, and +she held a position which did not always command respect. However, her +indomitable will and unflagging energy availed her to such good purpose +that she continued with Mrs. Dawson for two years, doubtless to the +surprise of the latter, accustomed as she was to easily frightened and +hastily retreating companions. Her departure then was due, not to moral +cowardice or exhaustion, but to a summons from home.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s health had begun to fail. Her life had been a hard +one, and the drains upon her constitution many. She was the mother of a +large family, and had had her full share of the by no means insignificant +pains and cares of maternity. In addition to these she had had to contend +against poverty, that evil which, says the Talmud, is worse than fifty +plagues, and against the vagaries of a good-for-nothing drunken husband. +Once she fell beneath her burden, she could not rise with it again. She +had no strength left to withstand her illness. Eliza and Everina were +both at home to take care of her, but she could not rest without the +eldest daughter, upon whom experience had taught her to rely implicitly. +She sent for Mary, and the latter hastened at once to her mother’s side. +Her own hopes and ambitions, her chances and prospects, all were +forgotten in her desire to do what she could for the poor patient. Fierce +and fearless as an inspired Joan of Arc, when fighting in the cause of +justice, she was tender and gentle as a sister of charity +<span class="pagebreak" title="33"> </span><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a> + when tending +the sick. She waited upon her mother with untiring care. Mrs. +Wollstonecraft’s illness was long and lingering, though it declared +itself at an early stage to be hopeless. In her pleasure at her +daughter’s return she received her services with grateful thanks. But, as +she grew worse, she became more accustomed to the presence of her nurse, +and exacted as a right that which she had first accepted as a favor. She +would allow no one else to attend to her, and day and night Mary was with +her.</p> + +<p>Finally the end came. Mrs. Wollstonecraft died, happy to be released from +a world which had given her nothing but unkindness and sorrow. Her +parting words were: “A little patience, and all will be over!” It was not +difficult for the dying woman, so soon to have eternity to rest in, to +bear quietly time’s last agony. But for the weary, heart-sick young girl, +before whom there stretched a vista of long years of toil, the lesson of +patience was less easy to learn. Mary never forgot these words, nor did +she heed their bitter sarcasm. Often and often, in her after trials, they +returned to her, carrying with them peace and comfort.</p> + +<p>This event occurred in 1780. The family were then living in Enfield, +which place had succeeded Walworth in their periodical migrations. After +her mother’s death Mary, tired out from constant nursing, want of sleep, +and anxiety of mind, became ill. She sorely needed quiet and an interval +from work. But the necessity to depart from her father’s house was +imperative. He had fallen so low that his daughters were forced to leave +him. The difficulty was to find immediate means to meet the emergency. A +return to Mrs. Dawson +<span class="pagebreak" title="34"> </span><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a> + does not seem to have suggested itself as a +possibility. Mary’s great ambition was to become a teacher and to +establish a school. But this could not be easily or at once accomplished. +She must have time to prepare herself for the venture, to make friends, +and to give proof of her ability to teach. Fortunately, at this juncture +Fanny Blood proved a true friend, and offered her at least a temporary +home at Walham Green.</p> + +<p>Fanny was still gaining a small income from her drawings, to which Mrs. +Blood added whatever she could make by her needle. Mary was not one to +fare upon another’s bread. Too proud to become an additional charge to +these two hard-working women, she helped the latter with her sewing and +so contributed her share to the family means. It was not a congenial +occupation. But to her any work was preferable to waiting, Micawber-like, +for something better to turn up. Though she was happy because she was +with her friend, her life here was wellnigh as tragic as it had been in +her father’s house. The family sorrows were great and many. Mr. Blood was +a ne’er-do-weel and a drunkard. Caroline, one of the daughters, had then +probably begun her rapid descent down-hill, moved thereto, poor girl, by +the relief which vice alone gave to the poverty and gloom of her home. +George, the brother, with whom Mary afterwards corresponded for so many +years, was unhappy because of his unrequited love for Everina +Wollstonecraft. He was an honest, good-principled young man, but his +associates were disreputable, and he was at times compromised by their +actions. But still sadder for Mary was the fact that Fanny, in addition +to domestic grievances, was tortured by the +<span class="pagebreak" title="35"> </span><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a> + unkindness of an uncertain +lover. She had met, not long before, Mr. Hugh Skeys, a young but already +successful merchant. Attracted by her, he had been sufficiently attentive +and devoted to warrant her conclusion that his intentions were serious. +He seems to have loved her as deeply as he was capable of loving, but +discouraged perhaps by the wretched circumstances of the family, he could +not make up his mind to marry her. At one moment he was ready to desert +her, and at the next to claim her as his wife. Instead of resenting his +unpardonable conduct, as a prouder woman would have done, she bore it +with the humble patience of a Griselda. When he was kind, she hoped for +the best; when he was cold, she dreaded the worst. The consequence of +these alternate states of hope and despair was mental depression, and +finally physical ill health. Through her troubles, Mary, who had given +her the warmest and best, because the first, love of her life, was her +faithful ally and comforter. Indeed, her friendship grew warmer with +Fanny’s increasing misfortunes. As she said of herself a few years later, +she was not a fair-weather friend. “I think,” she wrote once in a letter +to George Blood, “I love most people best when they are in adversity, for +pity is one of my prevailing passions.” She realized that she had made +herself her friend’s equal, if not superior, intellectually, and that, so +far as moral courage and will power were concerned, she was much the +stronger of the two. There is nothing which so deepens a man’s or a +woman’s tenderness, as the knowledge that the object of it looks up to +her or to him for support, and Mary’s affection increased because of its +new inspiration.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="36"> </span><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a> +It has been said that it was necessary for all Mr. Wollstonecraft’s +daughters to leave his house. Mary was not yet in a position to help her +sisters, and they had but few friends. Their chances of self-support were +small. Their position was the trying one of gentlewomen who could not +make servants of themselves, and who indeed would not be employed as +such, and who had not had the training to fit them for higher +occupations. Everina, therefore, was glad to find an asylum with her +brother Edward, who was an attorney in London. She became his +housekeeper, for, like Mary, she was too independent to allow herself to +be supported by the charity of others. Eliza, the youngest sister, who, +with greater love of culture than Everina, had had even less education, +solved her present problem by marrying, but she escaped one difficulty +only to fall into another still greater and more serious. The history of +her married experience is important because of the part Mary played in +it. The latter’s independent conduct in her sister’s regard is a +foreshadowing of the course she pursued at a later period in the +management of her own affairs.</p> + +<p>Eliza was the most excitable and nervous of the three sisters. The family +sensitiveness was developed in her to a painful degree. She was not only +quick to take offence, but was ever on the lookout for slights and +insults even from people she dearly loved. She assumed a defensive +attitude against the world and mankind, and therefore life went harder +with her than with more cheerfully constituted women. It was almost +invariably the little rift that made her life-music mute. Her indignation +and rage were not so easily appeased +<span class="pagebreak" title="37"> </span><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a> + as aroused. Altogether, she was a +very impossible person to live with peacefully. Mr. Bishop, the man she +married, was as quick-tempered and passionate as she, and, morally, was +infinitely beneath her. He was the original of the husband in the “Wrongs +of Woman,” who is represented as an unprincipled sensualist, brute, and +hypocrite. The worst of it was that, when not carried away by his temper, +his address was good and his manners insinuating. As one of his friends +said of him, he was “either a lion or a spaniel.” Unfortunately, at home +he was always the lion, a fact which those who knew him only as the +spaniel could not well believe. The marriage of two such people, needless +to say, was not happy. They mutually aggravated each other. Eliza, with +her sensitive, unforgiving nature, could not make allowances. Mr. Bishop +would not. Much as her waywardness and hastiness were at fault, he was +still more to blame in effecting the rupture between them.</p> + +<p>The strain upon Eliza’s nervous system, caused by almost daily quarrels +and scenes of violence, was more than she could bear. Then, to add to her +misery, she found herself in that condition in which women are apt to be +peculiarly susceptible and irritable. Her pregnancy so stimulated her +abnormal emotional excitement that her reason gave way, and for months +she was insane. Though she had her intervals of passivity she was at +times very violent, and disastrous results were feared. It was necessary +for some one to keep constant guard over her, and Mary was asked to +undertake this task.</p> + +<p>Relentless as Fate in pursuing the hero of Greek +<span class="pagebreak" title="38"> </span><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a> + Tragedy to his +predestined end, were the circumstances which formed Mary’s prejudice +against the institution of marriage. This was the third domestic tragedy +caused by the husband’s petty tyranny and the wife’s slender resources of +defence, of which she was the immediate witness. Her experience was +unfortunate. The bright side of the married state was hidden from her. +She saw only its shadows, and these darkened until her soul rebelled +against the injustice, not of life, but of man’s shaping of it. Sad as +was the fate of the Bloods and much as they needed her, the Bishop +household was still sadder and its appeals more urgent, and Mary hurried +thither at once.</p> + +<p>No one can read the life of Mary Wollstonecraft without loving her, or +follow her first bitter struggles without feeling honor, nay reverence, +for her true womanliness which bore her bravely through them. She never +shrank from her duty nor lamented her clouded youth. Without a murmur she +left Walham Green and established herself as nurse and keeper to the poor +mad sister. There could be no greater heroism than this. With a nervous +constitution not unlike that of “poor Bess,” she had to watch over the +frenzied mania of the wife and to confront the almost equally insane fury +of the husband. One of the letters which she wrote at this time to +Everina describes forcibly enough her sister’s sad condition and her own +melancholy:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<i>Saturday afternoon</i>, Nov. 1783. +</p> + +<p>I expected to have seen you before this, but the extreme coldness +of the weather is a sufficient apology. I cannot yet give any +certain account of Bess, or form a +<span class="pagebreak" title="39"> </span><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a> + rational conjecture with +respect to the termination of her disorder. She has not had a +violent fit of frenzy since I saw you, but her mind is in a most +unsettled state, and attending to the constant fluctuation of it is +far more harassing than the watching these raving fits that had not +the least tincture of reason. Her ideas are all disjointed, and a +number of wild whims float on her imagination, and fall from her +unconnectedly something like strange dreams, when judgment sleeps, +and fancy sports at a fine rate. Don’t smile at my language, for I +am so constantly forced to observe her, lest she run into mischief, +that my thoughts continually turn on the unaccountable wanderings +of her mind. She seems to think she has been very ill used, and, in +short, till I see some more favorable symptoms, I shall only +suppose that her malady has assumed a new and more distressing +appearance.</p> + +<p>One thing, by way of comfort, I must tell you, that persons who +recover from madness are generally in this way before they are +perfectly restored, but whether Bess’s faculties will ever regain +their former tone, time only will show. At present I am in +suspense. Let me hear from you, or see you, and believe me to be +yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +M. W. +</p> + +<p><i>Sunday noon.</i>—Mr. D. promised to call last night, and I intended +sending this by him. We have been out in a coach, but still Bess is +far from being <i>well</i>. Patience—patience. Farewell.</p> +</div> + +<p>To her desire to keep Everina posted as to the progress of affairs, we +are indebted, for her letters, which give a very life-like picture of +herself and her surroundings while she remained in her brother-in-law’s +house. They are interesting because, by showing the difficulties against +which she had to contend, and the effect these had upon her, we can +better appreciate the greatness of her nature by which she triumphed over +them. There is another one written during this sad period +<span class="pagebreak" title="40"> </span><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a> + which must be +quoted here because it throws still more light upon Bishop’s true +character and his ingenuity in tormenting those who lived with him:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<i>Monday morning</i>, Jan. 1784. +</p> + +<p>I have nothing to tell you, my dear girl, that will give you +pleasure. Yesterday was a dismal day, long and dreary. Bishop was +very ill, etc., etc. He is much better to-day, but misery haunts +this house in one shape or other. How sincerely do I join with you +in saying that if a person has common sense, they cannot make one +completely unhappy. But to attempt to lead or govern a weak mind is +impossible; it will ever press forward to what it wishes, +regardless of impediments, and, with a selfish eagerness, believe +what it desires practicable though the contrary is as clear as the +noon-day. My spirits are hurried with listening to pros and cons; +and my head is so confused, that I sometimes say no, when I ought +to say yes. My heart is almost broken with listening to B. while he +reasons the case. I cannot insult him with advice, which he would +never have wanted, if he was capable of attending to it. May my +habitation never be fixed among the tribe that can’t look beyond +the present gratification, that draw fixed conclusions from general +rules, that attend to the literal meaning only, and, because a +thing ought to be, expect that it will come to pass. B. has made a +confidant of Skeys; and as I can never speak to him in private, I +suppose his pity may cloud his judgment. If it does, I should not +either wonder at it, or blame him. For I that know, and am fixed in +my opinion, cannot unwaveringly adhere to it; and when I reason, I +am afraid of being unfeeling. Miracles don’t occur now, and only a +miracle can alter the minds of some people. They grow old, and we +can only discover by their countenances that they are so. To the +end of their chapter will their misery last. I expect Fanny next +Thursday, and she will stay with us but a few days. Bess desires +her love; she grows better and of course more sad.</p></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="41"> </span><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a> +Though Mary’s heart was breaking and her brain reeling, her closer +acquaintance with Bishop convinced her that Eliza must not continue with +him. She determined at all hazards to free her sister from a man who was +slowly but surely killing her, and she knew she was right in her +determination. “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist,” Emerson +says. Mary, because she was a true woman, was ruled in her conduct not by +conventionalities or public opinion, but by her sense of righteousness. +In her own words, “The sarcasms of society and the condemnation of a +mistaken world were nothing to her, compared with acting contrary to +those feelings which were the foundation of her principles.” For some +months Eliza’s physical and mental illness made it impossible to take a +decided step or to form definite plans. But when her child was born, and +she returned to a normal, though at the same time sadder, because +conscious, state, Mary felt that the time for action had arrived. That +she still thought it advisable for her sister to leave her husband, +though this necessitated the abandonment of her child, conclusively +proves the seriousness of Bishop’s faults. It was no easy matter to +effect the separation. Bishop objected to it. It is never unpleasant for +a man to play the tyrant, and he was averse to losing his victim. +Pecuniary assistance was therefore not to be had from him, and the +sisters were penniless. Mary applied to Edward, though she was not sure +it was desirable for Eliza to take refuge with him. However, he does not +seem to have responded warmly, for Mary’s suggestion was never acted +upon. Theirs was a situation in which friends are not apt to +<span class="pagebreak" title="42"> </span><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a> + interfere, +and besides, Bishop’s plausibility had won over not a few to his side. +Furthermore, the chance was that if he worked successfully upon Mr. +Skeys’ sympathies, the Bloods would be influenced. There was absolutely +no one to help them, but Mary knew that it was useless to wait, and that +the morrow would not make easier what seemed to her the task of the +present day. When there was work to be done she never could rest with +“unlit lamp and ungirt loin.” What she now most wanted for her sister was +liberty, and she resolved to secure this at once, and then afterwards to +look about her to see how it was to be maintained.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, one day, Bishop well out of the way, the sisters left his +house forever. There was a mad, breathless drive, Bess, with her insanity +half returned, biting her wedding ring to pieces, a hurried exchange of +coaches to further insure escape from detection, a joyful arrival at +modest lodgings in Hackney, a giving in of false names, a hasty locking +of doors, and then—the reaction. Eliza, whose excitement had exhausted +itself on the way, became quiet and even ready for sleep. Mary, now that +immediate necessity for calmness and courage was over, grew nervous and +restless. With strained ears she listened to every sound. Her heart beat +time to the passing carriages, and she trembled at the lightest knock.</p> + +<p>That night, in a wild, nervous letter to Everina, she wrote:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>I hope B. will not discover us, for I would sooner face a lion; yet +the door never opens but I expect to see him, panting for breath. +Ask Ned how we are to behave if he should find us out, for Bess is +determined not to return. +<span class="pagebreak" title="43"> </span><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a> + Can he force her? but I’ll not suppose +it, yet I can think of nothing else. She is sleepy, and going to +bed; my agitated mind will not permit me. Don’t tell Charles or any +creature! Oh! let me entreat you to be careful, for Bess does not +dread him now as much as I do. Again, let me request you to write, +as B.’s behavior may silence my fears. You will soon hear from me +again. Fanny carried many things to Lear’s, brush-maker in the +Strand, next door to the White Hart.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours,</p> +<p class="signature">Mary. +</p> + +<p>Miss Johnston—Mrs. Dodds, opposite the Mermaid, Church Street, +Hackney.</p> + +<p>She looks now very wild. Heaven protect us!</p> + +<p>I almost wish for an husband, for I want somebody to support me.</p></div> + +<p>The Rubicon was crossed. But the hardships thereby incurred were but just +beginning. The two sisters were obliged to keep in hiding as if they had +been criminals, for they dared not risk a chance meeting with Bishop. +They had barely money enough to pay their immediate expenses, and their +means of making more were limited by the precautions they had to take. It +had only been possible in their flight to carry off a few things, and +they were without sufficient clothing. Then there came from their friends +an outcry against their conduct. The general belief then was, as indeed +it unfortunately continues to be, that women should accept without a +murmur whatever it suits their husbands to give them, whether it be +kindness or blows. Better a thousand times that one human soul should be +stifled and killed than that the Philistines of society should be +scandalized by its struggles for air and life. Eliza’s happiness might +have been totally sacrificed had she remained with +<span class="pagebreak" title="44"> </span><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a> + Bishop; but at least +the feelings of her acquaintances, in whom respectability had destroyed +the more humane qualities, would have been saved. Her scheme, Mary wrote +bitterly to Everina, was contrary to all the rules of conduct that are +published for the benefit of new married ladies. Many felt forced to +forfeit the friendship of these two social rebels, though it grieved them +to the heart to do it. Mrs. Clare, be it said to her honor, remained +stanch, but even she only approved cautiously, and Mary had her +misgivings that she would advise a reconciliation if she once saw Bishop. +To add to the hopelessness of their case, the deserted husband restrained +his rage so well, and made so much of Eliza’s heartlessness in abandoning +her child, that he drew to himself the sympathy which should have been +given to her. Mary feared the effect his pleadings and representations +would have upon Edward, the extent of whose egotism she had not yet +measured, and she commissioned Everina to keep him firm. As for Eliza, +she was so shaken and weak, and so unhappy about the poor motherless +infant, that she could neither think nor act. The duty of providing for +their wants, immediate and still to come, fell entirely upon Mary. She +felt this to be just, since it was chiefly through her influence that +they had been brought to their present plight; but the responsibility was +great, and it is no wonder that, brave as she was, she longed for some +one to share it with her.</p> + +<p>Her one source of consolation and strength at this time was her religion. +This will seem strange to many, who, knowing but few facts of her life, +conclude from her connection with Godwin and her social radicalism that +she was an atheist. But the sincerest spirit of piety +<span class="pagebreak" title="45"> </span><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a> + breathes through +her letters written during her early troubles. When the desertion of her +so-called friends made her most bitter, she wrote to Everina:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Don’t suppose I am preaching when I say uniformity of conduct +cannot in any degree be expected from those whose first motive of +action is not the pleasing the Supreme Being, and those who humbly +rely on Providence will not only be supported in affliction but +have peace imparted to them that is past describing. This state is +indeed a warfare, and we learn little that we don’t smart for in +the attaining. The cant of weak enthusiasts has made the +consolations of religion and the assistance of the Holy Spirit +appear ridiculous to the inconsiderate; but it is the only solid +foundation of comfort that the weak efforts of reason will be +assisted and our hearts and minds corrected and improved till the +time arrives when we shall not only see <i>perfection</i>, but see every +creature around us happy.”</p></div> + +<p>The consolation she found was sufficient to make her advise her friends +to seek for it from the same quarter. She wrote to George Blood at a time +when he was in serious difficulties:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“It gives me the sincerest satisfaction to find that you look for +comfort where only it is to be met with, and that Being in whom you +trust will not desert you. Be not cast down; while we are +struggling with care life slips away, and through the assistance of +Divine Grace we are obtaining habits of virtue that will enable us +to relish those joys that we cannot now form any idea of. I feel +myself particularly attached to those who are heirs of the +promises, and travel on in the thorny path with the same Christian +hopes that render my severe trials a cause of thankfulness when I +<i>can</i> think.”</p></div> + +<p>These passages, evangelical in tone, occur in private letters, meant to +be read only by those to whom they +<span class="pagebreak" title="46"> </span><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a> + were addressed, so that they must be +counted as honest expressions of her convictions and not mere cant. Just +as she wrote freely to her sisters and her intimate friends about her +temporal matters, so without hesitation she talked to them of her +spiritual affairs. Her belief became broader as she grew older. She never +was an atheist like Godwin, or an unbeliever of the Voltaire school. But +as the years went on, and her knowledge of the world increased, her +religion concerned itself more with conduct and less with creed, until +she finally gave up going to church altogether. But at the time of which +we are writing she was regular in her attendance, and, though not +strictly orthodox, clung to certain forms. The mere fact that she +possessed definite ideas upon the subject while she was young shows the +naturally serious bent of her mind. She had received the most superficial +religious education. Her belief, such as it was, was wholly the result of +her own desire to solve the problems of existence and of the world beyond +the senses. It is this fact, and the inferences to be drawn from it, +which make her piety so well worth recording.</p> + +<p>There seem to have been several schemes for work afoot just then. One was +that the two sisters and Fanny Blood, who, some time before, had +expressed herself willing and anxious to leave home, should join their +fortunes. Fanny could paint and draw. Mary and Eliza could take in +needlework until more pleasant and profitable employment could be +procured. Poverty and toil would be more than compensated for by the joy +which freedom and congenial companionship would give them. There was +nothing very Utopian in +<span class="pagebreak" title="47"> </span><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a> + such a plan; but Fanny, when the time came for +its accomplishment, grew frightened. Her hard apprenticeship had given +her none of the self-confidence and reliance which belonged to Mary by +right of birth. Her family, despite their dependence upon her, seemed +like a protection against the outer world. And so she held back, pleading +the small chances of success by such a partnership, her own poor health, +which would make her a burden to them, and, in fact, so many good reasons +that the plan was abandoned. She, then, with greater aptitude for +suggestion than for action, proposed that Mary and Eliza should keep a +haberdashery shop, to be stocked at the expense of the much-called-upon +but sadly unsusceptible Edward. There is something grimly humorous in the +idea of Mary Wollstonecraft, destined as she was from all eternity to +sound an alarum call to arouse women from their lethargy, spending her +days behind a counter attending to their trifling temporal wants! A +Roland might as well have been asked to become cook, a Sir Galahad to +turn scullion. Honest work is never disgraceful in itself. Indeed, +“Better do to no end, than nothing!” But one regrets the pain and the +waste when circumstances force men and women capable of great work to +spend their energies in ordinary channels. A greater misery than +indifference to the amusement in which one seeks to take part, which +Hamerton counts as the most wearisome of all things, is positive dislike +for the work one is bound to do. Fortunately, Fanny’s project was never +carried out. Probably Edward, as usual, failed to meet the proposals made +to him, and Mary realized that the chains by which she would thus bind +herself would be unendurable.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="48"> </span><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a> +The plan finally adopted was that dearest to Mary’s heart. She began her +career as teacher. She and Eliza went to Islington, where Fanny was then +living, and lodged in the same house with her. Then they announced their +intention of receiving day pupils. Mary was eminently fitted to teach. +Her sad experience had increased her natural sympathy and benevolence. +She now made her own troubles subservient to those of her +fellow-sufferers, and resolved that the welfare of others should be the +principal object of her life. Before the word had passed into moral +philosophy, she had become an altruist in its truest sense. The task of +teacher particularly attracted her because it enabled her to prepare the +young for the struggle with the world for which she had been so ill +qualified. Because so little attention had been given to her in her early +youth, she keenly appreciated the advantage of a good practical +education. But her merits were not recognized in Islington. Like the man +in the parable, she set out a banquet of which the bidden guests refused +to partake. No scholars were sent to her. Therefore, at the end of a few +months, she was glad to move to Newington Green, where better prospects +seemed to await her. There she had relatives and influential friends, and +the encouragement she received from them induced her to begin work on a +large scale. She rented a house, and opened a regular school. Her efforts +met with success. Twenty children became her pupils, while a Mrs. +Campbell, a relative, and her son, and another lady, with three children, +came to board with her. Mary was now more comfortable than she had +heretofore been. She was, comparatively speaking, +<span class="pagebreak" title="49"> </span><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a> + prosperous. She had +much work to do, but by it she was supporting herself, and at the same +time advancing towards her “clear-purposed goal” of self-renunciation. +Then she had cause for pleasure in the fact that Eliza was now really +free, Bishop having finally agreed to the separation. Mary +Wollstonecraft, at the head of a house, and mistress of a school, was a +very different person from Mary Wollstonecraft, simple companion to Mrs. +Dawson or dependent friend of Fanny Blood. Her position was one to +attract attention, and it was sufficient for her to be known, to be loved +and admired. Her social sphere was enlarged. No one could care more for +society than she did, when that society was congenial. At Newington Green +she already began to show the preference for men and women of +intellectual tastes and abilities that she manifested so strongly in her +life in London. Foremost among her intimate acquaintances at this time +was Dr. Richard Price, a clergyman, a Dissenter, then well known because +of his political and mathematical speculations. He was an honest, +upright, simple-hearted man, who commanded the respect and love of all +who knew him, and whose benevolence was great enough to realize even +Mary’s ideals. She became deeply attached to him personally, and was a +warm admirer of his religious and moral principles. His sermons gave her +great delight, and she often went to listen to them. He in return seems +to have felt great interest in her, and to have recognized her +extraordinary mental force. Mr. John Hewlet, also a clergyman, was +another of her friends, and she retained his friendship for many years +afterwards. A third friend, mentioned +<span class="pagebreak" title="50"> </span><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a> + by Godwin in his Memoirs, was Mrs. +Burgh, widow of a man now almost forgotten, but once famous as the author +of “Political Disquisitions.” In sorrows soon to come, Mrs. Burgh gave +practical proof of her affection. If a man can be judged by the character +of his associates, then the age, professions, and serious connections of +Mary’s friends at Newington Green are not a little significant.</p> + +<p>Much as she cared for these older friends, however, they could not be so +dear to her as Fanny and George Blood. She had begun by pitying the +latter for his hopeless passion for Everina, and had finished by loving +him for himself with true sisterly devotion. To brother and sister both, +she could open her heart as she could to no one else. They were young +with her, and that in itself is a strong bond of union. They, too, were +but just beginning life, and they could sympathize with all her +aspirations and disappointments. It was, therefore, an irreparable loss +to her when they, at almost the same time, but for different reasons, +left England. Fanny’s health had finally become so wretched that even her +uncertain lover was moved to pity. Mr. Skeys seems to have been one of +the men who only appreciate that which they think they cannot have. Not +until the ill-health of the woman he loved warned him of the possibility +of his losing her altogether did he make definite proposals to her. Her +love for him had not been shaken by his unkindness, and in February, +1785, she married him, and went with him to Lisbon, where he was +established in business. A few years earlier he might, by making her his +wife, have secured her a long life’s happiness. Now, as it +<span class="pagebreak" title="51"> </span><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a> + turned out, +he succeeded but in making her path smooth for a few short months. Mary’s +love for Fanny made her much more sensitive to Mr. Skeys’ shortcomings as +a lover than Fanny had been. Shortly after the marriage she wrote +indignantly to George:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Skeys has received congratulatory letters from most of his friends +and relations in Ireland, and he now regrets that he did not marry +sooner. All his mighty fears had no foundation, so that if he had +had courage to brave the world’s opinion, he might have spared +Fanny many griefs, the scars of which will never be obliterated. +Nay, more, if she had gone a year or two ago, her health might have +been perfectly restored, which I do not now think will ever be the +case. Before true passion, I am convinced, everything but a sense +of duty moves; true love is warmest when the object is absent. How +Hugh could let Fanny languish in England, while he was throwing +money away at Lisbon, is to me inexplicable, if he had a passion +that did not require the fuel of seeing the object. I much fear he +loves her not for the qualities that render her dear to my heart. +Her tenderness and delicacy are not even conceived of by a man who +would be satisfied with the fondness of one of the general run of +women.”</p></div> + +<p>George Blood’s departure was due to less pleasant circumstances than +Fanny’s. One youthful escapade which had come to light was sufficient to +attach to his name the blame for another, of which he was innocent. Some +of his associates had become seriously compromised; and he, to avoid +being implicated with them, had literally taken flight, and had made +Ireland his place of refuge.</p> + +<p>Mary’s friends left her just when she most needed them. Unfortunately, +the interval of peace inaugurated +<span class="pagebreak" title="52"> </span><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a> + by the opening of the school was but +short-lived. Encouraged by the first success of her enterprise, she +rented a larger house, hoping that in it she would do even better. But +this step proved the <i>Open Sesame</i> to an inexhaustible mine of +difficulties. The expense involved by the change was greater than she had +expected, and her means of meeting it smaller. The population at +Newington Green was not numerous or wealthy enough to support a large +first-class day-school, and more pupils were not forthcoming to avail +themselves of the new accommodations provided for them. It was a second +edition of the story of the wedding feast, and again highways and by-ways +were searched in vain. Moreover, her boarders neglected to pay their +bills regularly. Instead of being a source of profit, they were an +additional burden. Her life now became unspeakably sad. Her whole day was +spent in teaching. This in itself would not have been hard. She always +interested herself in her pupils, and the consciousness of good done for +others was her most highly prized pleasure. Had the physical fatigue +entailed by her work been her only hardship, she would have borne it +patiently and perhaps gayly. But from morning till night, waking and +sleeping, she was haunted by thoughts of unpaid bills and of increasing +debts. Poverty and creditors were the two unavoidable evils which stared +her in the face. Then, when she did hear from Fanny, it was to know that +the chances for her recovery were diminishing rather than increasing. +Reports of George Blood’s ill-conduct, repeated for her benefit, hurt and +irritated her. On one occasion, her house was visited by men sent thither +in his pursuit by the girl who had +<span class="pagebreak" title="53"> </span><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a> + vilely slandered him. Mrs. Campbell, +with the meanness of a small nature, reproached Mary for the +encouragement which she had given his vices. She loved him so truly that +this must have been gall and wormwood to her sensitive heart. Mr. and +Mrs. Blood continued poor and miserable, he drinking and idling, and she +faring as it must ever fare with the wives of such men. Mary saw nothing +before her but a dreary pilgrimage through the wide Valley of the Shadow +of Death, from which there seemed no escape to the Mount Zion beyond. If +she dragged herself out of the deep pit of mental despondency, it was to +fall into a still deeper one of physical prostration. The bleedings and +blisters ordered by her physician could help her but little. What she +needed to make her well was new pupils and honest boarders, and these the +most expert physician could not give her. Is it any wonder that she came +in time to hate Newington Green,—“the grave of all my comforts,” she +called it,—to lose relish for life, and to feel cheered only by the +prospect of death? She had nothing to reproach herself with. In sorrow +and sickness alike she had toiled to the best of her abilities. That +which her hand had found to do, she had done with all her might. The +result of her labors and long-sufferance had hitherto been but misfortune +and failure. Truly could she have called out with the Lady of Sorrows in +the Lamentations: “Attend, all ye who pass by, and see if there be any +sorrow like unto mine.” Because we know how great her misery was, we can +more fully appreciate the extent of her heroism. Though, as she confessed +to her friends in her weariest moments, her heart was broken, she never +once swerved +<span class="pagebreak" title="54"> </span><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a> + from allegiance to the heaven-given mandate, as Carlyle +calls it, “Work thou in well-doing!” She never faltered in the +accomplishment of the duty she had set for herself, nor forgot the +troubles of others because of her own. Though her difficulties +accumulated with alarming rapidity, there was no relaxation in her +attentions to Mr. and Mrs. Blood, in her care for her sister, nor in the +sympathy she gave to George Blood.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the greatest joy that came to her during this year was the news +that Mr. Skeys had found a position for his brother-in-law in Lisbon. But +this pleasure was more than counterbalanced by the discouraging bulletins +of Fanny’s health. Mr. Skeys was alarmed at his wife’s increasing +weakness, and was anxious to gratify her every desire. Fanny expressed a +wish to have Mary with her during her confinement. The latter, with +characteristic unselfishness, consented, when Mr. Skeys asked her to go +to Lisbon, though in so doing she was obliged to leave school and house. +This shows the sincerity of her opinion that before true passion +everything but duty moves. To her, Fanny’s need seemed greater than her +own; and she thought to fulfil her duty towards her sister, and to +provide for her welfare by giving her charge of her scholars and boarders +while she was away from them. Mary’s decision was vigorously questioned +by her friends. Indeed, there were many reasons against it. It was feared +her absence from the school for a necessarily long period would be +injurious to it, and this eventually proved to be the case. The journey +was a long one for a woman to make alone. And last, but not least, she +had not the ready money to pay her expenses. But, despite all +<span class="pagebreak" title="55"> </span><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a> + her +friends could say, she could not be moved from her original resolution. +When they saw their arguments were useless, they manifested their +friendship in a more practical manner. Mrs. Burgh lent her the necessary +sum of money for the journey. Godwin, however, thinks that in doing this +she was acting in behalf of Dr. Price, who modestly preferred to conceal +his share in the transaction. All impediments having thus been removed, +Mary, in the autumn of 1785, started upon the saddest, up to this date, +of her many missions of charity.</p> + +<p>The reunion of the friends was a joyless pleasure. When Mary arrived in +Lisbon, she found Fanny in the last stages of her illness, and before she +had time to rest from her journey she began her work as sick-nurse. Four +hours after her arrival Fanny’s child was born. It had been sad enough +for Mary to watch her mother’s last moments and Eliza’s insanity; but +this new duty was still more painful. She loved Fanny Blood with a +passion whose depth is beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. Her +affection for her was the one romance of her youth, and she lavished upon +it all the sweetness and tenderness, the enthusiasm and devotion of her +nature, which make her seem to us lovable above all women. And now this +friend, the best gift life had so far given her, was to be taken from +her. She saw Fanny grow weaker and weaker day by day, and knew that she +was powerless to avert the coming calamity. Yet whatever could be done, +she did. There never has been, and there never can be, a more faithful, +gentle nurse. The following letter gives a graphic description of her +journey, of the sad welcome which awaited +<span class="pagebreak" title="56"> </span><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a> + her at its termination, and +the still sadder duties she fulfilled in Lisbon:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Lisbon</span>, Nov. or Dec. 1785. +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Girls</span>,—I am beginning to awake out of a terrifying dream, +for in that light do the transactions of these two or three last +days appear. Before I say more, let me tell you that, when I +arrived here, Fanny was in labor, and that four hours after she was +delivered of a boy. The child is alive and well, and considering +the <i>very, very</i> low state to which Fanny was reduced she is better +than could be expected. I am now watching her and the child. My +active spirits have not been much at rest ever since I left +England. I could not write to you on shipboard, the sea was so +rough; and we had such hard gales of wind, the captain was afraid +we should be dismasted. I cannot write to-night or collect my +scattered thoughts, my mind is so unsettled. Fanny is so worn out, +her recovery would be almost a resurrection, and my reason will +scarce allow me to think it possible. I labor to be resigned, and +by the time I am a little so, some faint hope sets my thoughts +again afloat, and for a moment I look forward to days that will, +alas! never come.</p> + +<p>I will try to-morrow to give you some little regular account of my +journey, though I am almost afraid to look beyond the present +moment. Was not my arrival providential? I can scarce be persuaded +that I am here, and that so many things have happened in so short a +time. My head grows light with thinking on it.</p> + +<p><i>Friday morning.</i>—Fanny has been so alarmingly ill since I wrote +the above, I entirely gave her up, and yet I could not write and +tell you so: it seemed like signing her death-warrant. Yesterday +afternoon some of the most alarming symptoms a little abated, and +she had a comfortable night; yet I rejoice with trembling lips, and +am afraid to indulge hopes. She is very low. The stomach is so weak +it will scarce bear to receive the slightest nourishment; in short, +if I were to tell you all her complaints you would not wonder at my +fears. The child, though a puny +<span class="pagebreak" title="57"> </span><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a> + one, is well. I have got a +wet-nurse for it. The packet does not sail till the latter end of +next week, and I send this by a ship. I shall write by every +opportunity. We arrived last Monday. We were only thirteen days at +sea. The wind was so high and the sea so boisterous the water came +in at the cabin windows; and the ship rolled about in such a +manner, it was dangerous to stir. The women were sea-sick the whole +time, and the poor invalid so oppressed by his complaints, I never +expected he would live to see Lisbon. I have supported him for +hours together gasping for breath, and at night, if I had been +inclined to sleep, his dreadful cough would have kept me awake. You +may suppose that I have not rested much since I came here, yet I am +tolerably well, and calmer than I could expect to be. Could I not +look for comfort where only ’tis to be found, I should have been +mad before this, but I feel that I am supported by that Being who +alone can heal a wounded spirit. May He bless you both.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours,</p> +<p class="signature">Mary. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>Her state of uncertainty about poor Fanny did not last long. Shortly +after the above letter was written, the invalid died. Just as life was +beginning to smile upon her, she was called from it. She had worked so +long that when happiness at length came, she had no strength left to bear +it. The blessing her wrestling had wrought was but of short duration.</p> + +<p>Godwin, in his Memoirs, says that Mary’s trip to Portugal probably +enlarged her understanding. “She was admitted,” he writes, “to the very +best company the English colony afforded. She made many profound +observations on the character of the natives and the baleful effects of +superstition.” But it seems doubtful whether she really saw many people +in Lisbon, or gave great heed to what was going on around her. +<span class="pagebreak" title="58"> </span><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a> + Arrived +there just in time to see her friend die, she remained but a short time +after all was over. There was no inducement for her to make a longer +stay. Her feelings for Mr. Skeys were not friendly. She could not forget +that had he but treated Fanny as she, for example, would have done had +she been in his place, this early death might have been prevented. Her +school, intrusted to Mrs. Bishop’s care, was a strong reason for her +speedy return to England. The cause which had called her from it being +gone, she was anxious to return to her post.</p> + +<p>An incident highly characteristic of her is told of the journey home. She +had nursed a poor sick man on the way to Portugal; on the way back she +was instrumental in saving the lives of many men. The ship in which she +sailed met at mid-sea a French vessel so dismantled and storm-beaten that +it was in imminent risk of sinking, and its stock of provisions was +almost exhausted. Its officers hailed the English ship, begging its +captain to take them and their entire crew on board. The latter +hesitated. This was no trifling request. He had his own crew and +passengers to consider, and he feared to lay such a heavy tax on the +provisions provided for a certain number only. This was a case which +aroused Mary’s tenderest sympathy. It was impossible for her to witness +it unmoved. She could not without a protest allow her fellow-creatures to +be so cruelly deserted. Like another Portia come to judgment, she +clinched the difficulty by representing to the captain that if he did not +yield to their entreaties she would expose his inhumanity upon her return +to England. Her arguments prevailed. The sufferers +<span class="pagebreak" title="59"> </span><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a> + were saved, and the +intercessor in their behalf added one more to the long list of her good +deeds. Never has there been a woman, not even a Saint Rose of Lima or a +Saint Catherine of Siena, who could say as truly as Mary +Wollstonecraft,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">“... I sate among men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I have loved these.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="60"> </span><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p class="center">LIFE AS GOVERNESS.</p> + +<p class="center">1786-1788.</p> + + +<p>There was little pleasure for Mary in her home-coming. The school, whose +difficulties had begun before her departure, had prospered still less +under Mrs. Bishop’s care. Many of the pupils had been taken away. Eliza, +her quick temper and excitability aggravated at that time by her late +misfortunes, was not a fitting person to have the control of children. +She had thoughtlessly quarrelled with their most profitable boarder, the +mother of the three boys, who had in consequence given up her rooms. As +yet no one else had been found to occupy them. The rent of the house was +so high that these losses left the sisters without the means to pay it. +They were therefore in debt, and that deeply, for people with no +immediate, or even remote, prospects of an addition to their income. Then +the Bloods during Mary’s absence had fallen further into the Slough of +Despond, out of which, now their daughter was dead, there was no one to +help them. George could not aid them, because, though they did not know +it, he was just then without employment. Unable to live amicably with his +brother-in-law after Fanny’s death, he had resigned his position in +Lisbon and gone to Ireland, where for a long while he could +<span class="pagebreak" title="61"> </span><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a> + find nothing +to do. Mr. Skeys simply refused to satisfy the never-ceasing wants of his +wife’s parents. He cannot be severely censured when their shiftlessness +is borne in mind. He probably had already received many appeals from +them. But Mary could not accept their troubles so passively.</p> + +<p>To add to her distress, she was weakened by the painful task she had just +completed. She was low-spirited and broken-hearted, and really ill. Her +eyes gave out; and no greater inconvenience could have just then befallen +her. Her mental activity was temporarily paralyzed, and yet she knew that +prompt measures were necessary to avert the evils crowding upon her. She +had truly been anointed to wrestle and not to reign.</p> + +<p>There was no chance of relief from her own family. Her father had married +again, but his second marriage had not improved him. He had descended to +the lowest stage of drunkenness and insignificance. His home was in +Laugharne, Wales, where he barely managed to exist. James, the second +son, had gone to sea in search of better fortune. Charles, the youngest, +was not old enough to seek his, and hence had to endure as best he could +the wretchedness of the Wollstonecraft household. Instead of Mary’s +receiving help from this quarter, she was called upon to give it. Kinder +to her father than he had ever been to her, she never ignored his +difficulties. When she had money, she shared it with him. When she had +none, she did all she could to force Edward, the one prosperous member of +the family, to send his father the pecuniary assistance which, it seems, +he had promised.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="62"> </span><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a> +In whatever direction she looked, she saw misery and unhappiness. The +present was unendurable, the future hopeless. For a brief interval she +was almost crushed by her circumstances. To George Blood, now even dearer +to her than he had been before, she laid bare the weariness of her heart. +Shortly after her return she wrote him this letter, pathetic in its +despair:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Newington Green</span>, Feb. 4, 1786. +</p> + +<p>I write to you, my dear George, lest my silence should make you +uneasy; yet what have I to say that will not have the same effect? +Things do not go well with me, and my spirits seem forever flown. I +was a month on my passage, and the weather was so tempestuous we +were several times in imminent danger. I did not expect ever to +have reached land. If it had pleased Heaven to have called me +hence, what a world of care I should have missed! I have lost all +relish for pleasure, and life seems a burden almost too heavy to be +endured. My head is stupid, and my heart sick and exhausted. But +why should I worry you? and yet, if I do not tell you my vexations, +what can I write about?</p> + +<p>Your father and mother are tolerably well, and inquire most +affectionately concerning you. They do not suspect that you have +left Lisbon, and I do not intend informing them of it till you are +provided for. I am very unhappy on their account, for though I am +determined they shall share my last shilling, yet I have every +reason to apprehend extreme distress, and of course they must be +involved in it. The school dwindles to nothing, and we shall soon +lose our last boarder, Mrs. Disney. She and the girls quarrelled +while I was away, which contributed to make the house very +disagreeable. Her sons are to be whole boarders at Mrs. Cockburn’s. +Let me turn my eyes on which side I will, I can only anticipate +misery. Are such prospects as these likely to heal an almost broken +heart? The loss of Fanny was sufficient of itself to +<span class="pagebreak" title="63"> </span><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a> + have thrown a +cloud over my brightest days; what effect, then, must it have when +I am bereft of every other comfort? I have, too, many debts. I +cannot think of remaining any longer in this house, the rent is so +enormous; and where to go, without money or friends, who can point +out? My eyes are very bad and my memory gone. I am not fit for any +situation; and as for Eliza, I don’t know what will become of her. +My constitution is impaired. I hope I shan’t live long, yet I may +be a tedious time dying.</p> + +<p>Well, I am too impatient. The will of heaven be done! I will labor +to be resigned. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” I +scarce know what I write, yet my writing at all when my mind is so +disturbed is a proof to you that I can never be lost so entirely in +misery as to forget those I love. I long to hear that you are +settled. It is the only quarter from which I can reasonably expect +pleasure. I have received a very short, unsatisfactory letter from +Lisbon. It was written to apologize for not sending the money to +your father which he promised. It would have been particularly +acceptable to them at this time; but he is prudent, and will not +run any hazard to serve a friend. Indeed, delicacy made me conceal +from him my dismal situation, but he must know how much I am +embarrassed....</p> + +<p>I am very low-spirited, and of course my letter is very dull. I +will not lengthen it out in the same strain, but conclude with what +alone will be acceptable, an assurance of love and regard.</p> + +<p>Believe me to be ever your sincere and affectionate friend,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>“There is but one true cure for suffering, and that is action,” Dr. +Maudsley says. The first thing Mary did in her misery was to undertake +new work, this time a literary venture, not for herself, but for the +benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Blood. Their son-in-law having refused +<span class="pagebreak" title="64"> </span><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a> + to +contribute from his plenty, their daughter’s friend came forward and gave +from her nothing.</p> + +<p>At the instigation of Mr. Hewlet, one of her friends already mentioned, +she wrote a small pamphlet called “Thoughts on the Education of +Daughters.” This gentleman rated her powers so high that he felt sure of +her success as a writer. As he was well acquainted with Mr. Johnson, a +prominent bookseller in Fleet Street, he could promise that her +manuscript would be dealt with fairly. Her choice of subject was, in one +way, fortunate. Being a teacher she could speak on educational matters +with authority. But this first work is not striking or remarkable. +Indeed, it is chiefly worth notice because it was the means of +introducing her to Mr. Johnson, who was a true friend to her through her +darkest, as well as through her brightest, days, and whose influence was +strong in shaping her career. He paid her ten guineas for her pamphlet, +and these she at once gave to Mr. and Mrs. Blood, who were thereby +enabled to leave England and go to Dublin. There, they thought, because +they and their disgrace were not yet known, the chances of their starting +in life afresh were greater.</p> + +<p>It was now time for Mary to turn her attention to her own affairs. It was +absolutely necessary to give up the school. Her presence could not recall +the pupils who had left it, and her debts were pressing. The success of +the sisters had been too slight to tempt them to establish a similar +institution in another town. They determined to separate, and each to +earn her livelihood alone. Mary was not loath to do this. Because of her +superior administrative ability, too large a share of the +<span class="pagebreak" title="65"> </span><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a> + work in the +school had devolved upon her, while her sisters’ society was a hindrance +rather than a comfort. She was ready to sacrifice herself for others, but +she had enough common sense to realize that too great unselfishness in +details would in the end destroy her power of aiding in larger matters. +She could do more for Eliza and Everina away from them, than if she +continued to live with them.</p> + +<p>What she desired most earnestly was to devote all her time to literary +work. Mr. Hewlet had represented to her that she would be certain to make +an ample support by writing. Mr. Johnson had received her pamphlet +favorably, and had asked for further contributions. But her present want +was urgent, and she could not wait on a probability. She had absolutely +no money to live upon while she made a second experiment. She had learned +thoroughly the lesson of patience and of self-restraint, and she resolved +for the present to continue to teach. By doing this, she could still find +a few spare hours for literary purposes, while she could gradually save +enough money to warrant her beginning the life for which she longed. One +plan, abandoned, however, before she attempted to put it into execution, +she describes in the following letter to George Blood. The tone in which +she writes is much less hopeless than that of the letter last quoted. +Already the remedy of activity was beginning to have its effect:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Newington Green</span>, May 22, 1787. +</p> + +<p>By this time, my dear George, I hope your father and mother have +reached Dublin. I long to hear of their safe arrival. A few days +after they set sail, I received a letter +<span class="pagebreak" title="66"> </span><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a> + from Skeys. He laments +his inability to assist them, and dwells on his own embarrassments. +How glad I am they are gone! My affairs are hastening to a +crisis.... Some of my creditors cannot afford to wait for their +money; as to leaving England in debt, I am determined not to do +it.... Everina and Eliza are both endeavoring to go out into the +world, the one as a companion, and the other as a teacher, and I +believe I shall continue some time on the Green. I intend taking a +little cheap lodging, and living without a servant; and the few +scholars I have will maintain me. I have done with all worldly +pursuits and wishes; I only desire to submit without being +dependent on the caprice of our fellow-creatures. I shall have many +solitary hours, but I have not much to hope for in life, and so it +would be absurd to give way to fear. Besides, I try to look on the +best side, and not to despond. While I am trying to do my duty in +that station in which Providence has placed me, I shall enjoy some +tranquil moments, and the pleasures I have the greatest relish for +are not entirely out of my reach.... I have been trying to muster +up my fortitude, and laboring for patience to bear my many trials. +Surely, when I could determine to survive Fanny, I can endure +poverty and all the lesser ills of life. I dreaded, oh! how I +dreaded this time, and now it is arrived I am calmer than I +expected to be. I have been very unwell; my constitution is much +impaired; the prison walls are decaying, and the prisoner will ere +long get free.... Remember that I am your truly affectionate friend +and sister,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>Perhaps the uncertainty of keeping her pupils, or the double work +necessitated by this project, discouraged her. At all events, it was +relinquished when other and seemingly better proposals were made to her. +Some of her friends at Newington Green recommended her to the notice of +Mr. Prior, then Assistant +<span class="pagebreak" title="67"> </span><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a> + Master at Eton, and his wife. Through them she +was offered the situation of governess to the children of Lord +Kingsborough, an Irish nobleman. If she accepted it, she would be spared +the anxiety which a school of her own had heretofore brought her. The +salary would be forty pounds a year, out of which she calculated she +could pay her debts and then assist Mrs. Bishop. But she would lose her +independence, and would expose herself to the indifference or contempt +then the portion of governesses. “I should be shut out from society,” she +explained to George Blood, “and be debarred the pleasures of imperfect +friendship, as I should on every side be surrounded by unequals. To live +only on terms of civility and common benevolence, without any interchange +of little acts of kindness and tenderness, would be to me extremely +irksome.” The prospect, it must be admitted, was not pleasant. But still +the advantages outweighed the drawbacks, and Mary agreed to Lady +Kingsborough’s terms.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Prior intended taking a trip to Ireland, and they suggested +that she should accompany them. Travelling was not easy in those days, +and she decided to wait and go with them. But, for some reason, they did +not start as soon as they had expected. She had already joined them in +their home at Eton, in which place their delay detained her for some +time. This gave her the opportunity to study the school and the +principles upon which it was conducted. The entire system met with her +disapprobation, and afterwards, in her “Rights of Women,” she freely and +strongly expressed her unfavorable opinion. Judging from what +<span class="pagebreak" title="68"> </span><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a> + she there +saw, she concluded that schools regulated according to the same rules +were hot-beds of vice. Nothing disgusted her so much in this institution +as the false basis upon which religion was established. The slavery to +forms, demanded of the boys, seemed to her to at once undermine their +moral uprightness. What, indeed, could be expected of a boy who would +take the sacrament for no other reason than to avoid the fine of half a +guinea imposed upon those who would not conform to this ceremony? Her +visit did much towards developing and formulating her ideas on the +subject of education.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Prior seems to have given her every chance to become acquainted not +only with the school, but with the social life at Eton. But her interest +in the gay world, as there represented, was lukewarm. Its shallowness +provoked her. She, looking upon life as real and earnest, and not as a +mere playground, could not sympathize with women who gave themselves up +to dress, nor with men who expended their energies in efforts to raise a +laugh. Wit of rather an affected kind was the fashion of the day. At its +best it was odious, but when manufactured by the weaklings of society, it +was beyond endurance. Heine says that there is no man so crazy that he +may not find a crazier comrade who will understand him. And it may be +said as truly, that there is no man so foolish that he will not meet +still greater fools ready to admire his folly. To Mary Wollstonecraft it +was doubtful which was most to be despised, the affectation itself or the +applause which nourished it. The governess elect, whose heart was heavy +laden, saw in the flippant +<span class="pagebreak" title="69"> </span><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a> + gayeties of Eton naught but vanity and +vexation of spirit.</p> + +<p>She wrote to Everina on the 9th of October,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The time I spend here appears lost. While I remained in England I +would fain have been near those I love.... I could not live the +life they lead at Eton; nothing but dress and ridicule going +forward, and I really believe their fondness for ridicule tends to +make them affected, the women in their manners and the men in their +conversation; for witlings abound, and puns fly about like +crackers, though you would scarcely guess they had any meaning in +them, if you did not hear the noise they create. So much company +without any sociability would be to me an insupportable fatigue. I +am, ’tis true, quite alone in a crowd, yet cannot help reflecting +on the scene around me, and my thoughts harass me. Vanity in one +shape or other reigns triumphant.... My thoughts and wishes tend to +that land where the God of love will wipe away all tears from our +eyes, where sincerity and truth will flourish, and the imagination +will not dwell on pleasing illusions which vanish like dreams when +experience forces us to see things as they really are. With what +delight do I anticipate the time when neither death nor accidents +of any kind will interpose to separate me from those I love.... +Adieu; believe me to be your affectionate friend and sister,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>Finally the time came for her departure. In October, 1787, she set out +with Mr. and Mrs. Prior for Ireland, and towards the end of the month +arrived at the castle of Lord Kingsborough in Mitchelstown. Her first +impressions were gloomy. But, indeed, her depression and weakness were so +great, that she looked at all things, as if through a glass, darkly. Her +sorrows were still too fresh to be forgotten in idle curiosity about the +<span class="pagebreak" title="70"> </span><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a> + +inhabitants and customs of her new home. Even if she had been in the best +of spirits, her arrival at the castle would have been a trying moment. It +is never easy for one woman to face alone several of her sex, who, she +knows, are waiting to criticise her. There were then staying with Lady +Kingsborough her step-mother and her three unmarried step-sisters and +several guests. Governesses in this household had fared much as +companions in Mrs. Dawson’s. They had come and gone in rapid succession. +Therefore Mary was examined by these ladies much as a new horse is +<a name="c70" id="c70"></a><a href="#tn70" class="correction" title="changed from 'inpected'">inspected</a> by a racer, or a new dog by a sportsman. +She passed through the ordeal successfully, but it left her courage at +low ebb. Her first report to her sister is not cheerful:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">The Castle, Mitchelstown</span>, Oct. 30, 1787. +</p> + +<p>Well, my dear girl, I am at length arrived at my journey’s end. I +sigh when I say so, but it matters not, I must labor for content, +and try to reconcile myself to a state which is contrary to every +feeling of my soul. I can scarcely persuade myself that I am awake; +my whole life appears like a frightful vision, and equally +disjointed. I have been so very low-spirited for some days past, I +could not write. All the moments I could spend in solitude were +lost in sorrow and unavailing tears. There was such a solemn kind +of stupidity about this place as froze my very blood. I entered the +great gates with the same kind of feeling as I should have if I was +going into the Bastille. You can make allowance for the feelings +which the General would term ridiculous or artificial. I found I +was to encounter a host of females,—My Lady, her step-mother and +three sisters, and Mrses. and Misses without number, who, of +course, would examine me with the most minute attention. I cannot +attempt to give you a description of +<span class="pagebreak" title="71"> </span><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a> + the family, I am so low; I +will only mention some of the things which particularly worry me. I +am sure much more is expected from me than I am equal to. With +respect to French, I am certain Mr. P. has misled them, and I +expect in consequence of it to be very much mortified. Lady K. is a +shrewd, clever woman, a great talker. I have not seen much of her, +as she is confined to her room by a sore throat; but I have seen +half a dozen of her companions. I mean not her children, but her +dogs. To see a woman without any softness in her manners caressing +animals, and using infantine expressions, is, you may conceive, +very absurd and ludicrous, but a fine lady is a new species to me +of animal. I am, however, treated like a gentlewoman by every part +of the family, but the forms and parade of high life suit not my +mind.... I hear a fiddle below, the servants are dancing, and the +rest of the family are diverting themselves. I only am melancholy +and alone. To tell the truth, I hope part of my misery arises from +disordered nerves, for I would fain believe my mind is not so very +weak. The children are, literally speaking, wild Irish, unformed +and not very pleasing; but you shall have a full and true account, +my dear girl, in a few days....</p> + +<p>I am your affectionate sister and sincere friend,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>It was at least fortunate that she escaped, with Lady Kingsborough, the +indignities which she had feared she, as governess, would receive. +Instead of being placed on a level with the servants, as was often the +fate of gentlewomen in her position, she was treated as one of the +family, but she had little else to be thankful for. There was absolutely +no congeniality between herself and her employers. She had no tastes or +views in common with them. Lady Kingsborough was a thorough woman of the +world. She was clever but cold, and her natural coldness had been +increased by +<span class="pagebreak" title="72"> </span><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a> + the restraints and exactions of her social rank. If she +rouged to preserve her good looks, and talked to exhibit her cleverness, +she was fulfilling all the requirements of her station in life. Her +character and conduct were in every way opposed to Mary’s ideals. The +latter, who was instinctively honest, and who never stooped to curry +favor with any one, must have found it difficult to treat Lady +Kingsborough with a deference she did not feel, but which her subordinate +position obliged her to show. The struggle between impulse and duty thus +caused was doubtless one of the chief factors in making her experiences +in Ireland so painful. How great this struggle was can be best estimated +when it is known what she thought of the mother of her pupils. She was +never thrown into such intimate relations with any other woman of +fashion, and therefore it is not illogical to believe that many passages +in the “Rights of Women,” relating to women of this class, are +descriptions of Lady Kingsborough. The allusion to pet dogs in the +following seems to establish the identity beyond dispute:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... She who takes her dogs to bed, and nurses them with a parade +of sensibility when sick, will suffer her babes to grow up crooked +in a nursery. This illustration of my argument is drawn from a +matter of fact. The woman whom I allude to was handsome, reckoned +very handsome by those who do not miss the mind when the face is +plump and fair; but her understanding had not been led from female +duties by literature, nor her innocence debauched by knowledge. No, +she was quite feminine according to the masculine acceptation of +the word; and so far from loving these spoiled brutes that filled +the place which her children ought to have occupied, she only +lisped out a pretty mixture +<span class="pagebreak" title="73"> </span><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a> + of French and English nonsense, to +please the men who flocked round her. The wife, mother, and human +creature were all swallowed up by the factitious character which an +improper education and the selfish vanity of beauty had produced.</p> + +<p>“I do not like to make a distinction without a difference, and I +own that I have been as much disgusted by the fine lady who took +her lap-dog to her bosom, instead of her child, as by the ferocity +of a man, who beating his horse, declared that he knew as well when +he did wrong as a Christian.”</p> +</div> + +<p>If Lady Kingsborough was a representative lady of fashion, her husband +was quite as much the typical country lord. Tom Jones was still the ideal +hero of fiction, and Squire Westerns had not disappeared from real life. +Lord Kingsborough was good-natured and kind, but, like the rest of the +species, coarse. “His countenance does not promise more than good humor +and a little <i>fun</i>, not refined,” Mary told Mrs. Bishop. The three +step-sisters were too preoccupied with matrimonial calculations to +manifest their character, if indeed they had any. Clearly, in such a +household Mary Wollstonecraft was as a child of Israel among the +Philistines.</p> + +<p>The society of the children, though they were “wild Irish,” was more to +her taste than that of the grown-up members of the family. Three were +given into her charge. At first she thought them not very pleasing, but +after a better acquaintance she grew fond of them. The eldest, Margaret, +afterwards Lady Mountcashel, was then fourteen years of age. She was very +talented, and a “sweet girl,” as Mary called her in a letter to Mrs. +Bishop. She became deeply attached to her new +<span class="pagebreak" title="74"> </span><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a> + governess, not with the +passing fancy of a child, but with a lasting devotion. The other children +also learned to love her, but being younger there was less friendship in +their affection. They were afraid of their mother, who lavished her +caresses upon her dogs, until she had none left for them. Therefore, when +Mary treated them affectionately and sympathized with their interests and +pleasures, they naturally turned to her and gave her the love which no +one else seemed to want. That this was the case was entirely Lady +Kingsborough’s fault, but she resented it bitterly, and it was later a +cause of serious complaint against the too competent governess. The +affection of her pupils, which was her principal pleasure during her +residence in Ireland, thus became in the end a misfortune.</p> + +<p>A more prolific source of trouble to her was, strangely enough, her +interest in them. Lady Kingsborough had very positive ideas upon the +subject of her children’s education, and by insisting upon adherence to +them she made Mary’s task doubly hard. Had she not been interfered with, +her position would not have been so unpleasant. She could put her whole +soul into her work, whatever it might be, and find in its success one of +her chief joys. She wished to do her utmost for Margaret and her sisters, +but this was impossible, since she knew the system Lady Kingsborough +exacted to be vicious. The latter cared more for a show of knowledge than +for knowledge itself, and laid the greatest stress upon the acquirement +of accomplishments. This was not in accord with Mary’s theories, who +prized reality and not appearances. A less conscientious woman might have +contented herself with +<span class="pagebreak" title="75"> </span><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a> + the thought that she was carrying out the wishes +of her employer. But Mary could not quiet her scruples in this way. She +was tormented by the sense of duty but half fulfilled. She realized, by +her own sad experience, how much depends upon the training received in +childhood, and yet she was powerless to bring up her pupils in the way +she knew to be best. She had, besides, constantly before her in Lady +Kingsborough and her sisters a, to her, melancholy example of the result +of the methods she was asked to adopt. They had been carefully taught +many different languages and much history, but had been as carefully +instilled with the idea that their studies were but means to social +success and to a brilliant marriage. The consequence was that their +education, despite its thoroughness, had made them puppets, self-interest +being the wire which moved them. She did not want this to be the fate of +her pupils, but she could see no escape for them.</p> + +<p>In addition to her honest anxiety for their future, she must have been +worried by the certainty that, if she remained with them, she would be +held responsible for their character and conduct in after-life. Though +she had charge of them only for a year, this eventually proved to be the +case. Margaret’s reputation as Lady Mountcashel was not wholly unsullied, +and when it was remembered that she had, at one time, been under the +influence of Mary Wollstonecraft, author of the “Rights of Women,” the +fault was attributed to the immoral and irreligious teaching of the +latter. Never was any woman so unjustly condemned. In the first place, +Mary was not her governess long enough to +<span class="pagebreak" title="76"> </span><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a> + actually change her nature, or +to influence her for life; and, in the second place, she was not allowed +to have her own way with her pupils. Had she been free she would have +been more apt to encourage a spirit of piety, and inculcate a fine moral +sense. For she was at that period in a deeply religious frame of mind, +while she did all she could to counteract what she considered the +deteriorating tendencies of the children’s home training. As Kegan Paul +says, “Her whole endeavor was to train them for higher pursuits and to +instil into them a desire for a wider culture than fell to the lot of +most girls in those days. Her sorrow was deep that her pupils’ lives were +such as to render sustained study and religious habits of mind alike +difficult.”</p> + +<p>This caused her much unhappiness. Her worriment developed into positive +illness. After she had been with them some months, the strain seemed more +than she could bear, as she confessed to Mr. Johnson, to whom she wrote +from Dublin on the 14th of April,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I am still an invalid, and begin to believe that I ought never to +expect to enjoy health. My mind preys on my body, and, when I +endeavor to be useful, I grow too much interested for my own peace. +Confined almost entirely to the society of children, I am anxiously +solicitous for their future welfare, and mortified beyond measure +when counteracted in my endeavors to improve them. I feel all a +mother’s fears for the swarm of little ones which surround me, and +observe disorders, without having power to apply the proper +remedies. How can I be reconciled to life, when it is always a +painful warfare, and when I am deprived of all the pleasures I +relish? I allude to rational conversations and domestic affections. +Here, alone, a +<span class="pagebreak" title="77"> </span><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a> + poor solitary individual in a strange land, tied to +one spot, and subject to the caprice of another, can I be +contented? I am desirous to convince you that I have <i>some</i> cause +for sorrow, and am not without reason detached from life. I shall +hope to hear that you are well, and am yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Wollstonecraft. +</p> +</div> + +<p>The family troubles followed Mary to Ireland. The news which reached her +from home was discouraging. Edward Wollstonecraft at this period declared +he would do nothing more for his father. Prudent, and with none of his +sister’s unselfishness, he grew tired of the drain upon his purse. There +was also difficulty about some money which Mary and her sisters +considered theirs by right, but which the eldest brother, with shameless +selfishness, refused to give up. What the exact circumstances were is not +certain; but it could have been no light tax upon Mary to contribute the +necessary amount for her father’s support, and no small disappointment to +be deprived of money which she thought to be legally hers. Money cares +were to her what the Old Man of the Sea was to Sinbad. They were a burden +from which she was never free. When from forty pounds a year she had to +take half to pay her debts, and then give from the remainder to her +father, her share of her earnings was not large. And yet she counted upon +her savings to purchase her future release from a life of dependence.</p> + +<p>Though she wrote to Mr. Johnson that she was almost entirely confined to +the society of children, she really did see much of the family, often +taking part in their amusements. Judging from the attractions and +conversational powers which made her a favorite in London +<span class="pagebreak" title="78"> </span><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a> +society, it is +but natural to conclude that she was an addition to the household. She +seems at times to have exerted herself to be agreeable. Godwin records +the extreme discomfiture of a fine lady of quality, when, on one +occasion, after having singled her out and treated her with marked +friendliness, she discovered that she had been entertaining the +children’s governess! Mary cared nothing for these people, but as they +were civil to her, she returned their politeness by showing them she was +well worth being polite to. Low-spirited as she was, she mustered up +sufficient courage to discuss the husband-hunts of the young ladies and +even to notice the dogs. This was, indeed, a concession. To Everina she +sent a bulletin—not untouched with humor—of her wonderful and +praiseworthy progress with the inmates of the castle:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Mitchelstown</span>, Nov. 17, 1787. +</p> + +<p>... Confined to the society of a set of silly females, I have no +social converse, and their boisterous spirits and unmeaning +laughter exhaust me, not forgetting hourly domestic bickerings. The +topics of matrimony and dress take their turn, not in a very +sentimental style,—alas! poor sentiment, it has no residence here. +I almost wish the girls were novel-readers and romantic. I declare +false refinement is better than none at all; but these girls +understand several languages, and have read <i>cartloads</i> of history, +for their mother was a prudent woman. Lady K.’s passion for animals +fills up the hours which are not spent in dressing. All her +children have been ill,—very disagreeable fevers. Her ladyship +visited them in a formal way, though their situation called forth +my tenderness, and I endeavored to amuse them, while she lavished +awkward fondness on her dogs. I think now I hear her infantine +lisp. She rouges, and, in short, is a fine lady, +<span class="pagebreak" title="79"> </span><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a> + without fancy or +sensibility. I am almost tormented to death by dogs. But you will +perceive I am not under the influence of my darling passion—pity; +it is not always so. I make allowance and adapt myself, talk of +getting husbands for the <i>ladies</i>—and the <i>dogs</i>, and am +wonderfully entertaining; and then I retire to my room, form +figures in the fire, listen to the wind, or view the Gotties, a +fine range of mountains near us, and so does time waste away in +apathy or misery.... I am drinking asses’ milk, but do not find it +of any service. I am very ill, and so low-spirited my tears flow in +torrents almost insensibly. I struggle with myself, but I hope my +Heavenly Father will not be extreme to mark my weakness, and that +He will have compassion upon a poor bruised reed, and pity a +miserable wretch, whose sorrows He only knows.... I almost wish my +warfare was over.</p></div> + +<p>The religious tone of this letter calls for special notice, since it was +written at the very time she was supposed to be imparting irreligious +principles to her pupils.</p> + +<p>Mary had none of the false sentiment of a Sterne, and could not waste +sympathy over brutes, when she felt that there were human beings who +needed it. Her ladyship’s dogs worried her because of the contrast +between the attention they received and the indifference which fell to +the lot of the children. Besides, the then distressing condition of the +laboring population in Ireland made the luxuries and silly affectations +of the rich doubly noticeable. Mary saw for herself the poverty of the +peasantry. Margaret was allowed to visit the poor, and she accompanied +her on her charitable rounds. The almost bestial squalor in which these +people lived was another cruel contrast to the pampered existence led by +the dogs at the castle. She had none of Strap’s veneration for the +epithet of gentleman. Eliza owned +<span class="pagebreak" title="80"> </span><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a> + to a “sneaking kindness for people of +quality.” But Mary cared only for a man’s intrinsic merit. His rank could +not cover his faults. Therefore, with the misery and destitution of so +many men and women staring her in the face, the amusements and +occupations of the few within Lady Kingsborough’s household continually +grated upon her finer instincts.</p> + +<p>In the winter of 1788 the family went to Dublin, and Mary accompanied +them. She liked the society of the capital no better than she had that of +the country. She, however, occasionally shared in its frivolities, her +relations to Lady Kingsborough obliging her to do this. She was still +young enough to possess the capacity for enjoyment, though her many +hardships and sorrows had made her think this impossible, and she was +sometimes carried away by the gayety around her. But, as thorough a hater +of shams as Carlyle, she was disgusted with herself once the passing +excitement was over. From Dublin she wrote to Everina giving her a +description of a mask to which she had gone, and of which she had +evidently been a conspicuous feature:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Dublin</span>, March 14, 1788. +</p> + +<p>... I am very weak to-day, but I can account for it. The day before +yesterday there was a masquerade; in the course of conversation +some time before, I happened to wish to go to it. Lady K. offered +me two tickets for myself and Miss Delane to accompany me. I +refused them on account of the expense of dressing properly. She +then, to obviate that objection, lent me a black domino. I was out +of spirits, and thought of another excuse; but she proposed to take +me and Betty Delane to the houses of several people of fashion who +saw masks. We went to a great number, and were a tolerable, nay, a +much-admired, +<span class="pagebreak" title="81"> </span><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a> + group. Lady K. went in a domino with a smart +cockade; Miss Moore dressed in the habit of one of the females of +the new discovered islands; Betty D. as a forsaken shepherdess; and +your sister Mary in a black domino. As it was taken for granted the +stranger who had just arrived could not speak the language, I was +to be her interpreter, which afforded me an ample field for satire. +I happened to be very melancholy in the morning, as I am almost +every morning, but at night my fever gives me false spirits; this +night the lights, the novelty of the scene, and all things together +contributed to make me <i>more</i> than half mad. I gave full scope to a +satirical vein, and suppose ...</p></div> + +<p>Unfortunately, the rest of the letter is lost.</p> + +<p>In the midst of her duties and dissipations she managed to find some +little time for more solid pleasures and more congenial work. In her +letters she speaks of nothing with so much enthusiasm as of Rousseau, +whose “Émile” she read while she was in Dublin. She wrote to Everina, on +the 24th of March,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I believe I told you before that as a nation I do not admire the +Irish; and as to the great world and its frivolous ceremonies, I +cannot away with them; they fatigue me. I thank Heaven I was not so +unfortunate as to be born a lady of quality. I am now reading +Rousseau’s “Émile,” and love his paradoxes. He chooses a common +capacity to educate, and gives as a reason that a genius will +educate itself. However, he rambles into that chimerical world in +which I have too often wandered, and draws the usual conclusion +that all is vanity and vexation of spirit. He was a strange, +inconsistent, unhappy, clever creature, yet he possessed an +uncommon portion of sensibility and penetration....</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Adieu, yours sincerely,</p> +<p class="signature">Mary. +</p> + +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="82"> </span><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a> +It was also during this period that she wrote a novel called “Mary.” It +is a narrative of her acquaintance and friendship with Fanny Blood,—her +<i>In Memoriam</i> of the friend she so dearly loved. In writing it she sought +relief for the bitter sorrow with which her loss had filled her heart.</p> + +<p>The Irish gayeties lasted through the winter. In the spring the family +crossed over to England and went to Bristol, Hotwells, and Bath. In all +these places Mary saw more of the gay world, but it was only to deepen +the disgust with which it inspired her. Those were the days when men +drank at dinner until they fell under the table; when young women thought +of nothing but beaux, and were exhibited by their fond mothers as so much +live-stock to be delivered to the highest bidder; and when dowagers, +whose flirting season was over, spent all their time at the card-table. +Nowhere were the absurdities and emptiness of polite society so fully +exposed as at these three fashionable resorts. Even the frivolity of +Dublin paled in comparison. Mary’s health improved in England. The Irish +climate seems to have specially disagreed with her. But notwithstanding +the much-needed improvement in her physical condition, and despite her +occasional concessions to her circumstances, her life became more +unbearable every day, while her sympathies and tastes grew farther apart +from those of her employers.</p> + +<p>But while even the little respect she felt for Lord and Lady Kingsborough +lessened, her love for the children increased. This they returned with +interest. Once, when one of them had to go into the country with her +mother and without her governess, she cried so bitterly +<span class="pagebreak" title="83"> </span><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a> + that she made +herself ill. The strength of Margaret’s affection can be partly measured +by the following passage from a letter written by Mary shortly after +their separation:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I had, the other day, the satisfaction of again receiving a letter +from my poor dear Margaret. With all the mother’s fondness, I could +transcribe a part of it. She says, every day her affection to me, +and dependence on heaven, increase, etc. I miss her innocent +caresses, and sometimes indulge a pleasing hope, that she may be +allowed to cheer my childless age if I am to live to be old. At any +rate, I may hear of the virtues I may not contemplate.”</p></div> + +<p>Lady Kingsborough made no effort to win her children’s affection, but she +was unwilling that they should bestow it upon a stranger. She could not +forgive the governess who had taken her place in their hearts. She and +her eldest daughter had on this account frequent quarrels. Mary’s +position was therefore untenable. Her surroundings were uncongenial, her +duties distasteful, and she was disapproved of by her employer. Nothing +was needed but a decent pretext for the latter to dismiss her. This she +before long found when, Mary being temporarily separated from her pupils, +Margaret showed more regret than her mother thought the occasion +warranted. Lady Kingsborough seized the opportunity to give the governess +her dismissal. This was in the autumn of 1788, and the family were in +London. Mary had for some weeks known that this end was inevitable, but +still her departure, when the time came, was sudden. It was a trial to +her to leave the children, but escape from the household was a joyful +emancipation. Again she was obliged to face the +<span class="pagebreak" title="84"> </span><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a> + world, and again she +emerged triumphant from her struggles. With each new change she advanced +a step in her intellectual progress. After she left Lady Kingsborough she +began the literary life which was to make her famous.</p> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="85"> </span><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p class="center">LITERARY LIFE.</p> + +<p class="center">1788-1791.</p> + + +<p>During her residence with the family of Lady Kingsborough in Ireland, +Mary, as has been seen, corresponded with Mr. Johnson the publisher. In +her hour of need she went to him for advice and assistance. He strongly +recommended, as he had more than once before, that she should give up +teaching altogether, and devote her time to literary work.</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson was a man of considerable influence and experience, and he +was enterprising and progressive. He published most of the principal +books of the day. The Edgeworths sent him their novels from Ireland, and +Cowper his poetry from Olney. One day he gave the reading world Mrs. +Barbauld’s works for the young, and the next, the speculations of +reformers and social philosophers whose rationalism deterred many another +publisher. It was for printing the Rev. Gilbert Wakefield’s too +plain-spoken writings that he was, at a later date, fined and imprisoned. +Quick to discern true merit, he was equally prompt in encouraging it. As +Mary once said of him, he was a man before he was a bookseller. His kind, +generous nature made him as ready to assist needy and deserving authors +with his purse as he was to publish their +<span class="pagebreak" title="86"> </span><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a> + works. From the time he had +seen Mary’s pamphlet on the “Education of Daughters,” he had been deeply +and honestly interested in her. It had convinced him of her power to do +something greater. Her letters had sustained him in this opinion, and her +novel still further confirmed it. He now, in addition to urging her to +try to support herself by writing, promised her continual employment if +she would settle in London.</p> + +<p>To-day there would seem no possible reason for any one in her position to +hesitate before accepting such an offer. But in her time it was an +unusual occurrence for a woman to adopt literature as a profession. It is +true there had been a great change since Swift declared that “not one +gentleman’s daughter in a thousand has been brought to read or understand +her own natural tongue.” Women had learned not only to read, but to +write. Miss Burney had written her novels, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu her +Letters, and Mrs. Inchbald her “Simple Story” and her plays, before Mary +came to London. Though the Amelias and Lydia Melfords of fiction were +still favorite types, the blue-stocking was gaining ascendency. Because +she was such a <i>rara avis</i> she received a degree of attention and +devotion which now appears extraordinary. Mrs. Inchbald and Mrs. Opie, +Maria Edgeworth and Mrs. Barbauld, at the end of the last and beginning +of this century, were fêted and praised as seldom falls to the lot of +their successors of the present generation. But, despite this fact, they +were not quite sure that they were keeping within the limits of feminine +modesty by publishing their writings. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu had +considered it necessary +<span class="pagebreak" title="87"> </span><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a> + to apologize for having translated Epictetus. +Miss Burney shrank from publicity, and preferred the slavery of a court +to the liberty of home life, which meant time for writing. Good Mrs. +Barbauld feared she “stepped out of the bounds of female reserve” when +she became an author. They all wrote either for amusement or as a last +resource to eke out a slender income. But Mary would, by agreeing to Mr. +Johnson’s proposition, deliberately throw over other chances of making a +livelihood to rely entirely upon literature. She was young, unmarried, +and, to all intents and purposes, alone in the world. Such a step was +unprecedented in English literary annals. She would really be, as she +wrote to her sister, the first of a new genus. Her conduct would +unquestionably be criticised and censured. She would have to run the +gauntlet of public opinion, a much more trying ordeal than that through +which she had passed at the castle in Mitchelstown.</p> + +<p>But, on the other hand, she would thereby gain freedom and independence, +for which she had always yearned above all else; her work would be +congenial; and, what to her was even more important, she would obtain +better means to further the welfare of her sisters and brothers, and to +assist her father. Compared to these inducements, the fact that people +would look upon her askance was a very insignificant consideration. She +believed in a woman’s right to independence; and, the first chance she +had, she acted according to her lights.</p> + +<p>But, at the same time, she knew that if her friends heard of her +determination before she had carried it into effect, they would try to +dissuade her from it. +<span class="pagebreak" title="88"> </span><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a> + She was firmly resolved not to be influenced in +this matter by any one; and therefore, to avoid the unpleasant +discussions and disputes that might arise from a difference of opinion, +she maintained strict secrecy as to her plans. From her letters it seems +probable that she had made definite arrangements with Mr. Johnson before +her formal dismissal by Lady Kingsborough. In September of 1788 she +stayed at Henley for a short time with Mrs. Bishop; and it was doubtless +this visit that caused Margaret’s unhappiness and hence her mother’s +indignation. At Henley Mary enjoyed a short interval of rest. The quiet +of the place and temporary idleness were the best of tonics for her +disordered nerves, and an excellent preparation for her new labors. That +she was at that time determined to give up teaching for literature, but +that she did not take her sister into her confidence, is shown by this +letter written to Mr. Johnson, containing a pleasant description of her +holiday:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Henley</span>, Thursday, Sept. 13. +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Since I saw you I have, literally speaking, <i>enjoyed</i> +solitude. My sister could not accompany me in my rambles; I +therefore wandered alone by the side of the Thames, and in the +neighboring beautiful fields and pleasure grounds: the prospects +were of such a placid kind, I <i>caught</i> tranquillity while I +surveyed them; my mind was <i>still</i>, though active. Were I to give +you an account how I have spent my time, you would smile. I found +an old French Bible here, and amused myself with comparing it with +our English translation; then I would listen to the falling leaves, +or observe the various tints the autumn gave to them. At other +times, the singing of a robin or the noise of a water-mill engaged +my attention; for I was at the same time, perhaps, discussing +<span class="pagebreak" title="89"> </span><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a> + some +knotty point, or straying from this <i>tiny</i> world to new systems. +After these excursions I returned to the family meals, told the +children stories (they think me <i>vastly</i> agreeable), and my sister +was amused. Well, will you allow me to call this way of passing my +days pleasant?</p> + +<p>I was just going to mend my pen; but I believe it will enable me to +say all I have to add to this epistle. Have you yet heard of an +habitation for me? I often think of my new plan of life; and lest +my sister should try to prevail on me to alter it, I have avoided +mentioning it to her. I am determined! Your sex generally laugh at +female determinations; but let me tell you, I never yet resolved to +do anything of consequence, that I did not adhere resolutely to it, +till I had accomplished my purpose, improbable as it might have +appeared to a more timid mind. In the course of near nine and +twenty years I have gathered some experience, and felt many +<i>severe</i> disappointments; and what is the amount? I long for a +little peace and <i>independence</i>! Every obligation we receive from +our fellow-creatures is a new shackle, takes from our native +freedom, and debases the mind, makes us mere earthworms. I am not +fond of grovelling!</p> + +<p class="yours"> +I am, Sir, yours, etc.,</p> + +<p class="signature normal"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>When she parted from Lady Kingsborough, and the time arrived for +beginning her new life, she thought it best to communicate her prospects +to Everina; but she begged the latter not to mention them to any one +else. She seems for some time to have wished that her family at least +should know nothing of her whereabouts or her occupations.</p> + +<p>She wrote from London on the 7th of November to Everina,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I am, my dear girl, once more thrown on the world. I <i>have</i> left +Lord K.’s, and they return next week to Mitchelstown. +<span class="pagebreak" title="90"> </span><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a> +I long since +imagined that my departure would be sudden. I have not <i>seen</i> Mrs. +Burgh, but I have informed her of this circumstance, and at the +same time mentioned to her, that I was determined not to see any of +my friends till I am in a way to earn my own subsistence. And to +this determination I <i>will</i> adhere. You can conceive how +disagreeable pity and advice would be at this juncture. I have two +other cogent reasons. Before I go on will you pause, and if, after +deliberating, you will promise not to mention to any one what you +know of my designs, though you may think my requesting you to +conceal them unreasonable, I will trust to your honor, and proceed. +Mr. Johnson, whose uncommon kindness, I believe, has saved me from +despair and vexation I shrink back from, and fear to encounter, +assures me that if I exert my talents in writing, I may support +myself in a comfortable way. I am then going to be the first of a +new genus. I tremble at the attempt; yet if I fail <i>I</i> only suffer; +and should I succeed, my dear girls will ever in sickness have a +home and a refuge, where for a few months in the year they may +forget the cares that disturb the rest. I shall strain every nerve +to obtain a situation for Eliza nearer town: in short, I am once +more involved in schemes. Heaven only knows whether they will +answer! Yet while they are pursued life slips away. I would not on +any account inform my father or Edward of my designs. You and Eliza +are the only part of the family I am interested about; I wish to be +a mother to you both. My undertaking would subject me to ridicule +and an inundation of friendly advice to which I cannot listen; I +must be independent. I wish to introduce you to Mr. Johnson. You +would respect him; and his sensible conversation would soon wear +away the impression that a formality, or rather stiffness of +manners, first makes to his disadvantage. I am sure you would love +him, did you know with what tenderness and humanity he has behaved +to me....</p> + +<p>I cannot write more explicitly. I have indeed been very much +harassed. But Providence has been very kind +<span class="pagebreak" title="91"> </span><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a> + to me, and when I +reflect on past mercies, I am not without hope with respect to the +future; and freedom, even uncertain freedom, is dear.... This +project has long floated in my mind. You know I am not born to +tread in the beaten track; the peculiar bent of my nature pushes me +on. Adieu; believe me ever your sincere friend and affectionate +sister,</p> + +<p class="signature normal"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> + +<p>Seas will not now divide us, nor years elapse before we see each +other.</p> +</div> + +<p>Thus, hopeful for herself and her sisters, she started out upon a new +road, which, smoother than any she had yet trodden, was not without its +many thorns and pitfalls. For a little while she stayed with Mr. Johnson, +whose house was then, as ever, open to her. But as soon as possible she +moved to lodgings he found for her in George Street, in the neighborhood +of Blackfriars’ Bridge. Here she was near him, and this was an important +consideration, as the work he proposed to give her necessitated frequent +intercourse between them, and it was also an advantage for her to be +within reasonable distance of the only friend she possessed in London.</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson made her his “reader;” that is to say, he gave her the +manuscripts sent to him to read and criticise; he also required that she +should translate for him foreign works, for which there was then a great +demand, and that she should contribute to the “Analytical Review,” which +had just been established. Her position was a good one. It is true it +left her little time for original work, and Godwin thought that it +contracted rather than enlarged her genius for the time being. But it +gave her a certain valuable experience +<span class="pagebreak" title="92"> </span><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a> + and much practice which she would +not otherwise have obtained, and it insured her steady employment. She +was to the publisher what a staff contributor is to a newspaper. Whenever +anything was to be done, she was called upon to do it. Therefore, there +was no danger of her dying of starvation in a garret, like Chatterton, or +of her offering her manuscripts to one unwilling bookseller after +another, as happened to Carlyle.</p> + +<p>She did not disappoint Mr. Johnson’s expectations. She worked well and +diligently, being thoroughly conscientious in whatever she did. The +office of “reader” is no mere sinecure; it requires a keen critical +sense, an impartial mind, and not a little moral courage. The first of +these qualifications Mary possessed naturally, and her honesty enabled +her to cultivate the two last. She was as fearless in her criticisms as +she was just; she praised and found fault with equal temerity. This +disagreeable duty was the indirect cause of the happiest event of her +life. The circumstance in question belongs to a later date, but it may +more appropriately be mentioned here in connection with this branch of +her work. On one occasion she had to read a volume of Essays written by +Miss Hayes. The preface displeased her, and this she told the author, +stating her reasons with unhesitating frankness. Miss Hayes was a woman +capable of appreciating such candor of speech; and the business +transaction led to a sincere and lasting friendship. Miss Hayes was the +mutual friend who succeeded in producing a better feeling between Godwin +and Mary, who, as the sequel will show, were not very friendly when they +first met. This fact adds a personal interest to Mary’s letter. She +writes,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="93"> </span><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a> +“I yesterday mentioned to Mr. Johnson your request, and he +assented, desiring that the titlepage might be sent to him. I +therefore can say nothing more, for trifles of this kind I have +always left to him to settle; and you must be aware, madam, that +the <i>honor</i> of publishing, the phrase on which you have laid a +stress, is the cant of both trade and sex; for if really equality +should ever take place in society, the man who is employed and +gives a just equivalent for the money he receives will not behave +with the servile obsequiousness of a servant.</p> + +<p>“I am now going to treat you with still greater frankness. I do not +approve of your preface, and I will tell you why: if your work +should deserve attention, it is a blur on the very face of it. +Disadvantages of education, etc., ought, in my opinion, never to be +pleaded with the public in excuse for defects of any importance, +because if the writer has not sufficient strength of mind to +overcome the common difficulties that lie in his way, nature seems +to command him, with a very audible voice, to leave the task of +instructing others to those who can. This kind of vain humility has +ever disgusted me; and I should say to an author, who humbly sued +for forbearance, If you have not a tolerably good opinion of your +own production, why intrude it on the public? We have plenty of bad +books already, that have just gasped for breath and died. The last +paragraph I particularly object to, it is so full of vanity. Your +male friends will still treat you like a woman; and many a man, for +instance Dr. Johnson, Lord Littleton, and even Dr. Priestley have +insensibly been led to utter warm eulogiums in private that they +would be sorry openly to avow without some cooling explanatory ifs. +An author, especially a woman, should be cautious, lest she too +hastily swallows the crude praises which partial friend and polite +acquaintance bestow thoughtlessly when the supplicating eye looks +for them. In short, it requires great resolution to try rather to +be useful than to please. With this remark in your head, I must beg +you to pardon my freedom whilst you consider the purport of what I +am going to add,—rest on yourself. If +<span class="pagebreak" title="94"> </span><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a> + your essays have merit, +they will stand alone; if not, the <i>shouldering up</i> of Dr. this or +that will not long keep them from falling to the ground. The vulgar +have a pertinent proverb, ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth;’ and let +me remind you that when weakness claims indulgence, it seems to +justify the despotism of strength. Indeed, the preface, and even +your pamphlet, is too full of yourself. Inquiries ought to be made +before they are answered; and till a work strongly interests the +public, true modesty should keep the author in the background, for +it is only about the character and life of a <i>good</i> author that +curiosity is active. A blossom is but a blossom.”</p></div> + +<p>It is a pity that most of Mary’s contributions to the “Analytical +Review,” being unsigned, cannot be credited to her. She wrote for it many +reviews and similar articles, and they probably were characterized by her +uncompromising honesty and straightforwardness of speech. “If you do not +like the manner in which I reviewed Dr. J——’s S—— on his wife,” she +wrote in a note to Mr. Johnson, “be it known unto you, I <i>will</i> not do it +any other way. I felt some pleasure in paying a just tribute of respect +to the memory of a man, who, spite of all his faults, I have an affection +for.” From this it appears, that to tell the truth in these matters was +not always an uncongenial duty.</p> + +<p>She was principally occupied in translating. Following Mr. Johnson’s +advice, she had while in Ireland perfected her French. She was tolerably +familiar with Italian; and she now devoted all her spare minutes, and +these could not have been many, to mastering German. Her energy was +unflagging, and her determination to succeed in the calling she had +chosen, indomitable. By studying she was laying up the only +<span class="pagebreak" title="95"> </span><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a> + capital she +knew how to accumulate, and she feared her future loss should she not +make use of present opportunities. She wrote to Mr. Johnson, who was +materially interested in her progress,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I really want a German grammar, as I intend to attempt to learn +that language, and I will tell you the reason why. While I live, I +am persuaded, I must exert my understanding to procure an +independence and render myself useful. To make the task easier, I +ought to store my mind with knowledge. The seed-time is passing +away. I see the necessity of laboring now, and of that necessity I +do not complain; on the contrary, I am thankful that I have more +than common incentives to pursue knowledge, and draw my pleasures +from the employments that are within my reach. You perceive this is +not a gloomy day. I feel at this moment particularly grateful to +you. Without your humane and <i>delicate</i> assistance, how many +obstacles should I not have had to encounter! Too often should I +have been out of patience with my fellow-creatures, whom I wish to +love. Allow me to love you, my dear sir, and call friend a being I +respect. Adieu.</p> + +<p class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mary W.</span> +</p> + +</div> + +<p>She had indeed reason to be grateful to Mr. Johnson, and she expressed +her gratitude in a more practical way than by protestations. The German +grammar was not wasted. Before long Mary undertook for practice to +translate Salzmann’s “Elements of Morality,” and her exercise proved so +masterly that she, with a few corrections and additions, published it. +This gave rise to a correspondence between the author and herself; and +after several years the former returned the compliment by translating the +“Rights of Women” into German. Some idea will be given of her industry +when it is stated that during the five years of her London life, she, in +<span class="pagebreak" title="96"> </span><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a> + +addition to the work already mentioned, rewrote a translation from the +Dutch of “Young Grandison;” translated from the French “Young Robinson,” +Necker on “Religious Opinions,” and Lavater’s “Physiognomy;” wrote a +volume of “Original Stories from Real Life for Children,” and compiled a +“Female Reader.” As these works were undertaken for money rather than for +fame, she did not through them exert any personal influence on +contemporary thought, or leave any impression on posterity.</p> + +<p>She never degenerated, however, into a mere hack writer, nor did she +accept the literary tasks which came in her way, unless she felt able to +accomplish them. She was too conscientious to fall into a fault +unfortunately common among men and women in a similar position. She did +not shrink from any work, if she knew she was capable of doing it +justice. When it was beyond her powers, she frankly admitted this to be +the case. Thus, she once wrote to Mr. Johnson:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I return you the Italian manuscript, but do not hastily imagine +that I am indolent. I would not spare any labor to do my duty; that +single thought would solace me more than any pleasures the senses +could enjoy. I find I could not translate the manuscript well. If +it were not a manuscript I should not be so easily intimidated; but +the hand, and errors in orthography or abbreviations, are a +stumbling-block at the first setting out. I cannot bear to do +anything I cannot do well; and I should lose time in the vain +attempt.”</p></div> + +<p>When she settled in London, she was in no humor for social pleasures. Her +sole ambition was to be useful, and she worked incessantly. She at first +hid herself from almost everybody. When she expected her sisters +<span class="pagebreak" title="97"> </span><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a> + to stay +with her, she begged them beforehand, “If you pay any visits, you will +comply with my whim and not mention my place of abode or mode of life.” +She lived in very simple fashion; her rooms were furnished with the +merest necessities. Another warning she had to give Everina and Mrs. +Bishop was, “I have a room, but not furniture. J. offered you both a bed +in his house, but that would not be pleasant. I believe I must try to +purchase a bed, which I shall reserve for my poor girls while I have a +house.” It has been recorded that Talleyrand visited her in her lodgings +on George Street, and that while the two discussed social and political +problems, they drank their tea and then their wine from tea-cups, +wine-glasses being an elegance beyond Mary’s means. Her dress was as +plain as her furniture. Her gowns were mean in material and often shabby, +and her hair hung loosely on her shoulders, instead of being twisted and +looped as was then fashionable. Knowles, in his “Life of Fuseli,” finds +fault with her on this account. She was not, however, a <i>philosophical +sloven</i>, with <i>romantic</i> ideas of benevolence, as he intimates. Either he +or Fuseli strangely misjudged her. The reason she paid so little heed to +the luxuries and frivolities which custom then exacted, was because other +more pressing demands were made upon her limited income. Then, as usual, +she was troubled by the wretched complications and misfortunes of her +family. The entire care and responsibility fell upon her shoulders. None +of the other members seemed to consider that she was as destitute as they +were,—that what she <i>did</i> was literally her one source of revenue. +Assistance would have been as welcome to her as it +<span class="pagebreak" title="98"> </span><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a> + was to them. But they +accepted what she had to give, and were never deterred by reflecting upon +the difficulty with which she responded to their needs. This is always +the way. The strong are made to bear the burdens of the weak.</p> + +<p>The amount of practical help she gave them is almost incredible. Eliza +and Everina had, when the school at Newington Green failed, become +governesses, but their education had been so sadly neglected that they +were not competent for their work. Mary, knowing this, sent Everina to +France, that she might study to be a good French teacher. The tide of +emigration caused by the Revolution had only just begun, and French +governesses and tutors were not the drug on the market they became later. +Everina remained two years in France at her eldest sister’s expense. Mary +found a place for Eliza, first as parlor boarder, and then as assistant, +in an excellent school near London. For most of the time, however, both +sisters were birds of passage. Everina was for a while at Putney, and +then in Ireland, where she probably learned for herself the discomforts +which Mary had once endured. Eliza was now at Market Harborough and +Henley, and again at Putney, and finally she obtained a situation in +Pembrokeshire, Wales, which she retained longer than any she had hitherto +held. During these years there were occasional intermissions when both +sisters were out of work, and there were holiday seasons to be provided +for. To their father’s house it was still impossible for them to go. Its +wretchedness was so great, it could no longer be called a home. Eliza, +soon to see it, found it unbearable. Edward, it appears, was willing +<span class="pagebreak" title="99"> </span><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a> + to +give shelter to Everina; but this brother, of whom less mention is made +in the sisters’ letters, was never a favorite, and residence with him was +an evil to be avoided. The one place, therefore, where they were sure of +a warm welcome was the humble lodging near Blackfriars’ Bridge. Mary +fulfilled her promise of being a mother to them both. She stinted herself +that she might make their lot more endurable.</p> + +<p>When Eliza went to begin her Welsh engagement at Upton Castle, she spent +a night on the way with her father. Her report of this visit opened a new +channel for Mary’s benevolence. Mr. Wollstonecraft was then living at +Laugharne, where he had taken his family many years before, and where his +daughters had made several very good friends. But Eliza, as she lamented +to Everina, went sadly from one old beloved haunt to another, without +meeting an eye which glistened at seeing her. Old acquaintances were +dead, or had sought a home elsewhere. The few who were left would not, +probably because of the father’s disgrace, come to see her. The +step-mother, the second Mrs. Wollstonecraft, was helpful and economical; +but her thrift availed little against the drunken follies of her husband. +The latter had but just recovered from an illness. He was worn to a +skeleton, he coughed and groaned all night in a way to make the +listener’s blood run cold, and he could not walk ten yards without +pausing to pant for breath. His poverty was so abject that his clothes +were barely decent, and his habits so low that he was indifferent to +personal cleanliness. For days and weeks after she had seen him, Eliza +was haunted by the memory of his unkempt hair and beard, +<span class="pagebreak" title="100"> </span><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a> + his red face +and his beggarly shabbiness. Poor unfortunate Charles, the last child +left at home, was half-naked, and his time was spent in quarrelling with +his father. Eliza, who knew how to be independent, was irritated by her +brother’s idleness. “I am very cool to Charles, and have said all I can +to rouse him,” she wrote to Everina; but then immediately she added, +forced to do him justice, “But where can he go in his present plight?” It +scarcely seems possible that such misery should have befallen a +gentleman’s family. Mr. Wollstonecraft’s one cry, through it all, was for +money. He threatened to go to London in his rags, and compel the obdurate +Edward to comply with his demands. When Eliza told him of the sacrifices +Mary made in order to help him, he only flew into a rage.</p> + +<p>It was not long before Mary had brought Charles to London. The first +thing to be done for him was much what Mr. Dick had advised in the case +of ragged David Copperfield, and her initiatory act in his behalf was to +clothe him. She took him to her house, where he lived, if not elegantly +and extravagantly, at least decently, a new experience for the poor lad. +She then had him articled to Edward, the attorney; but this experiment, +as might have been expected, proved a failure. Mary next consulted with +Mr. Barlow about the chances of settling him advantageously on a farm in +America; and to prepare him for this life, which seemed full of promise, +she sent him to serve a sort of apprenticeship with an English farmer. +About this time James, the second son, who had been at sea, came home, +and for him also Mary found room in her lodgings until, through her +influence, he went to Woolwich, where for a few +<span class="pagebreak" title="101"> </span><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a> + months he was under the +instruction of Mr. Bonnycastle, the mathematician, as a preparation to +enter the Royal Navy. He eventually went on Lord Hood’s fleet as a +midshipman, and was then promoted to the rank of lieutenant, after which +he appears to have been able to shift for himself.</p> + +<p>Mary, as if this were not enough, also undertook the care of her father’s +estate, or rather of the little left of it. Mr. Wollstonecraft had long +since been incapable of managing his own affairs, and had intrusted them +to some relations, with whose management Mary was not satisfied. She +consequently took matters into her own hands, though she could ill afford +to spare the time for this new duty. She did all that was possible to +disembarrass the estate so that it might produce sufficient for her +father’s maintenance. She was ably assisted by Mr. Johnson. “During a +part of this period,” he wrote of her residence in George Street, “which +certainly was the most active part of her life, she had the care of her +father’s estate, which was attended with no little trouble to both of us. +She could not,” he adds, “during this time, I think, expend less than +£200 on her brothers and sisters.” Their combined efforts were in vain. +Mr. Wollstonecraft had succeeded too well in ruining himself; and for the +remainder of her life all Mary could do for him was to help him with her +money. Godwin says that, in addition to these already burdensome duties, +she took charge, in her own house, of a little girl of seven years of +age, a relation of Mr. Skeys.</p> + +<p>She struggled bravely, but there were times when it required superhuman +efforts to persevere. She was +<span class="pagebreak" title="102"> </span><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a> + subject to attacks of depression which +usually resulted in physical illness. She gives a graphic description of +the mental and bodily weakness against which she had to fight, in a note +written at this period and addressed to Mr. Johnson:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I am a mere animal, and instinctive emotions too often silence the +suggestions of reason. Your note, I can scarcely tell why, hurt me, +and produced a kind of winterly smile, which diffuses a beam of +despondent tranquillity over the features. I have been very ill; +Heaven knows it was more than fancy. After some sleepless, +wearisome nights, towards the morning I have grown delirious. Last +Thursday, in particular, I imagined —— was thrown into his great +distress by his folly; and I, unable to assist him, was in an +agony. My nerves were in such a painful state of irritation I +suffered more than I can express. Society was necessary, and might +have diverted me till I gained more strength; but I blush when I +recollect how often I have teased you with childish complaints and +the reveries of a disordered imagination. I even <i>imagined</i> that I +intruded on you, because you never called on me though you +perceived that I was not well. I have nourished a sickly kind of +delicacy, which gave me as many unnecessary pangs. I acknowledge +that life is but a jest, and often a frightful dream, yet catch +myself every day searching for something serious, and feel real +misery from the disappointment. I am a strange compound of weakness +and resolution. However, if I must suffer, I will endeavor to +suffer in silence. There is certainly a great defect in my mind; my +wayward heart creates its own misery. Why I am made thus, I cannot +tell; and, till I can form some idea of the whole of my existence, +I must be content to weep and dance like a child,—long for a toy, +and be tired of it as soon as I get it.</p> + +<p>“We must each of us wear a fool’s cap; but mine, alas! has lost its +bells and grown so heavy I find it intolerably +<span class="pagebreak" title="103"> </span><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a> + troublesome. +Good-night! I have been pursuing a number of strange thoughts since +I began to write, and have actually both laughed and wept +immoderately. Surely I am a fool.”</p></div> + +<p>In these dark days it was always to Mr. Johnson she turned for sympathy +and advice. She had never been on very confidential terms with either of +her sisters, and her friendship with George Blood had grown cooler. Their +paths in life had so widely diverged that this was unavoidable. The +following extract from a letter Mary wrote to him in the winter of 1791 +shows that the change in their intimacy had not been caused by +ill-feeling on either side. He apparently had, through her, renewed his +offer of marriage to Everina, as he was now able to support a wife:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... Now, my dear George, let me more particularly allude to your +own affairs. I ought to have done so sooner, but there was an +awkwardness in the business that made me shrink back. We have all, +my good friend, a sisterly affection for you; and this very morning +Everina declared to me that she had more affection for you than for +either of her brothers; but, accustomed to view you in that light, +she cannot view you in any other. Let us then be on the old +footing; love us as we love you, but give your heart to some worthy +girl, and do not cherish an affection which may interfere with your +prospects when there is no reason to suppose that it will ever be +returned. Everina does not seem to think of marriage. She has no +particular attachment; yet she was anxious when I spoke explicitly +to her, to speak to you in the same terms, that she might +correspond with you as she has ever done, with sisterly freedom and +affection.”</p></div> + +<p>But good friends as they continued to be, he was far away in Dublin, with +different interests; and Mary +<span class="pagebreak" title="104"> </span><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a> + craved immediate and comprehensive +sympathy. Mr. Johnson was ever ready to administer to her spiritual +wants; he was a friend in very truth. He evidently understood her nature +and knew how best to deal with her when she was in these moods. “During +her stay in George Street,” he says in a note referring to her, “she +spent many of her afternoons and most of her evenings with me. She was +incapable of disguise. Whatever was the state of her mind, it appeared +when she entered, and the tone of conversation might easily be guessed. +When harassed, which was very often the case, she was relieved by +unbosoming herself, and generally returned home calm, frequently in +spirits.” Sometimes her mental condition threatened to interfere +seriously with her work, and then again Mr. Johnson knew how to stimulate +and encourage her. When she was writing her answer to Burke’s +“Reflections on the French Revolution,” and when the first half of her +paper had been sent to the printer, her interest in her subject and her +power of writing suddenly deserted her. It was important to publish all +that was written in the controversy while public attention was still +directed to it. And yet, though Mary knew this full well, it was simply +impossible for her to finish what she had eagerly begun. In this frame of +mind she called upon Mr. Johnson and told him her troubles. Instead of +finding fault with her, he was sympathetic and bade her not to worry, for +if she could not continue her pamphlet he would throw aside the printed +sheets. This roused her pride. It was a far better stimulus than abuse +would have been, and it sent her home to write the second half +immediately. That she at times reproached +<span class="pagebreak" title="105"> </span><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a> + herself for taking undue +advantage of Mr. Johnson’s kindness appears from the following apologetic +little note:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>You made me very low-spirited last night by your manner of talking. +You are my only friend, the only person I am <i>intimate</i> with. I +never had a father or a brother; you have been both to me ever +since I knew you, yet I have sometimes been very petulant. I have +been thinking of those instances of ill-humor and quickness, and +they appear like crimes.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p> +</div> + +<p>The dry morsel and quietness which were now her portion were infinitely +better than the house full of strife which she had just left. She was +happier than she had ever been before, but she was only happy by +comparison. Solitude was preferable to the society of Lady Kingsborough +and her friends, but for any one of Mary’s temperament it could not be +esteemed as a good in itself. Her unnatural isolation fortunately did not +last very long. Her friendship with Mr. Johnson was sufficient in itself +to break through her barrier of reserve. She was constantly at his house, +and it was one of the gayest and most sociable in London. It was the +rendezvous of the <i>literati</i> of the day. Persons of note, foreigners as +well as Englishmen, frequented it. There one could meet Fuseli, +impetuous, impatient, and overflowing with conversation; Paine, somewhat +hard to draw out of his shell; Bonnycastle, Dr. George Fordyce, Mr. +George Anderson, Dr. Geddes, and a host of other prominent artists, +scientists, and literary men. Their meetings were informal. They +<span class="pagebreak" title="106"> </span><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a> + +gathered together to talk about what interested them, and not to simper +and smirk, and give utterance to platitudes and affectations, as was the +case with the society to which Mary had lately been introduced. The +people with whom she now became acquainted were too earnest to lay undue +stress on what Herbert Spencer calls the <i>non-essentials</i> of social +intercourse. Sincerity was more valued by them than standard forms of +politeness. When Dr. Geddes was indignant with Fuseli, he did not +disguise his feelings, but in the face of the assembled company rushed +out of the room to walk two or three times around Saint Paul’s +Churchyard, and then, when his rage had diminished, to return and resume +the argument. This indifference to conventionalities, which would have +been held by the polite world to be a fault, must have seemed to Mary, +after her late experience, an incomparable virtue. It is no wonder that +Mrs. Barbauld found the evenings she spent with her publisher lively. “We +protracted them sometimes till ——” she wrote to her brother in the +course of one of her visits to London. “But I am not telling tales. Ask +—— at what time we used to separate.” Mary was also a welcome guest at +Mrs. Trimmer’s house, which, like that of Mr. Johnson, was a centre of +attraction for clever people. This Mrs. Trimmer had acquired some little +literary reputation, and had secured the patronage of the royal family +and the clergy. She and Mary differed greatly, both in character and +creed, but they became very good friends. “I spent a day at Mrs. +Trimmer’s, and found her a truly respectable woman,” was the verdict the +latter sent to Everina; nor had she ever reason to alter it. Her intimacy +with Miss Hayes +<span class="pagebreak" title="107"> </span><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a> + also brought her into contact with many of the same +class.</p> + +<p>As soon as she began to be known in London, she was admired. She was +young,—being only twenty-nine when she came there to live—and she was +handsome. Her face was very striking. She had a profusion of auburn hair; +her eyes were brown and beautiful, despite a slight droop in one of them; +and her complexion, as is usually the case in connection with her +Titianesque coloring of hair and eyes, was rich and clear. The strength +and unutterable sadness of her expression combined with her other charms +to make her face one which a stranger would turn to look at a second +time. She possessed to a rare degree the power of attracting people. Few +could resist the influence of her personality. Added to this she talked +cleverly, and even brilliantly. The tone of her conversation was at times +acrid and gloomy. Long years of toil in a hard, unjust world had borne +the fruit of pessimism. She was too apt to overlook the bright for the +dark side of a picture. But this was a fault which was amply +counterbalanced by her talents. For the first time she made friends who +were competent to justly measure her merits. She was recognized to be a +woman of more than ordinary talents, and she was treated accordingly. +Mean clothes and shabby houses were no drawbacks to clever women in those +days. Mrs. Inchbald, in gowns “always becoming, and very seldom worth so +much as eight-pence,” as one of her admirers described them, was +surrounded as soon as she entered a crowded room, even when powdered and +elegantly attired ladies of fashion were deserted. And +<span class="pagebreak" title="108"> </span><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a> + Mary, though she +had not glasses out of which to drink her wine, and though her coiffure +was unfashionable, became a person of consequence in literary circles.</p> + +<p>Under the influence of congenial social surroundings, she gave up her +habits of retirement. She began to find enjoyment in society, and her +interest in life revived. She could even be gay, nor was there so much +sorrow in her laughter as there had been of yore. Among the most intimate +of her new acquaintances were Mr. and Mrs. Fuseli; and the account has +been preserved of at least one pleasure party to which she accompanied +them. This was a masked ball, and young Lavater, then in England, was +with them. Masquerades were then at the height of popularity. All sorts +and conditions of men went to them. Beautiful Amelia Opie, in her poorest +days, spent five pounds to gain admittance to one given to the Russian +ambassadors. Mrs. Inchbald, when well advanced in years, could enter so +thoroughly into the spirit of another as to beg a friend to lend her a +faded blue silk handkerchief or sash, that she might represent her real +character of a <i>passée</i> blue-stocking. Mary’s gayety on the present +occasion was less artificial than it had been at the Dublin mask. But +Fuseli’s hot temper and fondness for a joke brought their amusement to a +sudden end. They were watching the masks, when one among the latter, +dressed as a devil, danced up to them, and, with howls and many mad +pranks, made merry at their expense. Fuseli, when he found he could not +rid himself of the tormentor, called out half angrily, half facetiously, +“Go to Hell!” The devil proved to be of the dull species, and instead of +answering with a lively +<span class="pagebreak" title="109"> </span><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a> + jest, broke out into a torrent of hot abuse, and +refused to be appeased. Fuseli, wishing to avoid a scene, literally +turned and fled, leaving Mary and the others to save themselves as best +they could.</p> + +<p>At this period a man, whose name, luckily for himself, is now forgotten, +wished to make Mary his wife. Her treatment of him was characteristic. He +could not have known her very well, or else he would not have been so +foolish as to represent his financial prosperity as an argument in his +favor. For a woman to sell herself for money, even when the bargain was +sanctioned by the marriage ceremony, was, in her opinion, the +unpardonable sin. Therefore, what he probably intended as an honor, she +received as an insult. She declared that it must henceforward end her +acquaintance not only with him, but with the third person through whom +the offer was sent, and to whom Mary gave her answer. Her letters in +connection with this subject are among the most interesting in her +correspondence. They bear witness to the sanctity she attached to the +union of man and wife. Her views in this relation cannot be too +prominently brought forward, since, by manifesting the purity of her +principles, light is thrown on her subsequent conduct. In her first burst +of wrath she unbosomed herself to her ever-sympathetic confidant, Mr. +Johnson:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Mr. —— called on me just now. Pray did you know his motive for +calling? I think him impertinently officious. He had left the house +before it had occurred to me in the strong light it does now, or I +should have told him so. My poverty makes me proud. I will not be +insulted by a superficial puppy. His intimacy with Miss +<span class="pagebreak" title="110"> </span><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a> + —— gave +him a privilege which he should not have assumed with me. A +proposal might be made to his cousin, a milliner’s girl, which +should not have been mentioned to me. Pray tell him that I am +offended, and do not wish to see him again. When I meet him at your +house, I shall leave the room, since I cannot pull him by the nose. +I can force my spirit to leave my body, but it shall never bend to +support that body. God of heaven, save thy child from this living +death! I scarcely know what I write. My hand trembles; I am very +sick,—sick at heart.”</p></div> + +<p>Then she wrote to the man who had undertaken in an evil moment to deliver +the would-be lover’s message:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—When you left me this morning, and I reflected a moment, your +<i>officious</i> message, which at first appeared to me a joke, looked +so very like an insult, I cannot forget it. To prevent, then, the +necessity of forcing a smile when I chance to meet you, I take the +earliest opportunity of informing you of my sentiments.</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> +</div> + +<p>This brief note seems to have called forth an answer, for Mary wrote +again, and this time more fully and explicitly:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sir,—It is inexpressibly disagreeable to me to be obliged to enter +again on a subject that has already raised a tumult of <i>indignant</i> +emotions in my bosom, which I was laboring to suppress when I +received your letter. I shall now <i>condescend</i> to answer your +epistle; but let me first tell you that, in my <i>unprotected</i> +situation, I make a point of never forgiving a <i>deliberate +insult</i>,—and in that light I consider your late officious conduct. +It is not according to my nature to mince matters. I will tell you +in plain terms what I think. I have ever considered you in the +light of a <i>civil</i> acquaintance,—on the word friend I lay a +peculiar emphasis,—and, as a mere acquaintance, you were rude and +<i>cruel</i> to step forward to insult a woman +<span class="pagebreak" title="111"> </span><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a> + whose conduct and +misfortunes demand respect. If my friend Mr. Johnson had made the +proposal, I should have been severely hurt, have thought him unkind +and unfeeling, but not <i>impertinent</i>. The privilege of intimacy you +had no claim to, and should have referred the man to myself, if you +had not sufficient discernment to quash it at once. I am, sir, poor +and destitute; yet I have a spirit that will never bend, or take +indirect methods to obtain the consequences I despise; nay, if to +support life it was necessary to act contrary to my principles, the +struggle would soon be over. I can bear anything but my own +contempt.</p> + +<p>In a few words, what I call an insult is the bare supposition that +I could for a moment think of <i>prostituting</i> my person for a +maintenance; for in that point of view does such a marriage appear +to me, who consider right and wrong in the abstract, and never by +words and local opinions shield myself from the reproaches of my +own heart and understanding.</p> + +<p>It is needless to say more; only you must excuse me when I add that +I wish never to see, but as a perfect stranger, a person who could +so grossly mistake my character. An apology is not necessary, if +you were inclined to make one, nor any further expostulations. I +again repeat, I cannot overlook an affront; few indeed have +sufficient delicacy to respect poverty, even when it gives lustre +to a character; and I tell you, sir, I am <i>poor</i>, yet can live +without your benevolent exertions.</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Wollstonecraft. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Her struggles with work wearied her less than her struggles with the +follies of men, of which the foregoing is an example. Indeed, while she +was eminently fitted to enjoy society, she was also peculiarly +susceptible to the many slings and arrows from which those who live in +the world cannot escape. The very tenderness of her feelings for +humanity, which was a blessing in one +<span class="pagebreak" title="112"> </span><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a> + way, was almost a curse in +another. For, just as the conferring of a benefit on one in need gave her +intense pleasure, so, if she was the chance cause of pain to friend or +foe, she suffered acutely. Intentionally she could not have injured any +man. But often a word or action, said or done in good faith, will involve +others in serious difficulties. The misery she endured under such +circumstances was greater than that aroused by her own individual +troubles. The thought that she had added to a fellow-sufferer’s +life-burden cut her to the quick, and she was unsparing in her +self-reproaches. She then reached the very acme of mental torture, as is +seen by this letter to Mr. Johnson:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I am sick with vexation, and wish I could knock my foolish head +against the wall, that bodily pain might make me feel less anguish +from self-reproach! To say the truth, I was never more displeased +with myself, and I will tell you the cause. You may recollect that +I did not mention to you the circumstance of —— having a fortune +left to him; nor did a hint of it drop from me when I conversed +with my sister, because I knew he had a sufficient motive for +concealing it. Last Sunday, when his character was aspersed, as I +thought unjustly, in the heat of vindication I informed —— that +he was now independent; but, at the same time, desired him not to +repeat my information to B——; yet last Tuesday he told him all, +and the boy at B——’s gave Mrs. —— an account of it. As Mr. +—— knew he had only made a confidant of me (I blush to think of +it!) he guessed the channel of intelligence, and this morning came, +not to reproach me,—I wish he had,—but to point out the injury I +have done him. Let what will be the consequence, I will reimburse +him, if I deny myself the necessaries of life, and even then my +folly will sting me. Perhaps you can scarcely conceive the misery I +at this moment endure. That I, whose power of doing +<span class="pagebreak" title="113"> </span><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a> + good is so +limited, should do harm, galls my very soul. —— may laugh at +these qualms, but, supposing Mr. —— to be unworthy, I am not the +less to blame. Surely it is hell to despise one’s self! I did not +want this additional vexation. At this time I have many that hang +heavily on my spirits. I shall not call on you this month, nor stir +out. My stomach has been so suddenly and violently affected, I am +unable to lean over the desk.”</p></div> + +<p>The sequel of the affair is not known, but this letter, because it is so +characteristic, is interesting.</p> + +<p>The advantages social intercourse procured for her were, however, more +than sufficient compensation for the heart-beats it caused her. If there +is nothing so deteriorating as association with one’s intellectual +inferiors, there is, on the other hand, nothing so improving as the +society of one’s equals or superiors. Stimulated into mental activity by +her associates in the world in which she now moved, Mary’s genius +expanded, and ideas but half formed developed into fixed principles. As +Swinburne says of Blake, she was born into the church of rebels. Her +present experience was her baptism. The times were exciting. The effect +of the work of Voltaire and the French philosophers was social upheaval +in France. The rebellion of the colonies and the agitation for reform at +home had encouraged the liberal party into new action. Men had fully +awakened to a realization of individual rights, and in their first +excitement could think and talk of nothing else. The interest then taken +in politics was general and wide-spread to a degree now unknown. Every +one, advocates and opponents alike, discussed the great social problems +of the day.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="114"> </span><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a> +As a rule, the most regular frequenters of Mr. Johnson’s house, and the +leaders of conversation during his evenings, were Reformers. Men like +Paine and Fuseli and Dr. Priestley were, each in his own fashion, seeking +to discover the true nature of human rights. As the Reformation in the +sixteenth century had aimed at freeing the religion of Christ from the +abuses and errors of centuries, and thus restoring it to its original +purity, so the political movement of the latter half of the eighteenth +century had for object the destruction of arbitrary laws and the +re-establishment of government on primary principles. The French +Revolution and the American Rebellion were but means to the greater end. +Philosophers, who systematized the dissatisfaction which the people felt +without being able to trace it to its true source, preached the necessity +of distinguishing between right and wrong <i>per se</i>, and right and wrong +as defined by custom. This was the doctrine which Mary heard most +frequently discussed, and it was but the embodiment of the motives which +had invariably governed her actions from the time she had urged her +sister to leave her husband. She had never, even in her most religious +days, been orthodox in her beliefs, nor conservative in her conduct. As +she said in a letter just quoted, she considered right and wrong in the +abstract, and never shielded herself by words or local opinions. +Hitherto, owing chiefly to her circumstances, she had been content to +accept her theory as a guide for herself in her relations to the world +and her fellow-beings. But now that her scope of influence was extended, +she felt compelled to communicate to others her moral creed, which had +assumed definite shape.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="115"> </span><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a> +Her first public profession of her political and social faith was her +answer to Burke’s “Reflections on the French Revolution,” which had +summoned all the Liberals and Reformers in England to arms. Many came +forward boldly and refuted his arguments in print. Mary was among the +foremost, her pamphlet in reply to his being the first published. Later +authorities have given precedence to Dr. Priestley’s, but this fact is +asserted by Godwin in his Memoirs, and he would hardly have made the +statement at a time when there were many living to deny it, had it not +been true. These answers naturally were received with abuse and sneers by +the Tories. Burke denounced his female opponents as “viragoes and English +<i>poissardes</i>;” and Horace Walpole wrote of them as “Amazonian allies,” +who “spit their rage at eighteen-pence a head, and will return to +Fleet-ditch, more fortunate in being forgotten than their predecessors, +immortalized in the ‘Dunciad.’” Peter Burke, in his “Life of Burke,” says +that the replies made by Dr. Price, Mrs. Macaulay, and Mary +Wollstonecraft were merely attempts and nothing more. Yet all three were +writers of too much force to be ignored. They were thrown into the shade +because Paine’s “Rights of Man,” written for the same purpose, was so +much more startling in its wholesale condemnation of government that the +principal attention of the public was drawn to it.</p> + +<p>Mary’s pamphlet, however, added considerably to her reputation, +especially among the Liberals. It was her first really important work. +Her success encouraged her greatly. It increased her confidence in her +powers and possibilities to influence the reading public. It +<span class="pagebreak" title="116"> </span><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a> + therefore +proved an incentive to fresh exertions in the same field. Much as she was +interested in the rights of men, she was even more concerned with the +rights of women. The former had obtained many able defenders, but no one +had as yet thought of saying a word for the latter. Her own experience +had been so bitter that she realized the disadvantages of her sex as +others, whose path had been easier, never could. She saw that women were +hindered and hampered in a thousand and one ways by obstacles created not +by nature, but by man. And she also saw that long suffering had blinded +them to their, in her estimation, humiliating and too often painful +condition. A change for the better must originate with them, and yet how +was this possible, if they did not see their degradation?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Can the sower sow by night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the ploughman in darkness plough?”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Clearly, since she had found the light, it was her duty to illuminate +with it those who were groping in darkness. She could not with a word +revolutionize womankind, but she could at least be the herald to proclaim +the dawn of the day during which the good seed was to be sown. She had +discovered her life’s mission, and, in her enthusiasm, she wrote the +“Vindication of the Rights of Women.”</p> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="117"> </span><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p class="center">LITERARY WORK.</p> + +<p class="center">1788-1791.</p> + + +<p>As has been stated, Mary Wollstonecraft began her literary career by +writing a small pamphlet on the subject of education. Its title, in full, +is “Thoughts on the Education of Daughters: with Reflections on Female +Conduct in the more Important Duties of Life.” It is interesting as her +first work. Otherwise it is of no great value. Though Mr. Johnson saw in +it the marks of genius, there is really little originality in its +contents or striking merit in the method of treating them. The ideas it +sets forth, while eminently commendable, are remarkable only because it +was unusual in the eighteenth century for women, especially the young and +unmarried, to have any ideas to which to give expression.</p> + +<p>The pamphlet consists of a number of short treatises, indicating certain +laws and principles which Mary thought needed to be more generally +understood and more firmly established. That a woman should not shirk the +functions, either physical or moral, of maternity; that artificial +manners and exterior accomplishments should not be cultivated in lieu of +practical knowledge and simplicity of conduct; that matrimony is to be +considered seriously and not entered into capriciously; that the +individual owes certain duties +<span class="pagebreak" title="118"> </span><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a> + to humanity as well as to his or her own +family,—all these are truths which it is well to repeat frequently. But +if their repetition be not accompanied by arguments which throw new light +on ethical science, or else if it be not made with the vigor and power +born of a thorough knowledge of humanity and its wants and shortcomings, +it will not be remembered by posterity. The “Education of Daughters” +certainly bears no relation to such works as the “Imitation” on the one +hand, or the “Data of Ethics” on the other. It is not a book for all +time.</p> + +<p>However, much in it is significant to readers interested in the study of +Mary Wollstonecraft’s life and character. Every sentence reveals the +earnestness of her nature. Many passages show that as early as 1787 she +had seriously considered the problems which, in 1791, she attempted to +solve. She was even then perplexed by the unfortunate situation of women +of the upper classes who, having received but the pretence of an +education, eventually become dependent on their own exertions. Her sad +experience probably led her to these thoughts. Reflection upon them made +her the champion of her sex. Already in this little pamphlet she declares +her belief that, by a rational training of their intellectual powers, +women can be prepared at one and the same time to meet any emergencies of +fortune and to fulfil the duties of wife and mother. She demonstrates +that good mental discipline, instead of interfering with feminine +occupations, increases a woman’s fitness for them. Thus she writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“No employment of the mind is a sufficient excuse for neglecting +domestic duties; and I cannot conceive that +<span class="pagebreak" title="119"> </span><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a> + they are incompatible. +A woman may fit herself to be the companion and friend of a man of +sense, and yet know how to take care of his family.”</p></div> + +<p>The intense love of sincerity in conduct and belief which is a leading +characteristic in the “Rights of Women” is also manifested in these early +essays. Mary exclaims in one place,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“How many people are like whitened sepulchres, and careful only +about appearances! Yet if we are too anxious to gain the +approbation of the world, we must often forfeit our own.”</p></div> + +<p>And again she says, as if in warning:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... Let the manners arise from the mind, and let there be no +disguise for the genuine emotions of the heart.</p> + +<p>“Things merely ornamental are soon disregarded, and disregard can +scarcely be borne when there is no internal support.”</p></div> + +<p>Another marked feature of the pamphlet is the extremely puritanical +tendency of its sentiments. It was written at the period when Mary was +sending sermon-like letters to George Blood, and breathes the same spirit +of stern adherence to religious principles, though not to special dogma.</p> + +<p>But perhaps the most noteworthy passage which occurs in the treatise is +one on love, and in which, strangely enough, she establishes a belief +which she was destined some years later to confirm by her actions. When +the circumstances of her union with Godwin are remembered, her words seem +prophetic.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“It is too universal a maxim with novelists,” she says, “that love +is felt but once; though it appears to me that +<span class="pagebreak" title="120"> </span><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a> + the heart which is +capable of receiving an impression at all, and can distinguish, +will turn to a new object when the first is found unworthy. I am +convinced it is practicable, when a respect for goodness has the +first place in the mind, and notions of perfection are not affixed +to constancy.”</p></div> + +<p>Though not very wonderful in itself, the “Education of Daughters” is, in +its choice of subject and the standards it upholds, a worthy prelude to +the riper work by which it was before very long followed.</p> + +<p>The next work Mary published was a volume called “Original Stories from +Real Life; with Conversations calculated to regulate the Affections and +form the Mind to Truth and Goodness.” This was written while her +experience as school-mistress and governess was still fresh in her +memory. As she explains in her Preface, her object was to make up in some +measure for the defective education or moral training which, as a rule, +children in those days received from their parents.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Good habits,” she writes, “are infinitely preferable to the +precepts of reason; but as this task requires more judgment than +generally falls to the lot of parents, substitutes must be sought +for, and medicines given, when regimen would have answered the +purpose much better.</p> + +<p>“... To wish that parents would, themselves, mould the ductile +passions is a chimerical wish, as the present generation have their +own passions to combat with, and fastidious pleasures to pursue, +neglecting those nature points out. We must then pour premature +knowledge into the succeeding one; and, teaching virtue, explain +the nature of vice.”</p></div> + +<p>In addressing a youthful audience, Mary was as deeply inspired by her +love of goodness <i>per se</i>, and +<span class="pagebreak" title="121"> </span><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a> + her detestation of conventional +conceptions of virtue, as she was afterwards in appealing to older +readers. She represents, in her book, two little girls, aged respectively +twelve and fourteen, who have been sadly neglected during their early +years, but who, fortunately, have at this period fallen under the care of +a Mrs. Mason, who at once undertakes to form their character and train +their intellect. This good lady, in whose name Mary sermonizes, seizes +upon every event of the day to teach her charges a moral lesson. The +defects she attacks are those most common to childhood. Cruelty to +animals, peevishness, lying, greediness, indolence, procrastination, are +in turn censured, and their opposite virtues praised. Some of the +definitions of the qualities commended are excellent. For example, Mrs. +Mason says to the two children:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Do you know the meaning of the word goodness? I see you are +unwilling to answer. I will tell you. It is, first, to avoid +hurting anything; and then to contrive to give as much pleasure as +you can.”</p></div> + +<p>Again, she warns them thus:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Remember that idleness must always be intolerable, as it is the +most irksome consciousness of existence.”</p></div> + +<p>This latter definition is a little above the comprehension of children of +twelve and fourteen. But then Mary is careful to explain in the Preface +that she writes to assist teachers. She wishes to give them hints which +they must apply to the children under their care as they think best. The +religious tone of the “Stories” is even more pronounced than that of the +“Education of Daughters.” The following is but one of many +<span class="pagebreak" title="122"> </span><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a> + proofs of +Mary’s honest endeavors to make children understand the importance of +religious devotion. In one of her conversational sermons Mrs. Mason says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Recollect that from religion your chief comfort must spring, and +never neglect the duty of prayer. Learn from experience the comfort +that arises from making known your wants and sorrows to the wisest +and best of Beings, in whose hands are the issues, not only of this +life, but of that which is to come.”</p></div> + +<p>To strengthen the effect of Mrs. Mason’s words, an example or story is in +every chapter added to her remarks. They are all appropriate, and many of +the tales are beautiful. As the book is so little known, one of these may +with advantage be given here. The story selected is that of Crazy Robin. +Mrs. Mason tells it to Mary and Caroline, the two little girls, to +explain to them how much wretchedness can be produced by unkindness to +men and beasts. It is interesting because it shows the quality of the +mental food which Mary thought best fitted for the capacity of children. +She was evidently an advocate for strong nourishment. Besides, the story, +despite some unpleasant defects of style, is very powerful. It is full of +dramatic force, and is related with great simplicity and pathos:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“In yonder cave lived a poor man, who generally went by the name of +Crazy Robin. In his youth he was very industrious, and married my +father’s dairy-maid, a girl deserving of such a good husband. For +some time they continued to live very comfortably; their daily +labor procured their daily bread; but Robin, finding it was likely +he should have a large family, borrowed a trifle to add to the +small pittance they had saved in service, and took +<span class="pagebreak" title="123"> </span><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a> + a little farm +in a neighboring county. I was then a child.</p> + +<p>“Ten or twelve years after, I heard that a crazy man, who appeared +very harmless, had by the side of the brook piled a great number of +stones; he would wade into the river for them, followed by a cur +dog, whom he would frequently call his Jacky, and even his Nancy; +and then mumble to himself, ‘Thou wilt not leave me. We will dwell +with the owl in the ivy.’ A number of owls had taken shelter in it. +The stones he waded for he carried to the mouth of the hole, and +only left just room enough to go in. Some of the neighbors at last +recollected him; and I sent to inquire what misfortune had reduced +him to such a deplorable state.</p> + +<p>“The information I received from different persons I will +communicate to you in as few words as I can.</p> + +<p>“Several of his children died in their infancy; and, two years +before he came to his native place, he had been overwhelmed by a +torrent of misery. Through unavoidable misfortunes he was long in +arrears to his landlord; who, seeing that he was an honest man, and +endeavored to bring up his family, did not distress him; but when +his wife was lying-in of her last child, the landlord died, and his +heir sent and seized the stock for the rent; and the person he had +borrowed some money of, exasperated to see all gone, arrested him, +and he was hurried to jail. The poor woman, endeavoring to assist +her family before she had gained sufficient strength, found herself +very ill; and the illness, through neglect and the want of proper +nourishment, turned to a putrid fever, which two of the children +caught from her, and died with her. The two who were left, Jacky +and Nancy, went to their father, and took with them a cur dog that +had long shared their frugal meals.</p> + +<p>“The children begged in the day, and at night slept with their +wretched father. Poverty and dirt soon robbed their cheeks of the +roses which the country air made bloom with a peculiar freshness. +Their blood had been tainted by the putrid complaint that destroyed +their +<span class="pagebreak" title="124"> </span><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a> + mother; in short, they caught the small-pox, and died. The +poor father, who was now bereft of all his children, hung over +their bed in speechless anguish; not a groan or a tear escaped from +him while he stood, two or three hours, in the same attitude, +looking at the dead bodies of his little darlings. The dog licked +his hands, and strove to attract his attention; but for a while he +seemed not to observe his caresses; when he did, he said +mournfully, ‘Thou wilt not leave me;’ and then he began to laugh. +The bodies were removed; and he remained in an unsettled state, +often frantic; at length the frenzy subsided, and he grew +melancholy and harmless. He was not then so closely watched; and +one day he contrived to make his escape, the dog followed him, and +came directly to his native village.</p> + +<p>“After I received this account, I determined he should live in the +place he had chosen, undisturbed. I sent some conveniences, all of +which he rejected except a mat, on which he sometimes slept; the +dog always did. I tried to induce him to eat, but he constantly +gave the dog whatever I sent him, and lived on haws and +blackberries and every kind of trash. I used to call frequently on +him; and he sometimes followed me to the house I now live in, and +in winter he would come of his own accord, and take a crust of +bread. He gathered water-cresses out of the pool, and would bring +them to me, with nosegays of wild thyme, which he plucked from the +sides of the mountain. I mentioned before, that the dog was a cur; +it had the tricks of curs, and would run after horses’ heels and +bark. One day, when his master was gathering water-cresses, the dog +ran after a young gentleman’s horse, and made it start, and almost +throw the rider. Though he knew it was the poor madman’s dog, he +levelled his gun at it, shot it, and instantly rode off. Robin came +to him; he looked at his wounds, and, not sensible that he was +dead, called him to follow him; but when he found that he could +not, he took him to the pool, and washed off the blood before it +began to clot, and then brought him home and laid him on the mat.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="125"> </span><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a> +“I observed that I had not seen him pacing up the hills, and sent +to inquire about him. He was found sitting by the dog, and no +entreaties could prevail on him to quit it, or receive any +refreshment. I went to him myself, hoping, as I had always been a +favorite, that I should be able to persuade him. When I came to +him, I found the hand of death was upon him. He was still +melancholy; but there was not such a mixture of wildness in it. I +pressed him to take some food; but, instead of answering me, or +turning away, he burst into tears, a thing I had never seen him do +before, and, in inarticulate accents, he said, ‘Will any one be +kind to me? You will kill me! I saw not my wife die—no!—they +dragged me from her, but I saw Jacky and Nancy die; and who pitied +me, but my dog?’ He turned his eyes to the body. I wept with him. +He would then have taken some nourishment, but nature was +exhausted, and he expired.”</p></div> + +<p>The book is, on the whole, well written, and was popular enough in its +day. The first edition, published in 1788, was followed by a second in +1791, and a third in 1796. To make it still more attractive, Mr. Johnson +engaged Blake, whom he was then befriending, to illustrate it. But +children of the present day object to the tales with a moral which were +the delight of the nursery in Mary’s time. They have lost all faith in +the bad boy who invariably meets with the evil fate which is his due; and +they are sceptical as to the good little girl who always receives the +cakes and ale—metaphorically speaking—her virtues deserve. And so it +has come to pass that the “Original Stories” are remembered chiefly on +account of their illustrations.</p> + +<p>The drawings contributed by Blake were more in number than were required, +and only six were printed. +<span class="pagebreak" title="126"> </span><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a> + A copy of one of those rejected is given in +Gilchrist’s Life of the artist. None of them rank with his best work. +“The designs,” his biographer says, “can hardly be pronounced a +successful competition with Stothard, though traces of a higher feeling +are visible in the graceful female forms,—benevolent heroine, or +despairing, famishing peasant group. The artist evidently moves in +constraint, and the accessories of these domestic scenes are simply +generalized as if by a child: the result of an inobservant eye for such +things.” But of those published there are two at least which, as Mr. +Kegan Paul has already pointed out, make a deep impression on all who see +them. One is the frontispiece, which illustrates this sentence of the +text: “Look what a fine morning it is. Insects, birds, and animals are +all enjoying existence.” The posing of the three female figures standing +in reverential attitudes, and the creeping vine by the doorway, are +conceived and executed in Blake’s true decorative spirit. The other +represents Crazy Robin by the bedside of his two dead children, the +faithful dog by his side. The grief, horror, and despair expressed in the +man’s face cannot be surpassed, while the pathos and strength of the +scene are heightened by the simplicity of the drawing.</p> + +<p>Of the several translations Mary made at this period, but the briefest +mention is necessary. It often happens that the book translated is in a +great degree indicative of the mental calibre of its translator. Thus it +is characteristic of Carlyle that he translated Goethe, of Swinburne that +he selected the verses of Villon or Théophile Gautier for the same +purpose. But Mary’s case was entirely different. The choice of foreign +<span class="pagebreak" title="127"> </span><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a> + +works rendered into English was not hers, but Mr. Johnson’s. By adhering +to it she was simply fulfilling the contract she had entered into with +him. There were times when she had but a poor opinion of the books he put +into her hands. Thus of one of the principal of these, Necker on the +“Importance of Religion,” she says in her “French Revolution:”—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Not content with the fame he [Necker] acquired by writing on a +subject which his turn of mind and profession enabled him to +comprehend, he wished to obtain a higher degree of celebrity by +forming into a large book various metaphysical shreds of arguments, +which he had collected from the conversation of men fond of +ingenious <a name="c127" id="c127"></a><a class="correction" title="'subtilties' in original" href="#tn127">subtilties</a>; and the style, excepting some declamatory +passages, was as inflated and confused as the thoughts were far +fetched and unconnected.”</p></div> + +<p>But though she was so far from approving of the original, her +translation, published in London in 1788, was declared by the “European +Magazine” to be just and spirited, though apparently too hastily +executed; and it was sufficiently appreciated by the English-speaking +public to be republished in Philadelphia in 1791. There was at least one +book, the translation of which must have been a pleasure to her. This was +the Rev. C. G. Salzmann’s “Elements of Morality, for the Use of +Children.” Its object, like that of the “Original Stories,” was to teach +the young, by practical illustration, why virtue is good, why vice is +evil. It was written much in the same style, and was for many years +highly popular. Johnson brought out the first edition in 1790 and a +second in 1793. It was published in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1811, and in +Edinburgh in 1821, and a +<span class="pagebreak" title="128"> </span><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a> + still newer edition was prepared for the +present generation by Miss Yonge. The “Analytical Review” thought it upon +its first appearance worthy of two notices.</p> + +<p>Mary never pretended to produce perfectly literal translations. Her +version of Lavater’s “Physiognomy,” now unknown, was but an abridgment. +She purposely “naturalized” the “Elements of Morality,” she explains, in +order not to “puzzle children by pointing out modifications of manners, +when the grand principles of morality were to be fixed on a broad basis.” +She made free with the originals that they might better suit English +readers, and this she frankly confesses in her Prefaces. Her translations +are, in consequence, proofs of her industry and varied talents and not +demonstrations of her own mental character.</p> + +<p>The novel “Mary,” like Godwin’s earlier stories, has disappeared. There +are a few men and women of the present generation who remember having +seen it, but it is now not to be found either in public libraries or in +bookstores. It was the record of a happy friendship, and to write it had +been a labor of love. As Mary always wrote most eloquently on subjects +which were of heartfelt interest, its disappearance is to be regretted.</p> + +<p>However, after she had been in London about two years, constant writing +and translating having by that time made her readier with her pen, she +undertook another task, in which her feelings were as strongly +interested. This was her answer to Burke’s “Reflections on the French +Revolution.” Love of humanity was an emotion which moved her quite as +deeply as affection for individual friends. Burke, by his disregard +<span class="pagebreak" title="129"> </span><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a> + for +the sufferings of that portion of the human race which especially +appealed to her, excited her wrath. Carried away by the intensity of her +indignation, she at once set about proving to him and the world that the +reasoning which led to such insensibility was, plausible as it might +seem, wholly unsound. She never paused for reflection, but her chief +arguments, the result of previous thought, being already prepared, she +wrote before her excitement had time to cool. As she explains in the +Advertisement to her “Letter” to Burke, the “Reflections” had first +engaged her attention as the transient topic of the day. Commenting upon +it as she read, her remarks increased to such an extent that she decided +to publish them as a short “Vindication of the Rights of Man.”</p> + +<p>A sermon preached by Dr. Richard Price was the immediate reason which +moved Burke to write the “Reflections.” The Revolutionists were in the +habit of meeting every 4th of November, the anniversary of the arrival of +the Prince of Orange in England, to commemorate the Revolution of 1688. +Dr. Price was, in 1789, the orator of the day. He, on this occasion, +expressed his warm approbation of the actions of the French Republicans, +in which sentiment he was warmly seconded by all the other members of the +society. Burke seized upon these demonstrations as a pretext for +expounding his own views upon the proceedings in France. The sermon and +orations were really not of enough importance to evoke the long essay +with which he favored them. But though he began by denouncing the English +Revolutionists in particular, the subject so inflamed him that before he +had finished, he had written +<span class="pagebreak" title="130"> </span><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a> + without restraint his opinion of the social +struggle of the French people, and given his definition of the word +Liberty, then in everybody’s mouth. As he wrote, news came pouring into +England of later political developments in France which increased instead +of lessening his hatred and distrust of the Revolution. It was a year +before he had finished his work, and it had then grown into a lengthy and +elaborate treatise.</p> + +<p>The “Reflections” gives a careful exposition of the errors of the French +Republican party, and the shortcomings of the National Assembly; and, to +add to this the force of antithesis, it extols the merits and virtues of +the English Constitution. Furthermore, it points out the evil +consequences which must follow the realization of the French attempts at +reform. But the real question at issue is the nature of the rights of +men. It was to gain for their countrymen the justice which they thought +their due, that the revolutionary leaders curtailed the power of the +king, lowered the nobility, and disgraced the clergy. If it could be +proved that their conception of human justice was wholly wrong, the very +foundation of their political structure would be destroyed. Burke’s +arguments, therefore, are all intended to achieve this end.</p> + +<p>In her detestation of his insensibility to the natural equality of +mankind, Mary was too impatient to consider the minor points of his +reasoning. She announces in her Advertisement that she intends to confine +her strictures, in a great measure, to the grand principles at which he +levels his ingenious arguments. Her object, therefore, as well as +Burke’s, is to demonstrate what are the rights of men, but she reasons +from a very +<span class="pagebreak" title="131"> </span><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a> + different stand-point. Burke defends the claims of those who +inherit rights from long generations of ancestors; Mary cries aloud in +defence of men whose one inheritance is the deprivation of all rights. +Burke is moved by the misery of a Marie Antoinette, shorn of her +greatness; Mary, by the wretchedness of the poor peasant woman who has +never possessed even its shadow. The former knows no birthright for +individuals save that which results from the prescription of centuries; +the latter contends that every man has a right, as a human being, to +“such a degree of liberty, civil and religious, as is compatible with the +liberty of the other individuals with whom he is united in social +compact.” Burke asserts that the present rights of man cannot be decided +by reason alone, since they are founded on laws and customs long +established. But Mary asks, How far back are we to go to discover their +first foundation? Is it in England to the reign of Richard II., whose +incapacity rendered him a mere cipher in the hands of the Barons; or to +that of Edward III., whose need for money forced him to concede certain +privileges to the commons? Is social slavery to be encouraged because it +was established in semi-barbarous days? Does Burke, she continues,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... recommend night as the fittest time to analyze a ray of light?</p> + +<p>“Are we to seek for the rights of men in the ages when a few marks +were the only penalty imposed for the life of a man, and death for +death when the property of the rich was touched?—when—I blush to +discover the depravity of our nature—a deer was killed! Are these +the laws that it is natural to love, and sacrilegious to invade? +Were the rights of men understood when the law +<span class="pagebreak" title="132"> </span><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a> + authorized or +tolerated murder?—or is power and right the same?”</p></div> + +<p>Burke’s contempt for the poor, which Mary thought the most conspicuous +feature of his treatise, was the chief cause of her indignation. She +could not endure silently his admonitions to the laboring class to +respect the property which they could not possess, and his exhortations +to them to find their consolation for ill-rewarded labor in the “final +proportions of eternal justice.” “It is, sir, possible,” she tells him +with some dignity, “to render the poor happier in this world, without +depriving them of the consolation which you gratuitously grant them in +the next.” To her mind, the oppression which the lower classes had +endured for ages, until they had become in the end beings scarcely above +the brutes, made the losses of the French nobility and clergy seem by +comparison very insignificant evils. The horrors of the 6th of October, +the discomforts and degradation of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, and +the destitution to which many French refugees had been reduced, blinded +Burke to the long-suffering of the multitude which now rendered the +distress of the few imperative. But Mary’s feelings were all stirred in +the opposite cause.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“What,” she asks in righteous indignation,—“what were the outrages +of the day to these continual miseries? Let those sorrows hide +their diminished heads before the tremendous mountain of woe that +thus defaces our globe! Man preys on man, and you mourn for the +idle tapestry that decorated a Gothic pile, and the dronish bell +that summoned the fat priest to prayer. You mourn for the empty +pageant of a name, when slavery flaps her wing, and the +<span class="pagebreak" title="133"> </span><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a> + sick heart +retires to die in lonely wilds, far from the abodes of man. Did the +pangs you felt for insulted nobility, the anguish which rent your +heart when the gorgeous robes were torn off the idol human weakness +had set up, deserve to be compared with the long-drawn sigh of +melancholy reflection, when misery and vice thus seem to haunt our +steps, and swim on the top of every cheering prospect? Why is our +fancy to be appalled by terrific perspectives of a hell beyond the +grave? Hell stalks abroad: the lash resounds on a slave’s naked +sides; and the sick wretch, who can no longer earn the sour bread +of unremitting labor, steals to a ditch to bid the world a long +good-night, or, neglected in some ostentatious hospital, breathes +its last amidst the laugh of mercenary attendants.”</p></div> + +<p>Occasionally Mary interrupts the main drift of her “Letter” to refute +some of the incidental statements in the “Reflections.” But in doing this +she is more eager to show the evils of English political and social laws, +which Burke praises so unreservedly, than to prove that many existed in +the old French government, a fact which he obstinately refuses to +recognize. This may have been because she then knew little more than +Burke of the real state of affairs in France, and would not take the time +to collect her proofs. This is very likely, for the chief fault of her +“Letter” is undue haste in its composition. It was written on the spur of +the moment, and is without the method indispensable to such a work. There +is no order in the arguments advanced, and too often reasoning gives +place to exhortation and meditation. Another serious error is the +personal abuse with which her “Letter” abounds. She treats Burke in the +very same manner with which she reproves him for treating Dr. Price. +Instead of +<span class="pagebreak" title="134"> </span><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a> + confining herself to denunciation of his views, she attacks +his character, she accuses him of vanity and susceptibility to the charms +of rank, of insincerity and affectation. She calls him a slave of +impulse, and tells him he is too full of himself, and even compares his +love for the English Constitution to the brutal affection of weakness +built on blind, indolent tenderness, rather than on rational grounds. +Sometimes she grows eloquent in her sarcasm.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... On what principle you, sir,” she observes, “can justify the +Reformation, which tore up by the roots an old establishment, I +cannot guess,—but I beg your pardon, perhaps you do not wish to +justify it, and have some mental reservation to excuse you to +yourself, for not openly avowing your reverence. Or, to go further +back, had you been a Jew, you must have joined in the cry, ‘Crucify +him! Crucify him!’ The promulgator of a new doctrine, and the +violator of old laws and customs, that did not, like ours, melt +into darkness and ignorance, but rested on Divine authority, must +have been a dangerous innovator in your eyes, particularly if you +had not been informed that the Carpenter’s Son was of the stock and +lineage of David.”</p></div> + +<p>But vituperation is not argument, and abuse proves nothing. This is a +fault, however, into which youth readily falls. Mary was young when she +wrote the “Vindication of the Rights of Man,” and feeling was still too +strong to be forgotten in calm discussion. It was a mistake, too, to +dwell, as she did, on the inconsistency between Burke’s earlier and +present policy. This was a powerful weapon against him at the time, but +posterity has recognized the consistency which, in reality, underlay his +seemingly diverse political creeds. +<span class="pagebreak" title="135"> </span><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a> + Besides, the demonstration that +sentiments in the “Reflections” were at variance with others expressed +some years previously, did not prove them to be unsound.</p> + +<p>Because of these faults of youth and haste, Mary’s “Letter” is not very +powerful when considered as a reply to Burke; but its intrinsic merits +are many. It is a simple, uncompromising expression of honest opinions. +It is noble in its fearlessness, and it manifests a philosophical insight +into the meaning and basis of morality wonderful in a woman of Mary’s +age. It really deserves the praise bestowed upon it in the “Analytical +Review,” where the critic says that, “notwithstanding it may be the +‘effusion of the moment,’ [it] yet evidently abounds with just sentiments +and lively and animated remarks, expressed in elegant and nervous +language, and which may be read with pleasure and improvement when the +controversy which gave rise to them is over.”</p> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="136"> </span><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p class="center">“VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.”</p> + + +<p>The “Vindication of the Rights of Women” is the work on which Mary +Wollstonecraft’s fame as an author rests. It is more than probable that, +but for it, her other writings would long since have been forgotten. In +it she speaks the first word in behalf of female emancipation. Her book +is the forerunner of a movement which, whatever may be its results, will +always be ranked as one of the most important of the nineteenth century. +Many of her propositions are, to the present advocates of the cause, +foregone conclusions. Hers was the voice of one crying in the wilderness +to prepare the way. Her principal task was to demonstrate that the old +ideals were false.</p> + +<p>The then most exalted type of feminine perfection was Rousseau’s Sophia. +Though this was an advance from the conception of the sex which inspired +Congreve, when he made the women of his comedies mere targets for men’s +gallantries, or Swift, when he wrote his “Advice to a Young Married +Lady,” it was still a low estimate of woman’s character and sphere of +action. According to Rousseau, and the Dr. Gregorys and Fordyces who +re-echoed his doctrines in England, women are so far inferior to men that +their contribution to the comfort and pleasure of the latter is the +<span class="pagebreak" title="137"> </span><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a> + sole +reason for their existence. For them virtue and duty have a relative and +not an absolute value. What they <i>are</i> is of no consequence. The +essential point is what they <i>seem</i> to men. That they are human beings is +lost sight of in the all-engrossing fact that they are women.</p> + +<p>It is strange that Rousseau, who would have had men return to a state of +nature that they might be freed from shams and conventionalities, did not +see that the sacrifice of reality to appearances was quite as bad for +women. Mary Wollstonecraft, farther-sighted than he, discovered at once +the flaw in his reasoning. What was said of Schopenhauer by a Frenchman +could with equal truth be said of her: “Ce n’est pas un philosophe comme +les autres, c’est un philosophe qui a vu le monde.” She had lived in +woman’s world, and consequently, unlike the sentimentalists who were +accepted authorities on the subject, she did not reason from an outside +stand-point. This was probably what helped her not only to recognize the +false position of her sex, but to understand the real cause of the +trouble. She referred it, not to individual cases of masculine tyranny or +feminine incompetency, but to the fundamental misconception of the +relations of the sexes. Therefore, what she had to do was to awaken +mankind to the knowledge that women are human beings, and then to insist +that they should be given the opportunity to assert themselves as such, +and that their sex should become a secondary consideration. It would have +been useless for her to analyze their rights in detail until she had +established the premises upon which their claims must rest. It is true +she contends for +<span class="pagebreak" title="138"> </span><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a> + their political emancipation. “I really think,” she +writes, “that women ought to have representatives instead of being +arbitrarily governed without having any direct share allowed them in the +deliberations of government.” And she also maintains their ability for +the practice of many professions, especially of medicine. But this she +says, as it were, in parenthesis. These necessary reforms cannot be even +begun until the equality of the sexes as human beings is proved beyond a +doubt. The object of the “Vindication” is to demonstrate this equality, +and to point out the preliminary measures by which it may be secured.</p> + +<p>The book is now seldom read. Others of later date have supplanted it. +Conservative readers are prejudiced against it because of its title. The +majority of the liberal-minded have not the patience to master its +contents because they can find its propositions expressed more +satisfactorily elsewhere. Yet, as a work which marks an epoch, it +deserves to be well known. A comprehensive analysis of it will therefore +not be out of place.</p> + +<p>It begins strangely, as it appears to this generation, with a dedication +to Talleyrand. Mary had seen him often when he had been in London, and +only knew what was best in him. She admired his principles, being +ignorant of his utter indifference to them. He had lately published a +pamphlet on National Education, and this was a subject upon which, in +vindicating women’s rights, she had much to say. He had, in pleading the +cause of equality for all men, approached so closely to the whole truth +that she thought, once this was pointed out to him, he could not fail to +recognize +<span class="pagebreak" title="139"> </span><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a> + it as she did. If he believed that, in his own words, “to see +one half of the human race excluded by the other from all participation +in government was a political phenomenon that, according to abstract +principles, it was impossible to explain,” he could not logically deny +that prescription was unjust when applied to women. Therefore, as a new +constitution—the first based upon reason—was about to be established in +France, she reminds him that its framers would be tyrants like their +predecessors if they did not allow women to participate in it. In order +to command his interest, she explains briefly and concisely the truth +which she proposes to prove by her arguments, and thus she gives +immediately the keynote to her book.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Contending for the rights of woman, my main argument,” she tells +him, “is built on this simple principle, that if she be not +prepared by education to become the companion of man, she will stop +the progress of knowledge; for truth must be common to all, or it +will be inefficacious with respect to its influence on general +practice. And how can woman be expected to co-operate unless she +know why she ought to be virtuous; unless freedom strengthen her +reason till she comprehend her duty, and see in what manner it is +connected with her real good? If children are to be educated to +understand the true principle of patriotism, their mother must be a +patriot; and the love of mankind, from which an orderly train of +virtues spring, can only be produced by considering the moral and +civil interests of mankind; but the education and situation of +woman, at present, shuts her out from such investigations.</p> + +<p>“In this work I have produced many arguments, which to me were +conclusive, to prove that the prevailing notion respecting a sexual +character was subversive of morality; and I have contended, that to +render the human body and +<span class="pagebreak" title="140"> </span><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a> + mind more perfect, chastity must more +universally prevail, and that chastity will never be respected in +the male world till the person of a woman is not, as it were, +idolized, when little virtue or sense embellish it with the grand +traces of mental beauty or the interesting simplicity of +affection.”</p></div> + +<p>In her Introduction Mary further states the object and scope of her work. +She advances the importance of bringing to a more healthy condition +women, who, like flowers nourished in over-luxuriant soil, have become +beautiful at the expense of strength. She attributes their weakness to +the systems of education which have aimed at making them alluring +mistresses rather than rational wives, and taught them to crave love, +instead of exacting respect. But, to prevent misunderstanding, she +explains that she does not wish them to seek to transform themselves into +men by cultivating essentially masculine qualities. They are inferior +physically, and must be content to remain so. Enthusiasm never carried +her to the absurd and exaggerated extremes which have made later +champions of the cause laughing-stocks. She also expresses her intention +of steering clear of an error into which most writers upon the subject, +with the exception perhaps of the author of “Sandford and Merton,” have +fallen; namely, that of addressing their instruction to women of the +upper classes. But she intends, while including all ranks of society, to +give particular attention to the middle class, who appear to her to be in +a more natural state. Then, warning her sex that she will treat them like +rational creatures, and not as beings doomed to perpetual childhood, she +tells them:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="141"> </span><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a> +“... I wish to show that elegance is inferior to virtue, that the +first object of laudable ambition is to obtain a character as a +human being, regardless of the distinction of sex, and that +secondary views should be brought to this simple touchstone.”</p></div> + +<p>The Introduction is important because, as she says, it is the “very +essence of an introduction to give a cursory account of the contents of +the work it introduces.” Having learnt from it what she intends to do, it +remains to be seen how she accomplishes her task.</p> + +<p>For the convenience of readers, the treatise may be divided into three +parts, though the author does not make this division, and was probably +unconscious of its possibility. The first chapters give a general +statement of the case. The second part is an elaboration of the first, +and is more concerned with individual forms of the evil than with it as a +whole. The third part suggests the remedy by which women are to be +delivered from social slavery.</p> + +<p>Mary assumes as the basis of her entire argument that “the more equality +there is established among men, the more virtue and happiness will reign +in society.” The moral value of equality she demonstrates by the +wretchedness and wickedness which result whenever there is a substitution +of arbitrary power for the law of reason. The regal position, for +example, is gained by vile intrigues and unnatural crimes and vices, and +maintained by the sacrifice of true wisdom and virtue. Military +discipline, since it demands unquestioning submission to the will of +others, encourages thoughtless action. Even the clergy, +<span class="pagebreak" title="142"> </span><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a> + because of the +blind acquiescence required from them to certain forms of belief, have +their faculties cramped. This being the case, it follows that society, +“as it becomes more enlightened, should be very careful not to establish +bodies of men who must necessarily be made foolish or vicious by the very +constitution of their profession.” Now women, that is to say, one half of +the human race, have hitherto, on account of their sex, been absolutely +debarred from the exercise of reason in forming their conduct. As women +it has been supposed that they cannot have the same ideals as men. What +is vice for the latter is for them virtue. Their duty is to acquire +“cunning, softness of temper, <i>outward</i> obedience, and a scrupulous +attention to a puerile kind of propriety.” They are to render themselves +“gentle domestic brutes.” In their education the training of their +understanding is to be neglected for the cultivation of corporeal +accomplishments. They are bidden to obey no laws save those of behavior, +to which they are as complete slaves as soldiers are to the commands of +their general, or the clergy to the <i>ex cathedra</i> utterances of their +church. Fondness for dress, habits of dissimulation, and the affectation +of a sickly delicacy are recommended for their cultivation as essentially +feminine qualities; yet if virtue have but one eternal standard, it +should be the same in quality for the two sexes, even if there must be a +difference in the degree acquired by each. If women be moral beings, they +should aim at unfolding all their faculties, and not, as Rousseau and his +disciples would have them do, labor only to make themselves pleasing +sexually. Even if this be counted a praiseworthy +<span class="pagebreak" title="143"> </span><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a> + end, and they succeed +in it, to what or how long will it avail them? The result proves the +unsoundness of such doctrines:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The woman who has only been taught to please will soon find that +her charms are oblique sunbeams, and that they cannot have much +effect on her husband’s heart when they are seen every day, when +the summer is past and gone. Will she then have sufficient native +energy to look into herself for comfort, and cultivate her dormant +faculties; or is it not more rational to expect, that she will try +to please other men, and, in the emotions raised by the expectation +of new conquests, endeavor to forget the mortification her love or +pride has received? When the husband ceases to be a lover—and the +time will inevitably come—her desire of pleasing will then grow +languid, or become a spring of bitterness; and love, perhaps the +most evanescent of all passions, give place to jealousy or vanity.</p> + +<p>“I now speak of women who are restrained by principle or prejudice; +such women, though they would shrink from an intrigue with real +abhorrence, yet, nevertheless, wish to be convinced by the homage +of gallantry, that they are cruelly neglected by their husbands; or +days and weeks are spent in dreaming of the happiness enjoyed by +congenial souls, till the health is undermined and the spirits +broken by discontent. How, then, can the great art of pleasing be +such a necessary study? It is only useful to a mistress; the chaste +wife and serious mother should only consider her power to please as +the polish of her virtues, and the affection of her husband as one +of the comforts that render her task less difficult, and her life +happier.”</p></div> + +<p>Coquettish arts triumph only for a day. Love, the most transitory of all +passions, is inevitably succeeded by friendship or indifference.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="144"> </span><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a> +The arguments which have been advanced to support this degrading system +of female education are easily proved to have no foundation in reason. +Women, it is said, are not so strong physically as men. True; but this +does not imply that they have no strength whatsoever. Because they are +weak relatively, it does not follow that they should be made so +absolutely. The sedentary life to which they are condemned weakens them, +and then their weakness is accepted as an inherent, instead of an +artificial, quality. Rousseau concludes that a woman is naturally a +coquette, and governed in all matters by the sexual instinct, because her +earliest amusements consist in playing with dolls, dressing them and +herself, and in talking. These conclusions are almost too puerile to be +refuted:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“That a girl, condemned to sit for hours listening to the idle chat +of weak nurses or to attend at her mother’s toilet, will endeavor +to join the conversation, is indeed very natural; and that she will +imitate her mother or aunts, and amuse herself by adorning her +lifeless doll, as they do in dressing her, poor innocent babe! is +undoubtedly a most natural consequence. For men of the greatest +abilities have seldom had sufficient strength to rise above the +surrounding atmosphere; and if the page of genius has always been +blurred by the prejudices of the age, some allowance should be made +for a sex, who, like kings, always see things through a false +medium.”</p></div> + +<p>The truth is, were girls allowed the same freedom in the choice of +amusements as boys, they would manifest an equal fondness for out-of-door +sports, to the neglect of dolls and frivolous pastimes. But it is denied +to them. Directors of their education have, as a rule, +<span class="pagebreak" title="145"> </span><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a> + been blind +adherents to the doctrine that whatever is, is right, and hence have +argued that because women have always been brought up in a certain way +they should continue to be so trained.</p> + +<p>The worst of it is that the artificial delicacy of constitution thus +produced is the cause of a corresponding weakness of mind; and women are +in actual fact <i>fair defects</i> in creation, as they have been called. And +yet, after having been unfitted for action, they are expected to be +competent to take charge of a family. The woman who is well-disposed, and +whose husband is a sensible man, may act with propriety so long as he is +alive to direct her. But if he were to die how could she alone educate +her children and manage her household with discretion? The woman who is +ill-disposed is not only incapacitated for her duties, but, in her desire +to please and to have pleasure, she neglects dull domestic cares.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“It does not require a lively pencil, or the discriminating outline +of a caricature, to sketch the domestic miseries and petty vices +which such a mistress of a family diffuses. Still, she only acts as +a woman ought to act, brought up according to Rousseau’s system. +She can never be reproached for being masculine, or turning out of +her sphere; nay, she may observe another of his grand rules, and, +cautiously preserving her reputation free from spot, be reckoned a +good kind of woman. Yet in what respect can she be termed good? She +abstains, it is true, without any great struggle, from committing +gross crimes; but how does she fulfil her duties? Duties—in truth, +she has enough to think of to adorn her body and nurse a weak +constitution.</p> + +<p>“With respect to religion, she never presumes to judge for herself; +but conforms, as a dependent creature should, +<span class="pagebreak" title="146"> </span><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a> + to the ceremonies of +the church which she was brought up in, piously believing that +wiser heads than her own have settled that business; and not to +doubt is her point of perfection. She therefore pays her tithe of +mint and cummin, and thanks her God that she is not as other women +are. These are the blessed effects of a good education! these the +virtues of man’s helpmate!”</p></div> + +<p>At this point Mary, after having given the picture of woman as she is +now, describes her as she ought to be. This description is worth quoting, +but not because it contains any originality of thought or charm of +expression. It is interesting as showing exactly what the first sower of +the seeds of female enfranchisement expected to reap for her harvest. +People who are frightened by a name are apt to suppose that women who +defend their rights would have the world filled with uninspired Joans of +Arc, and unrefined Portias. Those who judge Mary Wollstonecraft by her +conduct, without inquiring into her motives or reading her book, might +conclude that what she desired was the destruction of family ties and, +consequently, of moral order. Therefore, in justice to her, the purity of +her ideals of feminine perfection and her respect for the sanctity of +domestic life should be clearly established. This can not be better done +than by giving her own words on the subject:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Let fancy now present a woman with a tolerable understanding,—for +I do not wish to leave the line of mediocrity,—whose constitution, +strengthened by exercise, has allowed her body to acquire its full +vigor, her mind at the same time gradually expanding itself to +comprehend the moral duties of life, and in what human virtue and +dignity consist. Formed thus by the relative duties of +<span class="pagebreak" title="147"> </span><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a> + her +station, she marries from affection, without losing sight of +prudence; and looking beyond matrimonial felicity, she secures her +husband’s respect before it is necessary to exert mean arts to +please him, and feed a dying flame, which nature doomed to expire +when the object became familiar, when friendship and forbearance +take the place of a more ardent affection. This is the natural +death of love, and domestic peace is not destroyed by struggles to +prevent its extinction. I also suppose the husband to be virtuous; +or she is still more in want of independent principles.</p> + +<p>“Fate, however, breaks this tie. She is left a widow, perhaps +without a sufficient provision; but she is not desolate. The pang +of nature is felt; but after time has softened sorrow into +melancholy resignation, her heart turns to her children with +redoubled fondness, and, anxious to provide for them, affection +gives a sacred, heroic cast to her maternal duties. She thinks that +not only the eye sees her virtuous efforts from whom all her +comfort now must flow, and whose approbation is life; but her +imagination, a little abstracted and exalted by grief, dwells on +the fond hope that the eyes which her trembling hand closed may +still see how she subdues every wayward passion to fulfil the +double duty of being the father as well as the mother of her +children. Raised to heroism by misfortunes, she represses the first +faint dawning of a natural inclination before it ripens into love, +and in the bloom of life forgets her sex, forgets the pleasure of +an awakening passion, which might again have been inspired and +returned. She no longer thinks of pleasing, and conscious dignity +prevents her from priding herself on account of the praise which +her conduct demands. Her children have her love, and her highest +hopes are beyond the grave, where her imagination often strays.</p> + +<p>“I think I see her surrounded by her children, reaping the reward +of her care. The intelligent eye meets hers, whilst health and +innocence smile on their chubby cheeks, and as they grow up the +cares of life are lessened by their grateful attention. She lives +to see the virtues which she +<span class="pagebreak" title="148"> </span><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a> + endeavored to plant on principles, +fixed into habits, to see her children attain a strength of +character sufficient to enable them to endure adversity without +forgetting their mother’s example.</p> + +<p>“The task of life thus fulfilled, she calmly waits for the sleep of +death, and rising from the grave may say, Behold, thou gavest me a +talent, and here are five talents.”</p></div> + +<p>Truly, if this be the result of the vindication of their rights, even the +most devoted believer in Rousseau must admit that women thereby will +gain, and not lose, in true womanliness.</p> + +<p>From the primal source of their wrongs,—that is, the undue importance +attached to the sexual character,—Mary next explains that minor causes +have arisen to prevent women from realizing this ideal. The narrowness of +mind engendered by their vicious education hinders them from looking +beyond the interests of the present. They consider immediate rather than +remote effects, and prefer to be “short-lived queens than to labor to +attain the sober pleasures that arise from equality.” Then, again, the +desire to be loved or respected for something, which is instinctive in +all human beings, is gratified in women by the homage paid to charms born +of indolence. They thus, like the rich, lose the stimulus to exertion +which this desire gives to men of the middle class, and which is one of +the chief factors in the development of rational creatures. A man with a +profession struggles to succeed in it. A woman struggles to marry +advantageously. With the former, pleasure is a relaxation; with the +latter, it is the main purpose of life. Therefore, while the man is +forced to forget himself in his work, the woman’s attention is +<span class="pagebreak" title="149"> </span><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a> + more and +more concentrated upon her own person. The great evil of this +self-culture is that the emotions are developed instead of the intellect. +Women become a prey to what is delicately called sensibility. They feel +and do not reason, and, depending upon men for protection and advice, the +only effort they make is to give their weakness a graceful covering. They +require, in the end, support even in the most trifling circumstances. +Their fears are perhaps pretty and attractive to men, but they reduce +them to such a degree of imbecility that they will start “from the frown +of an old cow or the jump of a mouse,” and a rat becomes a serious +danger. These fair, fragile creatures are the objects of Mary +Wollstonecraft’s deepest contempt, and she gives a good wholesome +prescription for their cure, which, despite modern co-education and Women +Conventions, female doctors and lawyers, might still be more generally +adopted to great advantage. It is in such passages as the following that +she proves the practical tendency of her arguments:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I am fully persuaded that we should hear of none of these +infantine airs if girls were allowed to take sufficient exercise +and not confined in close rooms till their muscles are relaxed and +their powers of digestion destroyed. To carry the remark still +further, if fear in girls, instead of being cherished, perhaps +created, was treated in the same manner as cowardice in boys, we +should quickly see women with more dignified aspects. It is true +they could not then with equal propriety be termed the sweet +flowers that smile in the walk of man; but they would be more +respectable members of society, and discharge the important duties +of life by the light of their own reasons. ‘Educate women like +men,’ says Rousseau, ‘and the more +<span class="pagebreak" title="150"> </span><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a> + they resemble our sex, the less +power will they have over us.’ This is the very point I aim at. I +do not wish them to have power over men, but over themselves.”</p></div> + +<p>Some philosophers have asserted with contempt, as evidence of the +inferiority of the female understanding, that it arrives at maturity long +before the male, and that women attain their full strength and growth at +twenty, but men not until they are thirty. But this Mary emphatically +denies. The seeming earlier precocity of girls she attributes to the fact +that they are much sooner treated as women than boys are as men. Their +more speedy physical development is assumed because with them the +standard of beauty is fine features and complexion, whilst male beauty is +allowed to have some connection with the mind. But the truth is, that +“strength of body and that character of countenance which the French term +a <i>physionomie</i>, women do not acquire before thirty any more than men.”</p> + +<p>There are some curious remarks in reference to polygamy as a mark of the +inferiority of women, but they need not be given here, since this evil is +not legally recognized by civilized people, with the exception of the +Mormons. But there is a polygamy, not sanctioned by law, which exists in +all countries, and which has done more than almost anything else to +dishonor women. Mary’s observations in this connection are among the +strongest in the book. She understands the true difficulty more +thoroughly than many social reformers to-day, and offers a better +solution of the problem than they do. Justice, not charity, she declares, +is wanted in the world. Asylums and Magdalens are not the proper remedies +for the abuse. But women +<span class="pagebreak" title="151"> </span><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a> + should be given the same chance as men to rise +after their fall. The first offence should not be made unpardonable, +since good can come from evil. From a struggle with strong passions +virtue is often evolved.</p> + +<p>To sum up in a few words Mary’s statement of her subject, woman having +always been treated as an irrational, inferior being, has in the end +become one. Her acquiescence to her moral and mental degradation springs +from a want of understanding. But “whether this arises from a physical or +accidental weakness of faculties, time alone can determine.” Women must +be allowed to exercise their understanding before it can be proved that +they have none.</p> + +<p>While each individual man is much to blame in encouraging the false +position of women, inconsistently degrading those from whom they pretend +to derive their chief pleasure, still greater fault lies with writers who +have given to the world in their works opinions which, seemingly +favorable, are in reality of a derogatory character to the entire sex. +Having set themselves up as teachers, they are doubly responsible. They +add to their personal influence that of their written doctrine. They +necessarily become leaders, since the majority of men are more than +willing to be led. There were several writers of the eighteenth century +who had dogmatized about women and their education and the laws of +behavior. Rousseau was to many as an inspired prophet. No woman’s library +was then considered complete which did not include Dr. Fordyce’s Sermons +and Dr. Gregory’s “Legacy to His Daughters.” Mrs. Piozzi and Madame de +Staël were minor authorities, and Lord Chesterfield’s Letters had their +<span class="pagebreak" title="152"> </span><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a> + +admirers and upholders. These writers Mary treats separately, after she +has shown the result of the tacit teaching of men, taken collectively; +and here what may be called the second part of the book begins.</p> + +<p>As Mary says, the comments which follow can all be referred to a few +simple principles, and “might have been deduced from what I have already +said.” They are a mere elaboration of what has gone before, and it would +be therefore useless to repeat them. She exposes the folly of Rousseau’s +ideal, the perfect Sophia who unites the endurance of a Griselda to the +wiles of a Vivien, and whose principal mission seems to be to make men +wonder, with the French cynic, of what use women over forty are in the +world. She objects to Dr. Fordyce’s eulogium of female purity and his +Rousseau-inspired appeals to women to make themselves all that is +desirable in men’s eyes, expressed in “lover-like phrases of pumped-up +passion.” The sensuous piety of his Sermons, suggestive of the erotic +religious poems of the East, were particularly offensive to her. She next +regrets that Dr. Gregory, at such a solemn moment as that of giving last +words of advice to his daughters, should have added the weight of his +authority to the doctrine of dissimulation; she is indignant that Mrs. +Piozzi and Madame de Staël should have so little realized the dignity of +true womanhood as to have confirmed the fiat their tyrants had passed +against them; and she vigorously condemns Lord Chesterfield’s vicious +system, which tends to the early acquirement of knowledge of the world +and leaves but little opportunity for the free development of man’s +natural powers. These writers, no matter how much +<span class="pagebreak" title="153"> </span><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a> + they differ in detail, +agree in believing external behavior to be of primary importance; and +Mary’s criticisms of their separate beliefs may therefore be reduced to +one leading proposition by which she contradicts their main assertions. +Right and wrong, virtue and vice, must be studied in the abstract and not +by the measure of weak human laws and customs. This is the refrain to all +her arguments.</p> + +<p>These remarks are followed by four chapters which, while they really +relate to the subject, add little to the force of the book. Introduced as +they are, they seem like disconnected essays. There is a dissertation +upon the effect of early associations of ideas to prove what has already +been asserted in an earlier chapter, that “females, who are made women of +when they are mere children, and brought back to childhood when they +ought to leave the go-cart forever,” will inevitably have a sexual +character given to their minds. Modesty is next considered, not as a +sexual virtue but comprehensively, to show that it is a quality which, +regardless of sex, should always be based on humanity and knowledge, and +never on the false principle that it is a means by which women make +themselves pleasing to men. To teach girls that reserve is only necessary +when they are with persons of the other sex is at once to destroy in +their minds the intrinsic value of modesty. Yet this is usually the +lesson taught them. As a natural consequence, women are free and +confidential with each other to a fault, and foolishly prudent and +squeamish with men. They are never for a moment unconscious of the +difference of sex, and, in affecting the semblance of modesty, the true +virtue +<span class="pagebreak" title="154"> </span><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a> + escapes them altogether. In their neglect of what <i>is</i> for what +<i>seems</i>, they lose the substance and grasp a shadow. This consideration +of behavior, arbitrarily regulated, rather than of conduct ruled by +truth, leads women to care much more for their reputation than for their +actual chastity or virtue. They gradually learn to believe that the sin +is in being found out. “Women mind not what only Heaven sees.” If their +reputation be safe, their consciences are satisfied. A woman who, despite +innumerable gallantries, preserves her fair name, looks down with +contempt upon another who perhaps has sinned but once, but who has not +been as clever a mistress of the art of deception.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“This regard for reputation, independent of its being one of the +natural rewards of virtue, however, took its rise from a cause that +I have already deplored as the grand source of female depravity, +the impossibility of regaining respectability by a return to +virtue, though men preserve theirs during the indulgence of vice. +It was natural for women then to endeavor to preserve what, once +lost, was lost forever, till, this care swallowing up every other +care, reputation for chastity became the one thing needful for the +sex.”</p></div> + +<p>As pernicious as the effects of distorted conceptions of virtue are those +which arise from unnatural social distinctions. This is a return to the +proposition relating to the necessity of equality with which the book +opens. In treating it in detail the question of woman’s work is more +closely studied. The evils which the difference of rank creates are +aggravated in her case. Men of the higher classes of society can, by +entering a political or military life, make duties for themselves. Women +in the same station are not allowed these +<span class="pagebreak" title="155"> </span><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a> + channels of escape from the +demoralizing idleness and luxury to which their social position confines +them. On the other hand, women of the middle class, who are above menial +service but who are forced to work, have the choice of a few despised +employments. Milliners and mantua-makers are respected only a little more +than prostitutes. The situation of governess is looked upon in the light +of a degradation, since those who fill it are gentlewomen who never +expected to be <i>humiliated</i> by work. Many women marry and sacrifice their +happiness to fly from such slavery. Others have not even this pitiful +alternative. “Is not that government then very defective, and very +unmindful of the happiness of one half of its members, that does not +provide for honest, independent women, by encouraging them to fill +respectable stations?” It is a melancholy result of civilization that the +“most respectable women are the most oppressed.”</p> + +<p>The next chapter, on Paternal Affection, leads to the third part of the +treatise. It is not enough for a reformer to pull down. He must build up +as well, or at least lay the foundation stone of a new structure. The +missionary does not only tell the heathen that his religion is false, but +he instructs him in the new one which is to take its place. The +scientist, besides maintaining that old theories are exploded, explains +to the student new facts which have superseded them. Mary, after +demonstrating the viciousness of existing educational systems, suggests +wherein they may be improved, so that women, their understandings trained +and developed, may have the chance to show what they really are.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="156"> </span><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a> +Family duties necessarily precede those of society. As the “formation of +the mind must be begun very early, and the temper, in particular, +requires the most judicious attention,” a child’s training should be +undertaken, not from the time it is sent to school, but almost from the +moment of its birth. Therefore a few words as to the relations between +parents and children are an indispensable introduction to the larger +subject of education, properly so called, which prepares the young for +social life.</p> + +<p>Father and mother are rightful protectors of their child, and should +accept the charge of it, instead of hiring a substitute for this purpose. +It is not even enough for them to be regulated in this matter by the +dictates of natural affection. They must be guided by reason. For there +are the two equally dangerous extremes of tyrannical exercise of power +and of weak indulgence to be avoided. Unless their understanding be +strengthened and enlightened, they will not know what duties to exact +from their children. In their own disregard of reason as a guide to +conduct, they “demand blind obedience,” and, to render their demand +binding, a “mysterious sanctity is spread around the most arbitrary +principle.” Parents have a right to expect their children throughout +their lives to pay them due respect, give heed to their advice, and take +care of them should illness or old age make it impossible for them to do +this for themselves; but they should never desire to subjugate their sons +and daughters to their own will, after they have arrived at years of +discretion and can answer for their actions. To obey a parent, “only on +account of his being a parent, shackles +<span class="pagebreak" title="157"> </span><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a> + the mind, and prepares it for a +slavish submission to any power but reason.” These remarks are +particularly applicable to girls, who “from various causes are more kept +down by their parents, in every sense of the word, than boys,” though in +the case of the latter there is still room for improvement. That filial +duty should thus be reduced to slavery is inexcusable, since children can +very soon be made to understand why they are requested to do certain +things habitually. This, of course, necessitates trouble; but it is the +only way to qualify them for contact with the world, and the active life +which must come with their maturity.</p> + +<p>Once this rational foundation has been laid for the formation of a +child’s character, more immediate attention can be given to the +development of its mental faculties and social tendencies.</p> + +<p>The first step in solving the great problem of education—and here both +sexes are referred to—is to decide whether it should be public or +private. The objections to private education are serious. It is not good +for children to be too much in the society of men and women; for they +then “acquire that kind of premature manhood which stops the growth of +every vigorous power of mind or body.” By growing accustomed to have +their questions answered by older people instead of being obliged to seek +the answers for themselves, as they are forced to do when thrown with +other children, they do not learn how to think for themselves. The very +groundwork of self-reliance is thus destroyed. “Besides, in youth the +seeds of every affection should be sown, and the respectful regard which +is felt for a parent is very different from the +<span class="pagebreak" title="158"> </span><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a> + social affections that +are to constitute the happiness of life as it advances.” “Frank +ingenuousness” can only be attained by young people being frequently in +society where they dare to speak what they think. To know how to live +with their equals when they are grown up, children must learn to +associate with them when they are young.</p> + +<p>The evils which result from the boarding-school system are almost as +great as those of private education. The tyranny established among the +boys is demoralizing, while the acquiescence to the forms of religion +demanded of them, encourages hypocrisy. Children who live away from home +are unfitted for domestic life. “Public education of every denomination +should be directed to form citizens, but if you wish to make good +citizens, you must first exercise the affections of a son and a brother.” +Home-training on the one hand, and boarding-schools on the other, being +equally vicious, the only way out of the difficulty is to combine the two +systems, retaining what is best in each, and doing away with what is +evil. This combination could be obtained by the establishment of national +day-schools.</p> + +<p>They must be supported by government, because the school-master who is +dependent upon the parents of children committed to his charge, +necessarily caters to them. In schools for the upper classes, where the +number of pupils is small and select, he spends his energies in giving +them a show of knowledge wherewith they may startle friends and relations +into admiration of his superior system. In common schools, where the +charges are small, he is forced, in order to support himself, to multiply +the number of pupils until it is +<span class="pagebreak" title="159"> </span><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a> + impossible for him to do any one of +them justice. But if education were a national affair, school-masters +would be responsible to a board of directors, whose interest would be +given to the boys collectively and not individually, while the number of +pupils to be received would be strictly regulated.</p> + +<p>To perfect national schools the sexes must be educated together. By this +means only can they be prepared for their after relations to each other, +women thus becoming enlightened citizens and rational companions for men. +The experiment of co-education is at all events worth making. Even should +it fail, women would not be injured thereby, “for it is not in the power +of man to render them more insignificant than they are at present.”</p> + +<p>Mary is very practical in this branch of her subject, and suggests an +admirable educational scheme. In her levelling of rank among the young, +she shows the influence of Plato; in her hint as to the possibility of +uniting play and study in elementary education, she anticipates Froebel. +Her ideas can be best appreciated by giving them in her own words:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“To render this [that is, co-education] practicable, day-schools +for particular ages should be established by government, in which +boys and girls might be educated together. The school for the +younger children, from five to nine years of age, ought to be +absolutely free and open to all classes. A sufficient number of +masters should also be chosen by a select committee, in each +parish, to whom any complaint of negligence, etc., might be made, +if signed by six of the children’s parents.</p> + +<p>“Ushers would then be unnecessary: for I believe experience will +ever prove that this kind of subordinate +<span class="pagebreak" title="160"> </span><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a> +authority is particularly +injurious to the morals of youth....</p> + +<p>“But nothing of this kind [that is, amusement at the expense of +ushers] would occur in an elementary day-school, where boys and +girls, the rich and poor, should meet together. And to prevent any +of the distinctions of vanity, they should be dressed alike, and +all obliged to submit to the same discipline, or leave the school. +The schoolroom ought to be surrounded by a large piece of ground, +in which the children might be usefully exercised, for at this age +they should not be confined to any sedentary employment for more +than an hour at a time. But these relaxations might all be rendered +a part of elementary education, for many things improve and amuse +the senses when introduced as a kind of show, to the principles of +which, dryly laid down, children would turn a deaf ear. For +instance, botany, mechanics, and astronomy, reading, writing, +arithmetic, natural history, and some simple experiments in natural +philosophy, might fill up the day; but these pursuits should never +encroach on gymnastic plays in the open air. The elements of +religion, history, the history of man, and politics might also be +taught by conversations in Socratic form.</p> + +<p>“After the age of nine, girls and boys intended for domestic +employments or mechanical trades ought to be removed to other +schools, and receive instruction in some measure appropriated to +the destination of each individual, the two sexes being still +together in the morning; but in the afternoon the girls should +attend a school where plain work, mantua-making, millinery, etc., +would be their employment.</p> + +<p>“The young people of superior abilities or fortune might now be +taught, in another school, the dead and living languages, the +elements of society, and continue the study of history and politics +on a more extensive scale, which would not exclude polite +literature. ‘Girls and boys still together?’ I hear some readers +ask. Yes; and I should not fear any other consequence than that +some early attachment might take place....</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="161"> </span><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a> +“Besides, this would be a sure way to promote early marriages, and +from early marriages the most salutary physical and moral effects +naturally flow....</p> + +<p>“... Those (youths) who were designed for particular professions +might attend, three or four mornings in the week, the schools +appropriated for their immediate instruction....</p> + +<p>“My observations on national education are obviously hints; but I +principally wish to enforce the necessity of educating the sexes +together to perfect both, and of making children sleep at home, +that they may learn to love home; yet to make private ties support, +instead of smothering, public affections, they should be sent to +school to mix with a number of equals, for only by the jostlings of +equality can we form a just opinion of ourselves....</p> + +<p>“... The conclusion which I wish to draw is obvious: make women +rational creatures and free citizens, and they will quickly become +good wives and mothers; that is, if men do not neglect the duties +of husbands and fathers.”</p></div> + +<p>This is no place to enter into a discussion as to whether Mary +Wollstonecraft’s theories were right or wrong. National education and +co-education are still subjects of controversy. But even those who object +most strongly to her conclusions must admit that they were the logical +results of her premises. Equality! was her battle-cry. All men and women +are equal inasmuch as they are human. Her scheme is the only possible one +by which this fundamental equality can be maintained. It covers the whole +ground, too, by its recognition of the secondary distinctions of rank and +sex, and the necessary division of labor. Mary was not a communist in her +social philosophy. She knew such differences must always exist, and she +allowed for them.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="162"> </span><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a> +In the remaining chapter she cites instances of folly generated by +women’s ignorance, and makes reflections upon the probable improvement to +be produced by a revolution in female manners. Some of the evils with +which she deals are trifling, as, for example, the prevailing mania for +mesmerism and fortune-telling. Others are serious, as, for instance, the +incapacity of ignorant women to rear children. But all which are of real +weight have already been more than amply discussed. She here merely +repeats herself, and these last pages are of little or no consequence.</p> + +<p>A plainness of speech, amounting in some places to coarseness, and a +deeply religious tone, are to many modern readers the most curious +features of the book. A just estimate of it could not be formed if these +two facts were overlooked. A century ago men and women were much more +straightforward in their speech than we are to-day. They were not +squeamish. In real life Amelias listened to raillery from Squire Westerns +not a whit more refined than Fielding’s good country gentlemen. +Therefore, when it came to serious discussions for moral purposes, there +was little reason for writers to be timid. It was impossible for Mary to +avoid certain subjects not usually spoken of in polite conversation. Had +she done so, she would but have half stated her case. She was not to be +deterred because she was a woman. Such mock-modesty would at once have +undermined her arguments. According to her own theories, there was no +reason why she should not think and speak as unhesitatingly as men, when +her sex was as vitally interested as theirs. And therefore, with her +characteristic consistency, she did so. But +<span class="pagebreak" title="163"> </span><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a> + while her language may seem +coarse to our over-fastidious ears, it never becomes prurient or +indecent. In her Dedication she expresses very distinctly her disgust for +the absence of modesty among contemporary Frenchwomen. Hers is the +plain-speaking of the Jewish law-giver, who has for end the good of man; +and not that of an Aretino, who rejoices in it for its own sake.</p> + +<p>Even more remarkable than this boldness of expression is the strong vein +of piety running through her arguments. Religion was to her as important +as it was to a Wesley or a Bishop Watts. The equality of man, in her +eyes, would have been of small importance had it not been instituted by +man’s Creator. It is because there is a God, and because the soul is +immortal, that men and women must exercise their reason. Otherwise, they +might, like animals, yield to the rule of their instincts and emotions. +If women were without souls, they would, notwithstanding their +intellects, have no rights to vindicate. If the Christian heaven were +like the Mahometan paradise, then they might indeed be looked upon as +slaves and playthings of beings who are worthy of a future life, and +hence are infinitely their superiors. But, though sincerely pious, she +despised the meaningless forms of religion as much as she did social +conventionalities, and was as free in denouncing them. The clergy, who +from custom cling to old rites and ceremonies, were, in her opinion, +“indolent slugs, who guard, by liming it over, the snug place which they +consider in the light of an hereditary estate,” and “idle vermin who two +or three times a day perform, in the most slovenly manner, a service +which +<span class="pagebreak" title="164"> </span><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a> + they think useless, but call their duty.” She believed in the +spirit, but not in the letter of the law. The scriptural account of the +creation is for her “Moses’ poetical story,” and she supposes that very +few who have thought seriously upon the subject believe that Eve was, +“literally speaking, one of Adam’s ribs.” She is indignant at the +blasphemy of sectarians who teach that an all-merciful God has instituted +eternal punishment, and she is impatient of the debtor and creditor +system which was then the inspiration of the religion of the people. She +believes in God as the life of the universe, and she accepts neither the +theory of man’s innate wickedness nor that of his natural perfection, the +two then most generally adopted, but advocates his power of +development:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Rousseau exerts himself to prove that all <i>was</i> right originally; +a crowd of authors that all <i>is</i> now right; and I, that all <i>will +be</i> right.”</p></div> + +<p>She, in fact, teaches the doctrine of evolution. But where its modern +upholders refer all things to an unknowable source, she builds her belief +“on the perfectibility of God.”</p> + +<p>Even the warmest admirers of Mary Wollstonecraft must admit that the +faults of the “Vindication of the Rights of Women” are many. Criticised +from a literary stand-point, they exceed its merits. Perfection of style +was not, it is true, the aim of the writer, as she at once explains in +her Introduction. She there says, that being animated by a far greater +end than that of fine writing,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... I shall disdain to cull my phrases or polish my style. I aim +at being useful, and sincerity will render me +<span class="pagebreak" title="165"> </span><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a> + unaffected; for +wishing rather to persuade by the force of my arguments than to +dazzle by the elegance of my language, I shall not waste my time in +rounding periods, nor in fabricating the turgid bombast of +artificial feelings, which, coming from the head, never reach the +heart. I shall be employed about things, not words! and, anxious to +render my sex more respectable members of society, I shall try to +avoid that flowery diction which has slided from essays into +novels, and from novels into familiar letters and conversation.”</p></div> + +<p>Yet she errs principally from the fault she determines to avoid, as the +very sentence in which she announces this determination proves. Despite +her sincerity, she is affected, and her arguments are often weakened by +meretricious forms of expression. No one can for a moment doubt that her +feelings are real, but neither can the turgidity and bombast of her +language be denied. She borrows, unconsciously perhaps, the “flowery +diction” which she so heartily condemns. Her style, instead of being +clear and simple, as would have best suited her subject, is disfigured by +the euphuism which was the fashion among writers of the last century. +When she is enthusiastic, her pen “darts rapidly along” and her “heart +bounds;” if she grows indignant at Rousseau’s ideal of feminine +perfection, “the rigid frown of insulted virtue effaces the smile of +complacency which his eloquent periods are wont to raise, when I read his +voluptuous reveries.” When she wants to prove that men of genius, as a +rule, have good constitutions, she says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... Considering the thoughtless manner in which they lavished +their strength when, investigating a favorite science, they have +wasted the lamp of life, forgetful of the +<span class="pagebreak" title="166"> </span><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a> + midnight hour, or when, +lost in poetic dreams, fancy has peopled the scene, and the soul +has been disturbed, till it shook the constitution by the passions +that meditation had raised, whose objects, the baseless fabric of a +vision, faded before the exhausted eye, they must have had iron +frames.”</p></div> + +<p>In her praise of the virtue of modesty, she exclaims:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... It is the pale moon-beam that renders more interesting every +virtue it softens, giving mild grandeur to the contracted horizon. +Nothing can be more beautiful than the poetical fiction which makes +Diana, with her silver crescent, the goddess of chastity. I have +sometimes thought that, wandering in sedate step in some lonely +recess, a modest dame of antiquity must have felt a glow of +conscious dignity, when, after contemplating the soft, shadowy +landscape, she has invited with placid fervor the mild reflection +of her sister’s beams to turn to her chaste bosom.”</p></div> + +<p>She is too ready to moralize, and her moralizing degenerates +unfortunately often into commonplace platitudes. She is even at times +disagreeably pompous and authoritative, and preaches rather than argues. +This was due partly to a then prevailing tendency in literature. Every +writer—essayist, poet, and novelist—preached in those days. Mary +frequently forgets she has a cause to prove in her desire to teach a +lesson. She exhorts her sisters as a minister might appeal to his +brethren, and this resemblance is made still more striking by the +oratorical flights or prayers with which she interrupts her argument to +address her Creator. Moreover, the book is throughout, as Leslie Stephen +says, “rhetorical rather than speculative.” It is unmistakably the +creation of a zealous partisan, and not +<span class="pagebreak" title="167"> </span><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a> + of a calm advocate. It reads +more like an extempore declamation than a deliberately written essay. +Godwin says, as if in praise, that it was begun and finished within six +weeks. It would have been better had the same number of months or years +been devoted to it. Because of the lack of all method it is so full of +repetition that the argument is weakened rather than strengthened. She is +so certain of the truth of abstract principles from which she reasons, +that she does not trouble herself to convince the sceptical by concrete +proofs. Owing to this want of system, the “Vindication” has little value +as a philosophical work. Women to-day, with none of her genius, have +written on the same subject books which exert greater influence than +hers, because they have appreciated the importance of a definite plan.</p> + +<p>Great as are these faults, they are more than counterbalanced by the +merits of the book. All the flowers of rhetoric cannot conceal its +genuineness. As is always the case with the work of honest writers, it +commands respect even from those who disapprove of its doctrine and +criticise its style. Despite its moralizing it is strong with the +strength born of an earnest purpose. It was written neither for money nor +for amusement, too often the inspiration to book-making. The one she had +not time to seek; the other she could have obtained with more certainty +by translating for Mr. Johnson, or by contributing to the “Analytical +Review.” She wrote it because she thought it her duty to do so, and hence +its vigor and eloquence. All her pompous platitudes cannot conceal the +earnestness of her denunciation of shams. The “Rights of Women” is an +outcry against them. The age was an artificial one. +<span class="pagebreak" title="168"> </span><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a> + Ladies played at +being shepherdesses, and men wept over dead donkeys. Sensibility was a +cultivated virtue, and philanthropy a pastime. Women were the +arch-sufferers from this evil; but, pleased at being likened unto angels, +they failed to see that the ideal set up for them was false. It is to +Mary’s glory that she could penetrate the mists of prevailing prejudices +and see the clear unadulterated truth. The excess of sentimentalism had +given rise to the other extreme of naturalism. In France the reaction +against arbitrary laws, empty forms, and the unjust privileges of rank, +led to the French Revolution. In England its outcome was a Wesley in +religious speculation, a Wilkes in political action, and a Godwin and a +Paine in social and political theorizing. But those who were most eager +to uphold reason as a guide to the conduct of men, had nothing to say in +behalf of women. Even the reformers, by ignoring their cause, seemed to +look upon them as beings belonging to another world. Day, in his +“Sandford and Merton,” was the only man in the least practical where the +weaker sex was concerned. Mary knew that no reform would be complete +which did not recognize the fact that what is law and truth for man must +be so for women also. She carried the arguments for human equality to +their logical conclusion. Her theories are to the philosophy of the +Revolutionists what modern rationalism is to the doctrine of the right of +private judgment. She saw the evil to which greater philosophers than she +had been indifferent. The same contempt for conventional standards which +characterized her actions inspired her thoughts. Once she had evolved +this belief, she felt the necessity of proclaiming +<span class="pagebreak" title="169"> </span><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a> + it to the world at +large; and herein consists her greatness. “To believe your own thought,” +Emerson says, “to believe that what is true for you in your private heart +is true for all men,—that is genius.” The “Vindication of the Rights of +Women” will always live because it is the work of inspiration, the words +of one who speaketh with authority.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, another and very great merit of the book is that the ideas +expressed in it are full of common sense, and eminently practical. Mary’s +educational theories, far in advance of her time, are now being to a +great extent realized. The number of successful women physicians show how +right she was in supposing medicine to be a profession to which they are +well suited. The ability which a few women have manifested as school +directors and in other minor official positions confirms her belief in +the good to be accomplished by giving them a voice in social and +political matters. But what is especially to her credit is her +moderation. Apostles of a new cause or teachers of a new doctrine are, as +a rule, enthusiasts or extremists who lose all sense of the fitness of +things. A Diogenes, to express his contempt for human nature, must needs +live in a tub. A Fox knows no escape from the shams of society, save +flight to the woods and an exchange of linen and cloth covering for a +suit of leather. But Mary’s enthusiasm did not make her blind; she knew +that women were wronged by the existing state of affairs; but she did not +for this reason believe that they must be removed to a new sphere of +action. She defended their rights, not to unfit them for duties assigned +them by natural and social +<span class="pagebreak" title="170"> </span><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a> + necessities, but that they might fulfil them +the better. She eloquently denied their inferiority to men, not that they +might claim superiority, but simply that they might show themselves to be +the equals of the other sex. Woman was to fight for her liberty that she +might in deed and in truth be worthy to have her children and her husband +rise up and call her blessed!</p> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="171"> </span><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p class="center">VISIT TO PARIS.</p> + +<p class="center">1792-1793.</p> + + +<p>The “Vindication of the Rights of Women” made Mary still more generally +known. Its fame spread far and wide, not only at home but abroad, where +it was translated into German and French. Like Paine’s “Rights of Man,” +or Malthus’ “Essay on the Theory of Population,” it advanced new +doctrines which threatened to overturn existing social relations, and it +consequently struck men with fear and wonder, and evoked more censure +than praise. To-day, after many years’ agitation, the question of women’s +rights still creates contention. The excitement caused by the first word +in its favor may, therefore, be easily imagined. If one of the bondsmen +helping to drag stones for the pyramids, or one of the many thousand +slaves in Athens, had claimed independence, Egyptians or Greeks could not +have been more surprised than Englishmen were at a woman’s assertion +that, mentally, she was man’s equal. Some were disgusted with such a bold +breaking of conventional chains; a few were startled into admiration. +Much of the public amazement was due not only to the principles of the +book, but to its warmth and earnestness. As Miss Thackeray says, the +English authoresses of those days “kept their readers carefully +<span class="pagebreak" title="172"> </span><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a> + at pen’s +length, and seemed for the most part to be so conscious of their +surprising achievement in the way of literature, as never to forget for a +single minute that they were in print.” But here was a woman who wrote +eloquently from her heart, who told people boldly what she thought upon +subjects of which her sex, as a rule, pretended to know nothing, and who +forgot herself in her interest in her work. It was natural that curiosity +was felt as to what manner of being she was, and that curiosity changed +into surprise when, instead of the virago expected, she was found to be, +to use Godwin’s words, “lovely in her person, and, in the best and most +engaging sense, feminine in her manners.” The fable was in this case +reversed. It was the sheep who had appeared in wolf’s clothing.</p> + +<p>In her own circle of friends and acquaintances she was lionized. Some of +her readers were converted into enthusiasts. One of these—a Mr. John +Henry Colls—a few years later addressed a poem to her. However, his +admiration unfortunately did not teach him justly to appreciate its +object, nor to write good poetry, and his verses have been deservedly +forgotten. The reputation she had won by her answer to Burke was now +firmly established. She was respected as an independent thinker and a +bold dealer with social problems. The “Analytical Review” praised her in +a long and leading criticism.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The lesser wits,” her critic writes, “will probably affect to make +themselves merry at the title and apparent object of this +publication; but we have no doubt, if even her contemporaries +should fail to do her justice, posterity will compensate the +defect; and have no hesitation in +<span class="pagebreak" title="173"> </span><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a> + declaring that if the bulk of +the great truths which this publication contains were reduced to +practice, the nation would be better, wiser, and happier than it is +upon the wretched, trifling, useless, and absurd system of +education which is now prevalent.”</p></div> + +<p>But the conservative avoided her and her book as moral plagues. Many +people would not even look at what she had written. Satisfied with the +old-fashioned way of treating the subjects therein discussed, they would +not run the risk of finding out that they were wrong. Their attitude in +this respect was much the same as that of Cowper when he refused to read +Paine’s “Rights of Man.” “No man,” he said, “shall convince me that I am +improperly governed, while I feel the contrary.”</p> + +<p>Women then, even the cleverest and most liberal, bowed to the decrees of +custom with a submission as servile as that of the Hindu to the laws of +caste. Like the latter, they were contented with their lot and had no +desire to change it. They dreaded the increase of knowledge which would +bring with it greater sorrow. Mrs. Barbauld, eloquent in her defence of +men’s rights, could conceive no higher aim for women than the attainment +of sufficient knowledge to make them <i>agreeable</i> companions to their +husbands and brothers. Should there be any deviation from the methods of +education which insured this end, they would, she feared, become like the +<i>Précieuses</i> or <i>Femmes Savantes</i> of Molière. Mary’s vigorous appeal for +improvement could, therefore, have no meaning for her. Hannah More, +enthusiastic in her denunciations of slavery, but unconscious that her +liberty was in the least +<span class="pagebreak" title="174"> </span><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a> + restricted, did not hesitate to form an opinion +of the “Rights of Women” without examining it, thus necessarily missing +its true significance. In this she doubtless represented a large majority +of her sex. She wrote to Horace Walpole in 1793:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have been much pestered to read the ‘Rights of Women,’ but am +invincibly resolved not to do it. Of all jargon, I hate +metaphysical jargon; beside, there is something fantastic and +absurd in the very title. How many ways there are of being +ridiculous! I am sure I have as much liberty as I can make a good +use of, now I am an old maid; and when I was a young one I had, I +dare say, more than was good for me. If I were still young, perhaps +I should not make this confession; but so many women are fond of +government, I suppose, because they are not fit for it. To be +unstable and capricious, I really think, is but too characteristic +of our sex; and there is, perhaps, no animal so much indebted to +subordination for its good behavior as woman. I have soberly and +uniformly maintained this doctrine ever since I have been capable +of observation, and I used horridly to provoke some of my female +friends—<i>maîtresses femmes</i>—by it, especially such heroic spirits +as poor Mrs. Walsingham.”</p></div> + +<p>Men, on the other hand, thought Mary was unsexing herself by her +arguments, which seemed to interfere with <i>their</i> rights,—an +interference they could not brook. To the Tories the fact that she +sympathized with the Reformers was enough to damn her. Walpole, when he +answered the letter from which the above extract is taken, wrote with +warmth:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... It is better to thank Providence for the tranquillity and +happiness we enjoy in this country, in spite of the philosophizing +serpents we have in our bosom, the +<span class="pagebreak" title="175"> </span><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a> + Paines, the Tookes, and the +Wollstonecrafts. I am glad you have not read the tract of the +last-mentioned writer. I would not look at it, though assured it +contains neither metaphysics nor politics; but as she entered the +lists of the latter, and borrowed her title from the demon’s book +which aimed at spreading the <i>wrongs</i> of men, she is excommunicated +from the pale of my library. We have had enough of new systems, and +the world a great deal too much already.”</p></div> + +<p>Walpole may be accepted as the typical Tory, and to all his party Mary +probably appeared as the “philosophizing serpent.” She seems always to +have incurred his deepest scorn and wrath. He could not speak of her +without calling her names. A year or two later, when she had published +her book on the French Revolution, writing again to Hannah More, he thus +concludes his letter:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Adieu, thou excellent woman! thou reverse of that hyena in +petticoats, Mrs. Wollstonecraft, who to this day discharges her ink +and gall on Marie Antoinette, whose unparalleled sufferings have +not yet stanched that Alecto’s blazing ferocity.”</p></div> + +<p>There was at least one man in London whose opinion was worth having who, +it is known, treated the book with indifference, and he, by a strange +caprice of fate, was William Godwin. It was at this time, when she was in +the fulness of her fame, that Mary first met him. She was dining at +Johnson’s with Paine and Shovet, and Godwin had come purposely to meet +the American philosopher and to hear him talk. But Paine was at best a +silent man; and Mary, it seems, monopolized the conversation. Godwin was +disappointed, and consequently the impression she made upon him +<span class="pagebreak" title="176"> </span><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a> + was not +pleasing. He afterwards wrote an account of this first meeting, which is +interesting because of the closer relationship to which an acquaintance +so unpropitiously begun was to lead.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The interview was not fortunate,” he says. “Mary and myself parted +mutually displeased with each other. I had not read her ‘Rights of +Women.’ I had barely looked into her answer to Burke, and been +displeased, as literary men are apt to be, with a few offences +against grammar and other minute points of composition. I had +therefore little curiosity to see Mrs. Wollstonecraft, and a very +great curiosity to see Thomas Paine. Paine, in his general habits, +is no great talker; and, though he threw in occasionally some +shrewd and striking remarks, the conversation lay principally +between me and Mary. I, of consequence, heard her very frequently +when I wished to hear Paine.</p> + +<p>“We touched on a considerable variety of topics and particularly on +the character and habits of certain eminent men. Mary, as has +already been observed, had acquired, in a very blamable degree, the +practice of seeing everything on the gloomy side, and bestowing +censure with a plentiful hand, where circumstances were in any +degree doubtful. I, on the contrary, had a strong propensity to +favorable construction, and, particularly where I found unequivocal +marks of genius, strongly to incline to the supposition of generous +and manly virtue. We ventilated in this way the character of +Voltaire and others, who have obtained from some individuals an +ardent admiration, while the greater number have treated them with +extreme moral severity. Mary was at last provoked to tell me that +praise, lavished in the way that I lavished it, could do no credit +either to the commended or the commender. We discussed some +questions on the subject of religion, in which her opinions +approached much nearer to the received ones than mine. As the +conversation proceeded, I became dissatisfied with the tone of my +own +<span class="pagebreak" title="177"> </span><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a> + share in it. We touched upon all topics without treating +forcibly and connectedly upon any. Meanwhile, I did her the +justice, in giving an account of the conversation to a party in +which I supped, though I was not sparing of my blame, to yield her +the praise of a person of active and independent thinking. On her +side, she did me no part of what perhaps I considered as justice.</p> + +<p>“We met two or three times in the course of the following year, but +made a very small degree of progress towards a cordial +acquaintance.”</p></div> + +<p>Not until Mary had lived through the tragedy of her life were they +destined to become more to each other than mere fellow mortals. There was +much to be learned, and much to be forgotten, before the time came for +her to give herself into his keeping.</p> + +<p>Her family were naturally interested in her book from personal motives; +but Eliza and Everina heartily disapproved of it, and their feelings for +their eldest sister became, from this period, less and less friendly. +However, as Kegan Paul says, their small spite points to envy and +jealousy rather than to honest indignation.</p> + +<p>Both were now in good situations. Mary felt free, therefore, to consider +her own comforts a little. Besides, she had attained a position which it +became her to sustain with dignity. She was now known as <i>Mrs.</i> +Wollstonecraft, and was a prominent figure in the literary world. Shortly +after the publication of the “Rights of Women” she moved from the modest +lodgings on George Street, to larger, finer rooms on Store Street, +Bedford Square, and these she furnished comfortably. Necessity was no +longer her only standard. She also gave more care to her dress. Her stern +apprenticeship was over. She had so successfully trampled upon the +<span class="pagebreak" title="178"> </span><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a> + +thorns in her path that she could pause to enjoy the flowers. To modern +readers her new furniture and gowns are welcome signs of the awakening of +the springtime in her cold and wintry life. But her sisters resented +them, particularly because, while they, needing less, received less from +her bounty, Charles, waiting for a good opening in America, was living at +her expense. He, with thoughtless ingratitude, sent them semi-satirical +accounts of her new mode of living, and thus unconsciously kindled their +jealousy into a fierce flame. When the extent of Mary’s kindness and +self-sacrifice in their regard is remembered, the petty ill-nature of +brother and sisters, as expressed in the following letter from Mrs. +Bishop to Everina, is unpardonable:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Upton Castle</span>, July 3, 1792. +</p> + +<p>... He [Charles] informs me too that <i>Mrs. Wollstonecraft</i> is grown +quite handsome; he adds likewise that, being conscious she is on +the wrong side of thirty, she now endeavors to set off those charms +she once despised, to the best advantage. This, <i>entre nous</i>, for +he is delighted with her affection and kindness to him.</p> + +<p>So the author of “The Rights of Women” is going to France! I dare +say her chief motive is to promote poor Bess’s comfort, or thine, +my girl, or at least I think she will so reason. Well, in spite of +reason, when Mrs. W. reaches the Continent she will be but a woman! +I cannot help painting her in the height of all her wishes, at the +very summit of happiness, for will not ambition fill every chink of +her great soul (for such I really think hers) that is not occupied +by love? After having drawn this sketch, you can hardly suppose me +so sanguine as to expect my pretty face will be thought of when +matters of State are in agitation, yet I know you think such a +miracle not impossible. I wish I could think it at all +<span class="pagebreak" title="179"> </span><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a> + probable, +but, alas! it has so much the appearance of castle-building that I +think it will soon disappear like the “baseless fabric of a vision, +and leave not a wrack behind.”</p> + +<p>And you actually have the vanity to imagine that in the National +Assembly, personages like M. and F.[useli] will bestow a thought on +two females whom nature meant to “suckle fools and chronicle small +beer.”</p></div> + +<p>But a few days before Mary had written to Everina to discuss with her a +matter relative to Mrs. Bishop’s prospects. This letter explains the +allusions of the latter to Mary’s proposed trip to France, and shows how +little reason she had for her ill-natured conclusions:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">London</span>, June 20, 1792. +</p> + +<p>... I have been considering what you say respecting Eliza’s +residence in France. For some time past Mr. and Mrs. Fuseli, Mr. +Johnson, and myself have talked of a summer excursion to Paris; it +is now determined on, and we think of going in about six weeks. I +shall be introduced to many people. My book has been translated, +and praised in some popular prints, and Mr. Fuseli of course is +well known; it is then very probable that I shall hear of some +situation for Eliza, and I shall be on the watch. We intend to be +absent only six weeks; if then I fix on an eligible situation for +her she may avoid the Welsh winter. This journey will not lead me +into any extraordinary expense, or I should put it off to a more +convenient season, for I am not, as you may suppose, very flush of +money, and Charles is wearing out the clothes which were provided +for his voyage. Still, I am glad he has acquired a little practical +knowledge of farming....</p></div> + +<p>The French trip was, however, put off until the following December; and +when the time came for her departure, neither Mr. Johnson nor the +Fuselis +<span class="pagebreak" title="180"> </span><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a> + accompanied her. Since the disaffection of the latter has been +construed in a way which reflects upon her character, it is necessary to +pause here to consider the nature of the friendship which existed between +them. The slightest shadow unfairly cast upon her reputation must be +dissipated.</p> + +<p>Mary valued Fuseli as one of her dearest friends. He, like her, was an +enthusiast. He was a warm partisan of justice and a rebel against +established institutions. He would take any steps to see that the rights +of the individual were respected. His interference in a case where men in +subordinate positions were defrauded by those in authority, but which did +not affect him personally, was the cause of his being compelled to leave +Zurich, his home, and thus eventually of his coming to England. Besides +their unity of thought and feeling, their work often lay in the same +direction. Fuseli, as well as Mary, translated for Johnson, and +contributed to the “Analytical Review.” He was an intimate friend of +Lavater, whose work on Physiognomy Mary had translated with the liveliest +interest. There was thus a strong bond of sympathy between them, and many +ways in which they could help and consult with each other in their +literary tasks. Mary was devoid of the coquetry which is so strong with +some women that they carry it even into their friendships. She never +attempted to conceal her liking for Fuseli. His sex was no drawback. Why +should it be? It had not interfered with her warm feelings for George +Blood and Mr. Johnson. She was the last person in the world to be +deterred from what she thought was right for the sake of appearances.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="181"> </span><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a> +However, another construction was given to her friendly demonstrations. +The story told both by Knowles, the biographer of Fuseli, and by Godwin, +is that Mary was in love with the artist; and that the necessity of +suppressing, even if she could not destroy, her passion—hopeless since +its object was a married man—was the immediate reason of her going to +France alone. But they interpret the circumstances very differently. The +incidents, as given by Godwin, are in nowise to Mary’s discredit, though +his account of them was later twisted and distorted by Dr. Beloe in his +“Sexagenarian.” The latter, however, is so prejudiced a writer that his +words have but little value. Godwin, in his Memoirs, after demonstrating +the strength of the intimacy between Mary and Fuseli, says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Notwithstanding the inequality of their years, Mary was not of a +temper to live upon terms of so much intimacy with a man of merit +and genius without loving him. The delight she enjoyed in his +society, she transferred by association to his person. What she +experienced in this respect was no doubt heightened by the state of +celibacy and restraint in which she had hitherto lived, and to +which the rules of polished society condemn an unmarried woman. She +conceived a personal and ardent affection for him. Mr. Fuseli was a +married man, and his wife the acquaintance of Mary. She readily +perceived the restrictions which this circumstance seemed to impose +upon her; but she made light of any difficulty that might arise out +of them. Not that she was insensible to the value of domestic +endearments between persons of an opposite sex, but that she +scorned to suppose that she could feel a struggle in conforming to +the laws she should lay down to her conduct.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="182"> </span><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a> +“... There is no reason to doubt that if Mr. Fuseli had been +disengaged at the period of their acquaintance, he would have been +the man of her choice.</p> + +<p>“... One of her principal inducements to this step, [her visit to +France] related, I believe, to Mr. Fuseli. She had at first +considered it as reasonable and judicious to cultivate what I may +be permitted to call a platonic affection for him; but she did not, +in the sequel, find all the satisfaction in this plan which she had +originally expected from it. It was in vain that she enjoyed much +pleasure in his society, and that she enjoyed it frequently. Her +ardent imagination was continually conjuring up pictures of the +happiness she should have found if fortune had favored their more +intimate union. She felt herself formed for domestic affection, and +all those tender charities which men of sensibility have constantly +treated as the dearest bond of human society. General conversation +and society could not satisfy her. She felt herself alone, as it +were, in the great mass of her species, and she repined when she +reflected that the best years of her life were spent in this +comfortless solitude. These ideas made the cordial intercourse of +Mr. Fuseli, which had at first been one of her greatest pleasures, +a source of perpetual torment to her. She conceived it necessary to +snap the chain of this association in her mind; and, for that +purpose, determined to seek a new climate, and mingle in different +scenes.”</p></div> + +<p>Knowles, on the other hand, represents her as importunate with her love +as a Phaedra, as consumed with passion as a Faustina. He states as a fact +that it was for Fuseli’s sake that she changed her mode of life and +adopted a new elegance in dress and manners. He declares that when the +latter made no return to her advances, she pursued him so persistently +that on receiving her letters, he thrust them unopened out of sight, so +sure was he that they contained nothing but +<span class="pagebreak" title="183"> </span><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a> + protestations of regard and +complaints of neglect; that, finally, she became so ill and miserable and +unfitted for work that, despite Fuseli’s arguments against such a step, +she went boldly to Mrs. Fuseli and asked to be admitted into her house as +a member of the family, declaring that she could not live without daily +seeing the man she loved; and that, thereupon, Mrs. Fuseli grew +righteously wrathful and forbade her ever to cross her threshold again. +He furthermore affirms that she considered her love for Fuseli strictly +within the bounds of modesty and reason, that she encouraged it without +scruple, and that she made every effort to win his heart. These proving +futile, he concludes: “No resource was now left for Mrs. Wollstonecraft +but to fly from the object which she regarded; her determination was +instantly fixed; she wrote a letter to Fuseli, in which she begged pardon +‘for having disturbed the quiet tenor of his life,’ and on the 8th of +December left London for France.”</p> + +<p>An anonymous writer who in 1803 published a “Defence of the Character of +the Late Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin,” repeats the story, but a little +more kindly, declaring that Mary’s discovery of an unconsciously nurtured +passion for a married man, and her determination to flee temptation, were +the cause of her leaving England. That there was during her life-time +some idle gossip about her relations to Fuseli is shown in the references +to it in Eliza’s ill-natured letter. This counts for little, however. It +was simply impossible for the woman who had written in defiance of social +laws and restrictions, to escape having scandals attached to her name.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="184"> </span><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a> +Kegan Paul, Mary’s able defender of modern times, denies the whole +story. He writes in his Prefatory Memoir to her “Letters to Imlay:”—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... Godwin knew extremely little of his wife’s earlier life, nor +was this a subject on which he had sought enlightenment from +herself. I can only here say that I fail to find any confirmation +whatever of this preposterous story, as told in Knowles’s ‘Life of +Fuseli,’ or in any other form, while I find much which makes +directly against it, the strongest fact being that Mary remained to +the end the correspondent and close friend of Mrs. Fuseli.”</p></div> + +<p>Her character is the best refutation of Knowles’s charges. She was too +proud to demean herself to any man. She was too sensitive to slights to +risk the repulses he says she accepted. And since always before and after +this period she had nothing more at heart than the happiness of others, +it is not likely that she would have deliberately tried to step in +between Fuseli and his wife, and gain at the latter’s expense her own +ends. She could not have changed her character in a day. She never played +fast and loose with her principles. These were in many ways contrary to +the standard of the rest of mankind, but they were also equally opposed +to the conduct imputed to her. The testimony of her actions is her +acquittal. That she did not for a year produce any work of importance is +no argument against her. It was only after three years of uninterrupted +industry that she found time to write the “Rights of Women.” On account +of the urgency of her every-day needs, she had no leisure for work whose +financial success was uncertain. Knowles’s story +<span class="pagebreak" title="185"> </span><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a> + is too absurdly out of +keeping with her character to be believed for a moment.</p> + +<p>The other version of this affair is not so inconceivable. That her +affection may in the end have developed into a warmer feeling, and that +she would have married Fuseli had he been free, is just possible. +Allusions in her first letters to Imlay to a late “hapless love,” and to +trouble, seem to confirm Godwin’s statement. But it is quite as likely +that Fuseli, whose heart was, as his biographer admits, very susceptible, +felt for her a passion which as a married man he had no right to give, +and that she fled to France for his sake rather than for her own. In +either of these cases, she would deserve admiration and respect. But the +insufficiency of evidence reduces everything except the fact of her +friendship for him to mere surmise.</p> + +<p>However this may have been, it is certain that Mr. Johnson and the +Fuselis decided to remain at home when Mary in December started for +Paris.</p> + +<p>The excitement in the French capital was then at fever heat. But the +outside world hardly comprehended how serious the troubles were. Princes +and their adherents trembled at the blow given to royalty in the person +of Louis XVI. Liberals rejoiced at the successful revolt against +monarchical tyranny. But neither one party nor the other for a moment +foresaw what a terrible weapon reform was to become in the hands of the +excitable French people. If, in the city where the tragedy was being +enacted, the customary baking and brewing, the promenading under the +trees, and the dog-dancing and the shoe-blacking on the <i>Pont-Neuf</i> could +still continue, it is not strange +<span class="pagebreak" title="186"> </span><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a> + that those who watched it from afar +mistook its real weight.</p> + +<p>The terrible night of the 10th of August had come and gone. The September +massacres, the details of which had not yet reached England, were over. +The Girondists were in the ascendency and had restored order. There were +fierce contentions in the National Convention, but, on the whole, its +attitude was one to inspire confidence. The English, who saw in the +arrest of the king, and in the popular feeling against him, just such a +crisis as their nation had passed through once or twice, were not +deterred from visiting the country by its unsettled state. The French +prejudice against England, it is true, was strong. Lafayette had some +time before publicly expressed his belief that she was secretly +conspiring against the peace of France. But his imputation had been +vigorously denied, and nominally the two governments were friendly. +English citizens had no reason to suppose they would not be safe in +Paris, and those among them whose opinions brought them <i>en rapport</i> with +the French Republicans felt doubly secure. Consequently Mary’s departure +for that capital, alone and unprotected, did not seem so hazardous then +as it does now that the true condition of affairs is better understood.</p> + +<p>She knew in Paris a Madame Filiettaz, daughter of the Madame Bregantz at +whose school in Putney Eliza and Everina had been teachers, and to her +house she went, by invitation. Monsieur and Madame Filiettaz were absent, +and she was for some little time its sole occupant save the servants. The +object of her visit was twofold. She wished to study French, for though +<span class="pagebreak" title="187"> </span><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a> + +she could read and translate this language fluently, from want of +practice she could neither speak nor understand it when it was spoken; +and she also desired to watch for herself the development of the cause of +freedom. Their love of liberty had made the French, as a nation, +peculiarly attractive to her. She had long since openly avowed her +sympathy by her indignant reply to Burke’s outcry against them. It was +now a great satisfaction to be where she could follow day by day the +progress of their struggle. She had excellent opportunities not only to +see what was on the surface of society, which is all visitors to a +strange land can usually do, but to study the actual forces at work in +the movement. Thomas Paine was then in Paris. He was a member of the +National Convention, and was on terms of intimacy with Condorcet, +Brissot, Madame Roland, and other Republican leaders. Mary had known him +well in London. She now renewed the acquaintance, and was always welcomed +to his house near the Rue de Richelieu. Later, when, worn out by his +numerous visitors, he retired to the Faubourg St. Denis, to a hotel where +Madame de Pompadour had once lived, and allowed it to be generally +believed that he had gone into the country for his health, Mary was one +of the few favored friends who knew of his whereabouts. She thus, through +him, was brought into close contact with the leading spirits of the day. +She also saw much of Helen Maria Williams, the poetess, already notorious +for her extreme liberalism, and who had numerous friends and +acquaintances among the Revolutionary party in Paris. Mrs. Christie was +still another friend of this period. Her husband’s business having kept +them in +<span class="pagebreak" title="188"> </span><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a> + France, they had become thoroughly nationalized. At their house +many Americans congregated, among others a Captain Gilbert Imlay, of whom +more hereafter. In addition to these English friends, Mary had letters of +introduction to several prominent French citizens.</p> + +<p>She arrived in Paris just before Louis XVI.’s trial. The city was +comparatively quiet, but there was in the air an oppression which +betokened the coming storm. She felt the people’s suspense as if she too +had been personally interested. Between her studies and her efforts to +obtain the proper clew by which she could in her own mind reduce the +present political chaos to order, she found more than enough wherewith to +fill her days. As always happened with her, the mental strain reacted +upon her physical health, and her old enemies, depression of spirits and +headaches, returned to harass her.</p> + +<p>She wrote to Everina on the 24th of December:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>To-morrow I expect to see Aline [Madame Filiettaz]. During her +absence the servants endeavored to render the house, a most +excellent one, comfortable to me; but as I wish to acquire the +language as fast as I can, I was sorry to be obliged to remain so +much alone. I apply so closely to the language, and labor so +continually to understand what I hear, that I never go to bed +without a headache, and my spirits are fatigued with endeavoring to +form a just opinion of public affairs. The day after to-morrow I +expect to see the King at the bar, and the consequences that will +follow I am almost afraid to anticipate.</p> + +<p>I have seen very little of Paris, the streets are so dirty; and I +wait till I can make myself understood before I call upon Madame +Laurent, etc. Miss Williams has behaved very civilly to me, and I +shall visit her frequently because I <i>rather</i> like her, and I meet +French company at her +<span class="pagebreak" title="189"> </span><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a> + house. Her manners are affected, yet the +simple goodness of her heart continually breaks through the +varnish, so that one would be more inclined, at least I should, to +love than admire her. Authorship is a heavy weight for female +shoulders, especially in the sunshine of prosperity. Of the French +I will not speak till I know more of them. They seem the people of +all others for a stranger to come amongst, yet sometimes when I +have given a commission, which was eagerly asked for, it has not +been executed, and when I ask for an explanation,—I allude to the +servant-maid, a quick girl, who, an’t please you, has been a +teacher in an English boarding-school,—dust is thrown up with a +self-sufficient air, and I am obliged to appear to see her meaning +clearly, though she puzzles herself, that I may not make her feel +her ignorance; but you must have experienced the same thing. I will +write to you soon again. Meantime, let me hear from you, and +believe me yours sincerely and affectionately,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +M. W. +</p> +</div> + +<p>When the dreaded 26th came, there was no one in Paris more excited and +interested than Mary. From her window she saw the King as, seemingly +forgetting the history he was making for future historians to discuss, he +rode by with calm dignity to his trial. Throughout the entire day she +waited anxiously, uncertain as to what would be the effects of the +morning’s proceedings. Then, when evening came, and all continued quiet +and the danger was over, she grew nervous and fearful, as she had that +other memorable night when she kept her vigil in the little room at +Hackney. She was absolutely alone with her thoughts, and it was a relief +to write to Mr. Johnson. It gave her a sense of companionship. This +“hyena in petticoats,” this “philosophizing serpent,” was at heart as +feminine as Hannah More or any other “excellent woman.”</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> + +<span class="pagebreak" title="190"> </span><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a> +<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, Dec. 26, 1792. +</p> + +<p>I should immediately on the receipt of your letter, my dear friend, +have thanked you for your punctuality, for it highly gratified me, +had I not wished to wait till I could tell you that this day was +not stained with blood. Indeed, the prudent precautions taken by +the National Convention to prevent a tumult made me suppose that +the dogs of faction would not dare to bark, much less to bite, +however true to their scent; and I was not mistaken; for the +citizens, who were all called out, are returning home with composed +countenances, shouldering their arms. About nine o’clock this +morning the King passed by my window, moving silently along, +excepting now and then a few strokes on the drum which rendered the +stillness more awful, through empty streets, surrounded by the +National Guards, who, clustering round the carriage, seemed to +deserve their name. The inhabitants flocked to their windows, but +the casements were all shut; not a voice was heard, nor did I see +anything like an insulting gesture. For the first time since I +entered France I bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected +the propriety of behavior, so perfectly in unison with my own +feelings. I can scarcely tell you why, but an association of ideas +made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when I saw Louis +sitting, with more dignity than I expected from his character, in a +hackney-coach, going to meet death where so many of his race have +triumphed. My fancy instantly brought Louis XIV. before me, +entering the capital with all his pomp, after one of the victories +most flattering to his pride, only to see the sunshine of +prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery. I have been +alone ever since; and though my mind is calm, I cannot dismiss the +lively images that have filled my imagination all the day. Nay, do +not smile, but pity me, for once or twice, lifting my eyes from the +paper, I have seen eyes glare through a glass door opposite my +chair, and bloody hands shook at me. Not the distant sound of a +footstep can I hear. My apartments are remote from those of the +servants, the only persons who +<span class="pagebreak" title="191"> </span><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a> + sleep with me in an immense hotel, +one folding-door opening after another. I wish I had even kept the +cat with me! I want to see something alive, death in so many +frightful shapes has taken hold of my fancy. I am going to bed, and +for the first time in my life I cannot put out the candle.</p> + +<p class="signature"> +M. W. +</p> +</div> + +<p>These imaginary terrors gave way to real ones soon enough. The execution +of Louis was followed by the declaration of war between France and +England and the complete demoralization of the French people, especially +of the Parisians. The feeling against England grew daily more bitter, and +the position of English residents in Paris more precarious. It was next +to impossible for them to send letters home, and therefore their danger +was not realized by their countrymen on the other side of the Channel. +Mrs. Bishop, in the faraway Welsh castle, grew impatient at Mary’s +silence. Politics was a subject dear to her heart, but one tabooed at +Upton. At her first word upon the topic the family, her employers, left +the room, and she was consequently obliged to ignore it when she was with +them. But when, some months later on, two or three French refugees came +to Pembroke, she was quick to go to them, ostensibly for French lessons, +but in reality to hear their accounts of the scenes through which they +had passed. Forced to live in quiet, remote places, she longed for the +excitement only to be had in the large centres of action, and at one +time, in her discontent, began to make plans to join her sister in +France. While Eliza was thus contemplating a journey to Paris, Mary was +wondering how it would be possible either to continue living there or to +leave the +<span class="pagebreak" title="192"> </span><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a> + country. It was equally out of the question to obtain fresh +supplies of money from England or a passport to carry her safely back. +She had, when she left London, only intended to be absent for a few +weeks, and had not even given up her rooms in George Street. But the +weeks had lengthened into months, and now her return was an +impossibility.</p> + +<p>For motives of economy she left the large Filiettaz mansion. At first she +thought of making a trip to Switzerland, but this plan had to be +abandoned because of the difficulty in procuring a passport. She +therefore went to Neuilly, where, her ready money wellnigh exhausted, she +lived as simply as she could. Economy was doubly necessary at a time when +heavy taxes were sending a hungry multitude into the streets, clamoring +for bread. She was now more alone than ever. Her sole attendant was an +old man, a gardener. He became her warm friend, succumbing completely to +her power of attraction. With the gallantry of his race he could not do +enough for Madame. He waited upon her with unremitting attention; he even +disputed for the honor of making her bed. He served up at her table, +unasked, the grapes from his garden which he absolutely refused to give +to her guests. He objected to her English independence; her lonely walks +through the woods of Neuilly met with his serious disapproval, and he +besought her to allow him the privilege of accompanying her, painting in +awful colors the robbers and other dangers with which the place abounded. +But Mary persisted in going alone; and when, evening after evening, she +returned unharmed, it must have seemed to him as if she bore a charmed +life. Such incidents as these +<span class="pagebreak" title="193"> </span><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a> + show, better than volumes of praise, the +true kindliness of her nature which was not influenced by distinctions of +rank.</p> + +<p>Those who knew her but by name, however, dealt with her in less gentle +fashion. Her fame had been carried even into Pembroke; and while she was +living her solitary and inoffensive life in Paris, Mrs. Bishop was +writing to Everina: “The conversation [at Upton Castle] turns on Murphy, +on Irish potatoes, or Tommy Paine, whose effigy they burnt at Pembroke +the other day. Nay, they talk of immortalizing Miss Wollstonecraft in +like manner, but all end in damning all politics: What good will they do +men? and what rights have men that three meals a day will not supply?” +After all, perhaps they were wise, these Welshmen. Were not their +brethren in France purchasing their rights literally at the price of +their three meals a day?</p> + +<p>Sometimes, perhaps to please her friend, the gardener, instead of her +rambles through the woods, Mary walked towards and even into Paris, and +then she saw sights which made Pembroke logic seem true wisdom, and +freedom a farce. Once, in so doing, she passed by chance a place of +execution, just at the close of one of its too frequent tragic scenes. +The blood was still fresh upon the pavement; the crowd of lookers-on not +yet dispersed. She heard them as they stood there rehearsing the day’s +horror, and she chafed against the cruelty and inhumanity of the deed. In +a moment—her French so improved that she could make herself +understood—she was telling the people near her something of what she +thought of their new tyrants. Those +<span class="pagebreak" title="194"> </span><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a> + were dangerous times for freedom of +speech. So far the champions of liberty had proved themselves more +inexorable masters than the Bourbons. Some of the bystanders, who, though +they dared not speak their minds, sympathized with Mary’s indignation, +warned her of her danger and hurried her away from the spot. Horror at +the ferocity of men’s passions, wrath at injustices committed in the name +of freedom, and impatience at her own helplessness to right the evils by +which she was surrounded, no doubt inspired her, as saddened and sobered +she walked back alone to Neuilly.</p> + +<p>During all this time she continued her literary work. She proposed to +write a series of letters upon the present character of the French +nation, and with this end in view she silently studied the people and the +course of political action. She was quick and observant, and nothing +escaped her notice. She came to Paris prepared to continue a firm +partisan of the French Revolution; but she could not be blind to the +national defects. She saw the frivolity and sensuality of the people, +their hunger for all things sweet, and the unrestrained passions of the +greater number of the Republican leaders, which made them love liberty +more than law itself. She valued their cause, but she despised the means +by which they sought to gain it. Thus, in laboring to grasp the meaning +of the movement, not as it appeared to petty factions, but as it was as a +whole, she was confronted by the greatest of all mysteries, the relation +of good and evil. Again, as when she had analyzed the rights of women, +she recognized evil to be a power which eventually works +<span class="pagebreak" title="195"> </span><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a> + for +righteousness, thereby proving the clearness of her mental vision. Only +one of these letters, however, was written and published. It is dated +Feb. 15, 1793, so that the opinions therein expressed were not hastily +formed. As its style is that of a familiar letter, and as it gives a good +idea of the thoroughness with which she had applied herself to her task, +it may appropriately be quoted here.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... The whole mode of life here,” she writes, “tends indeed to +render the people frivolous, and, to borrow their favorite epithet, +amiable. Ever on the wing, they are always sipping the sparkling +joy on the brim of the cup, leaving satiety in the bottom for those +who venture to drink deep. On all sides they trip along, buoyed up +by animal spirits, and seemingly so void of care that often, when I +am walking on the Boulevards, it occurs to me that they alone +understand the full import of the term leisure; and they trifle +their time away with such an air of contentment, I know not how to +wish them wiser at the expense of gayety. They play before me like +motes in a sunbeam, enjoying the passing ray; whilst an English +head, searching for more solid happiness, loses in the analysis of +pleasure the volatile sweets of the moment. Their chief enjoyment, +it is true, rises from vanity; but it is not the vanity that +engenders vexation of spirit: on the contrary, it lightens the +heavy burden of life, which reason too often weighs, merely to +shift from one shoulder to the other....</p> + +<p>“I would I could first inform you that out of the chaos of vices +and follies, prejudices and virtues, rudely jumbled together, I saw +the fair form of Liberty slowly rising, and Virtue, expanding her +wings to shelter all her children! I should then hear the account +of the barbarities that have rent the bosom of France patiently, +and bless the firm hand that lopt off the rotten limbs. But if the +aristocracy of birth is levelled with the ground, only to make +<span class="pagebreak" title="196"> </span><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a> + +room for that of riches, I am afraid that the morals of the people +will not be much improved by the change, or the government rendered +less venial. Still it is not just to dwell on the misery produced +by the present struggle without adverting to the standing evils of +the old system. I am grieved, sorely grieved, when I think of the +blood that has stained the cause of freedom at Paris; but I also +hear the same live stream cry aloud from the highways through which +the retreating armies passed with famine and death in their rear, +and I hide my face with awe before the inscrutable ways of +Providence, sweeping in such various directions the besom of +destruction over the sons of men.</p> + +<p>“Before I came to France, I cherished, you know, an opinion that +strong virtues might exist with the polished manners produced by +the progress of civilization; and I even anticipated the epoch, +when, in the course of improvement, men would labor to become +virtuous, without being goaded on by misery. But now the +perspective of the golden age, fading before the attentive eye of +observation, almost eludes my sight; and, losing thus in part my +theory of a more perfect state, start not, my friend, if I bring +forward an opinion which, at the first glance, seems to be levelled +against the existence of God! I am not become an atheist, I assure +you, by residing at Paris; yet I begin to fear that vice or, if you +will, evil is the grand mobile of action, and that, when the +passions are justly poised, we become harmless, and in the same +proportion useless....</p> + +<p>“You may think it too soon to form an opinion of the future +government, yet it is impossible to avoid hazarding some +conjectures, when everything whispers me that names, not +principles, are changed, and when I see that the turn of the tide +has left the dregs of the old system to corrupt the new. For the +same pride of office, the same desire of power, are still visible; +with this aggravation, that, fearing to return to obscurity after +having but just acquired a relish for distinction, each hero or +philosopher, for all are dubbed with these new titles, endeavors to +make hay +<span class="pagebreak" title="197"> </span><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a> + while the sun shines; and every petty municipal officer, +become the idol, or rather the tyrant of the day, stalks like a +cock on a dunghill.”</p></div> + +<p>The letters were discontinued, probably because Mary thought +letter-writing too easy and familiar a style in which to treat so weighty +a subject. She only gave up the one work, however, to undertake another +still more ambitious. At Neuilly she began, and wrote almost all that was +ever finished, of her “Historical and Moral View of the French +Revolution.”</p> + +<p>While she was thus living the quiet life of a student in the midst of +excitement, her own affairs, as well as those of France, were hastening +to a crisis.</p> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="198"> </span><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p class="center">LIFE WITH IMLAY.</p> + +<p class="center">1793-1794.</p> + + +<p>While Mary was living at Neuilly, the terrors of the French Revolution +growing daily greater, she took a step to which she was prompted by pure +motives, but which has left a blot upon her fair fame. The outcry raised +by her “Vindication of the Rights of Women” has ceased, since its +theories have found so many champions. But that which followed her +assertion of her individual rights has never yet been hushed. Kegan Paul +speaks the truth when he says, “The name of Mary Wollstonecraft has long +been a mark for obloquy and scorn.” The least that can be done to clear +her memory of stains is to state impartially the facts of her case.</p> + +<p>As has been said in the previous chapter, Mary often spent her free hours +with Mrs. Christie, and at her house she met Captain Gilbert Imlay. He +was one of the many Americans then living in Paris. He was an attractive +man personally, and his position and abilities entitled him to respect. +He had taken an active part in the American rebellion, having then risen +to the rank of captain, and, after the war, had been sent as commissioner +to survey still unsettled districts of the western States. On his return +from this work he wrote +<span class="pagebreak" title="199"> </span><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a> + a monograph, called “A Topographical Description +of the Western Territory of North America,” which is remarkable for its +thoroughness and its clear, condensed style, appropriate to such a +treatise. It passed through several editions and increased his +reputation. His business in France is not very explicitly explained. His +headquarters seem to have been at Havre, while he had certain commercial +relations with Norway and Sweden. He was most probably in the timber +business, and was, at least at this period, successful. Godwin says that +he had no property whatever, but his speculations apparently brought him +plenty of ready money.</p> + +<p>Foreigners in Paris, especially Americans and English, were naturally +drawn together. Mary and Imlay had mutual acquaintances, and they saw +much of each other. His republican sentiments alone would have appealed +to her. But the better she learned to know him, the more she liked him +personally. He, on his side, was equally attracted, and his kindness and +consideration for her were greatly in his favor. Their affection in the +end developed into a feeling stronger than mere friendship. Its +consequence, since both were free, would under ordinary circumstances +have been marriage.</p> + +<p>But her circumstances just then were extraordinary. Godwin says that she +objected to a marriage with Imlay because she did not wish to “involve +him in certain family embarrassments to which she conceived herself +exposed, or make him answerable for the pecuniary demands that existed +against her.” There were, however, more formidable objections, not of her +own making. The English who remained in Paris ran the +<span class="pagebreak" title="200"> </span><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a> + chance from day to +day of being arrested with the priests and aristocrats, and even of being +carried to the guillotine. Their only safeguard lay in obscurity. They +had above all else to evade the notice of government officers. Mary, if +she married Imlay, would be obliged to proclaim herself a British +subject, and would thus be risking imprisonment and perhaps death. +Besides, it was very doubtful whether a marriage ceremony performed by +the French authorities would be recognized in England as valid. Had she +been willing to pass through this perilous ordeal she would have gained +nothing. Love’s labor would indeed have been lost. Marriage was thus out +of the question.</p> + +<p>To Mary, however, this did not seem an insurmountable obstacle to their +union. “Her view had now become,” Kegan Paul says, “that mutual affection +was marriage, and that the marriage tie should not bind after the death +of love, if love should die.” In her “Vindication,” she had upheld the +sanctity of marriage because she believed that the welfare of society +depends upon the order maintained in family relations. But her belief +also was that the form the law demands is nothing, the feeling which +leads those concerned to desire it, everything. What she had hitherto +seen of married life, as at present instituted, was not calculated to +make her think highly of it. Her mother and her friend’s mother had led +the veriest dogs’ lives because the law would not permit them to leave +brutal and sensual husbands, whom they had ceased to honor or love. Her +sister had been driven mad by the ill-treatment of a man to whom she was +bound by legal, but not by natural ties. Lady Kingsborough, giving to +dogs the +<span class="pagebreak" title="201"> </span><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a> + love which neither her coarse husband nor her children by him +could evoke, was not a brilliant example of conjugal pleasure. Probably +in London other cases had come within her notice. Marriage vows, it +seemed, were with the majority but the convenient cloak of vice. Women +lived with their husbands that they might be more free to entertain their +lovers. Men lived with their wives that they might keep establishments +elsewhere for their mistresses. Love was the one unimportant element in +the marriage compact. The artificial tone of society had disgusted all +the more earnest thinkers of the day. The very extreme to which existing +evils were carried drove reformers to the other. Rousseau and Helvetius +clamored for a relapse into a state of nature without exactly knowing +what the realization of their theories would produce. Mary reasoned in +the same spirit as they did, and from no desire to uphold the doctrine of +free love. Fearless in her practice as in her theories, she did not +hesitate in this emergency to act in a way that seemed to her conscience +right. She loved Imlay honestly and sincerely. Because she loved him she +could not think evil of him, nor suppose for a moment that his passion +was not as pure and true as hers. Therefore she consented to live with +him as his wife, though no religious nor civil ceremony could sanction +their union.</p> + +<p>That this, according to the world’s standard, was wrong, is a fact beyond +dispute. But before the first stones are thrown, the <i>pros</i> as well as +the <i>cons</i> must be remembered. If Mary had held the conventional beliefs +as to the relations of the sexes, she would be judged by them. Had she +thought her connection +<span class="pagebreak" title="202"> </span><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a> + with Imlay criminal, then she would be condemned +by her own conviction. But she did not think so. Moreover, her opinions +to the contrary were very decided. When she gave herself to Imlay without +waiting for a minister’s blessing or a legal permit, she acted in strict +adherence to her moral ideals; and this at once places her in a far +different rank from that of the Mrs. Robinsons and Mrs. Jordans, with +whom men have been too ready to class her. Neither can she be compared to +a woman like George Sand, who also believed that love was a more sacred +bond of union than the marriage tie, and who acted accordingly. But to +George Sand, as masculine by nature as by dress, love was of her life a +thing apart, and a change of lovers a matter of secondary importance. To +Mary love was literally her whole existence, and fidelity a virtue to be +cultivated above all others. Since she in her conduct in this instance +stands alone, she can be justly judged by no other standard than her own.</p> + +<p>Whether marriage does or does not represent the ideal relation which can +exist between a man and woman is without the compass of the present work. +But since it is and has been for ages held to be so, the woman who bids +defiance to this law must abide by the consequences. Custom has +inconsistently pardoned freedom in such matters to men, but never to +women. Mary Wollstonecraft might rely upon her friends and acquaintances +for recognition of her virtue, but she should have remembered that to the +world at large her conduct would appear immoral; that by it she would +become a pariah in society, and her work lose much of its efficacy; while +she would be +<span class="pagebreak" title="203"> </span><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a> + giving to her children, if she had any, an inheritance of +shame that would cling to them forever.</p> + +<p>She may probably have realized this drawback and determined to avoid the +evil consequences of her defiance to social usages. For the first few +months it seems that she kept her intimacy with Imlay secret, and she may +have intended concealing it until such time as she could make it legal in +the eyes of the world. Godwin dates its beginning in April, 1793. The +only information in this respect is to be had from her published letters +to Imlay, the first of which was written in June of the same year, +though, it must be added, Kegan Paul queries the date. This and the +following note, dated August, prove the secrecy she for a time +maintained. The latter seems to have been written after she had +determined to live openly with Imlay in Paris, but just before she +carried her determination into practice:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<i>Past Twelve o’clock, Monday night.</i> +</p> + +<p>I obey an emotion of my heart which made me think of wishing thee, +my love, good-night! before I go to rest, with more tenderness than +I can to-morrow, when writing a hasty line or two under Colonel +——’s eye. You can scarcely imagine with what pleasure I +anticipate the day when we are to begin almost to live together; +and you would smile to hear how many plans of employment I have in +my head, now that I am confident my heart has found peace in your +bosom. Cherish me with that dignified tenderness which I have only +found in you, and your own dear girl will try to keep under a +quickness of feeling that has sometimes given you pain. Yes, I will +be <i>good</i>, that I may deserve to be happy; and whilst you love me, +I cannot again fall into the miserable state which rendered life a +burden almost too heavy to be borne.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="204"> </span><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a> +But good-night! God bless you! Sterne says that is equal to a +kiss, yet I would rather give you the kiss into the bargain, +glowing with gratitude to Heaven and affection to you. I like the +word affection, because it signifies something habitual; and we are +soon to meet, to try whether we have mind enough to keep our hearts +warm.</p> + +<p>I will be at the barrier a little after ten o’clock to-morrow.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +—— +</p> + +</div> + +<p>The reason for this step was probably the fact that it was not safe for +her to continue in Paris alone and unprotected. The robbers in the woods +at Neuilly might be laughed at; but the red-capped <i>citoyens</i> and +<i>citoyennes</i>, drunk from the first draught of aristocratic blood, were no +old man’s dangers. The peril of the English in the city increased with +every new development of the struggle; but Americans were looked upon as +stanch brother citizens, and a man who had fought for the American +Republic was esteemed as the friend and honored guest of the French +Republic. As Imlay’s wife, Mary’s safety would therefore be assured. The +murderous greed of the people, to break out in September in the <i>Law of +the Suspect</i>, was already felt in August, and at the end of that month +she sought protection under Imlay’s roof, and shielded herself by his +name.</p> + +<p>She could not at once judge of the manner in which this expedient would +be received. It was impossible to hold any communication with England. +For eighteen months after her letter to Mr. Johnson, not a word from her +reached her friends at home. As for those in Paris, so intense was the +great human tragedy of +<span class="pagebreak" title="205"> </span><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a> + which they were the witnesses, that they probably +forgot to gossip about each other. The crimes and horrors that stared +them in the face were so appalling that desire to seek out imaginary ones +in their neighbors was lost. As far as can be known from Mary’s letters, +her connection with Imlay did not take from her the position she had held +in the English colony. No door was closed against her; no scandal was +spread about her. The truth is, these people must have understood her +difficulties as well as she did. They knew the impossibility of a legal +ceremony and the importance in her case of an immediate union; and +understanding this, they seem to have considered her Imlay’s wife. At +least the rumors which months afterwards came to her sisters treated her +marriage as a certainty. Charles Wollstonecraft, now settled in +Philadelphia, wrote on June 16, 1794, to Eliza, a year after Mary and +Imlay had begun their joint life: “I heard from Mary six months ago by a +gentleman who knew her at Paris, and since that have been informed she is +married to Captain Imlay of this country.” The same report had found its +way to Mr. Johnson, and through him again to Mrs. Bishop. It was hard to +doubt its truth, and yet Mrs. Bishop knew as well as, if not better than, +any one Mary’s views about marriage. She had, happily for herself, reaped +the benefit of them. In her surprise she sent Charles’s letter to +Everina, accompanied by her own reflections upon the startling news. +These are a curious testimony to the strength of Mary’s objections to +matrimony. Eliza’s petty envy of her greater sister is still apparent in +this letter. It is dated August 15:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="206"> </span><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a> +“... If Mary is <i>actually</i> married to Mr. Imlay, it is not +impossible but she might settle there [in America] too. Yet Mary +cannot be <i>married</i>! It is natural to conclude her protector is her +<i>husband</i>. Nay, on reading Charles’s letter, I for an instant +believed it true. I would, my Everina, we were out of suspense, for +all at present is uncertainty and the most cruel suspense; still, +Johnson does not repeat things at random, and that the very same +tale should have crossed the Atlantic makes me almost believe that +the once M. is now Mrs. Imlay, and a mother. Are we ever to see +this mother and her babe?”</p></div> + +<p>The only record of Mary’s connection with Imlay, which lasted for about +two years, are the letters which she wrote to him while he was away from +her, his absences being frequent and long. Fortunately, these letters +have been preserved. They were published by Godwin almost immediately +after her death, and were republished in 1879 by C. Kegan Paul. “They +are,” says Godwin, “the offspring of a glowing imagination, and a heart +penetrated with the passion it essays to describe.” She was thirty-five +when she met Imlay. Her passion for him was strong with the strength of +full womanhood, nor had it been weakened by the flirtations in which so +many women fritter away whatever deep feeling they may have originally +possessed. She was no coquette, as she told him many times. She could not +have concealed her love in order to play upon that of the man to whom she +gave it. What she felt for him she showed him with no reservation or +affectation of feminine delicacy. She despised such false sentiments. The +consequence is, that her letters contain the unreserved expression of her +feelings. Those +<span class="pagebreak" title="207"> </span><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a> + written before she had cause to doubt her lover are full +of wifely devotion and tenderness; those written from the time she was +forced to question his sincerity, through the gradual realization of his +faithlessness, until the bitter end, are the most pathetic and +heart-rending that have ever been given to the world. They are the cry of +a human soul in its death-agony, and are the more tragic because they +belong to real life and not to fiction. The sorrows of the Heros, +Guineveres, and Francescas of romance are not greater than hers were. +Their grief was separation from lovers who still loved them. Hers was the +loss of the love of a man for whom her passion had not ceased, and the +admission of the unworthiness of him whom she had chosen as worthy above +all others. Who will deny that her fate was the more cruel?</p> + +<p>She in her letters tells her story better than any one else could do it +for her. Therefore, as far as it is possible, it will be repeated here in +her own words.</p> + +<p>Imlay’s love was to Mary what the kiss of the Prince was to the Sleeping +Beauty in the fairy tale. It awakened her heart to happiness, leading her +into that new world which is the old. Hitherto the love which had been +her portion was that which she had sought</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“... in the pity of other’s woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the gentle relief of another’s care.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And yet she had always believed that the pure passion which a man gives +to a woman is the greatest good in life. That she was without it had been +to her a heavier trial than an unhappy home and overwhelming debts. +<span class="pagebreak" title="208"> </span><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a> + Now, +when she least expected it, it had come to her. While women in Paris were +either trembling with fear for what the morrow might bring forth, or else +caught in the feverish whirl of rebellion, one at least had found rest. +But human happiness can never be quite perfect. Sensitiveness was a +family fault with the Wollstonecrafts. It had been developed rather than +suppressed in Mary by her circumstances. She was therefore keenly +susceptible not only to Imlay’s love, but to his failings. Of these he +had not a few. He does not seem to have been a refined man. From some +remarks in Mary’s letters it may be concluded that he had at one time +been very dissipated, and that the society of coarse men and women had +blunted his finer instincts. His faults were peculiarly calculated to +offend her. His passion had to be stimulated. His business called him +away often, and his absences were unmistakably necessary to the +maintenance of his devotion. The sunshine of her new life was therefore +not entirely unclouded. She was by degrees obliged to lower the high +pedestal on which she had placed her lover, and to admit to herself that +he was not much above the level of ordinary men. This discovery did not +lessen her affection, though it made her occasionally melancholy. But she +was, on the whole, happy.</p> + +<p>In September he was compelled to leave her to go to Havre, where he was +detained for several months. Love had cast out all fear from her heart. +She was certain that he considered himself in every sense of the word her +husband; and therefore during his absence she frankly told him how much +she missed him, and in her letters shared her troubles and pleasures with +him. +<span class="pagebreak" title="209"> </span><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a> + She wrote the last thing at night to tell him of her love and her +loneliness. She could not take his slippers from their old place by the +door. She would not look at a package of books sent to her, but said she +would keep them until he could read them to her while she would mend her +stockings. She drew pictures of the happy days to come when in the farm, +either in America or France, to which they both looked forward as their +<i>Ultima Thule</i>, they would spend long evenings by their fireside, perhaps +with children about their knees. If Eliza sent her a worrying letter, +half the worry was gone when she had confided it to him. If ne’er-do-weel +Charles, temporarily prosperous or promising to be so, wrote her one that +pleased her, straightway she described the delight with which he would +make a friend of Imlay. When the latter had been away but a short time, +she found there was to be a new tie between them. As the father of her +unborn child he became doubly dear to her, while the consciousness that +another life depended upon her made her more careful of her health. “This +thought,” she told him, “has not only produced an overflowing of +tenderness to you, but made me very attentive to calm my mind and take +exercise lest I should destroy an object in whom we are to have a mutual +interest, you know.” As Kegan Paul says, “No one can read her letters +without seeing that she was a pure, high-minded, and refined woman, and +that she considered herself, in the eyes of God and man, his wife.”</p> + +<p>During the first part of his absence, Imlay appears to have been as +devoted as she could have wished him to be. When her letters to him did +not come +<span class="pagebreak" title="210"> </span><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a> + regularly,—as indeed, how could they in those troubled +days?—he grew impatient. His impatience Mary greeted as a good sign. In +December she wrote:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I am glad to find that other people can be unreasonable as well as +myself, for be it known to thee, that I answered thy <i>first</i> letter +the very night it reached me (Sunday), though thou couldst not +receive it before Wednesday, because it was not sent off till the +next day. There is a full, true, and particular account.</p> + +<p>Yet I am not angry with thee, my love, for I think that it is a +proof of stupidity, and, likewise, of a milk-and-water affection, +which comes to the same thing, when the temper is governed by a +square and compass. There is nothing picturesque in this +straight-lined equality, and the passions always give grace to the +actions.</p> + +<p>Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; but it is not to thy +money-getting face, though I cannot be seriously displeased with +the exertion which increases my esteem, or rather is what I should +have expected from thy character. No; I have thy honest countenance +before me,—Pop,—relaxed by tenderness; a little, little wounded +by my whims; and thy eyes glistening with sympathy. Thy lips then +feel softer than soft, and I rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all +the world. I have not left the hue of love out of the picture—the +rosy glow; and fancy has spread it over my own cheeks, I believe, +for I feel them burning, whilst a delicious tear trembles in my +eye, that would be all your own, if a grateful emotion, directed to +the Father of nature, who has made me thus alive to happiness, did +not give more warmth to the sentiment it divides. I must pause a +moment.</p> + +<p>Need I tell you that I am tranquil after writing thus? I do not +know why, but I have more confidence in your affection when absent +than present; nay, I think that you must love me, for, in the +sincerity of my heart let me +<span class="pagebreak" title="211"> </span><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a> + say it, I believe I deserve your +tenderness, because I am true, and have a degree of sensibility +that you can see and relish.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p> + +</div> + +<p>But there were days during his absence when her melancholy returned with +full force. She could not but fear that the time would come when the +coarse fibre of his love would work her evil. Just after he left, she +wrote,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... So much for business! May I venture to talk a little longer +about less weighty affairs? How are you? I have been following you +all along the road this comfortless weather; for when I am absent +from those I love, my imagination is as lively as if my senses had +never been gratified by their presence—I was going to say +caresses, and why should I not? I have found out that I have more +mind than you in one respect; because I can, without any violent +effort of reason, find food for love in the same object much longer +than you can. The way to my senses is through my heart; but, +forgive me! I think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours.</p> + +<p>“With ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very sufficient dash of +folly is necessary to render a woman <i>piquante</i>, a soft word for +desirable; and, beyond these casual ebullitions of sympathy, few +look for enjoyment by fostering a passion in their hearts. One +reason, in short, why I wish my whole sex to become wiser, is, that +the foolish ones may not, by their pretty folly, rob those whose +sensibility keeps down their vanity, of the few roses that afford +them some solace in the thorny road of life.</p> + +<p>“I do not know how I fell into these reflections, excepting one +thought produced it—that these continual separations were +necessary to warm your affection. Of late we are always separating. +Crack! crack! and away you go! This joke wears the sallow cast of +thought; for, though I began to write cheerfully, some melancholy +<span class="pagebreak" title="212"> </span><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a> + +tears have found their way into my eyes, that linger there, whilst +a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers that you are one of the +best creatures in the world. Pardon then the vagaries of a mind +that has been almost ‘crazed by care,’ as well as ‘crossed in +hapless love,’ and bear with me a <i>little</i> longer. When we are +settled in the country together, more duties will open before me; +and my heart, which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every +emotion that awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will learn to +rest on yours with that dignity your character, not to talk of my +own, demands.”</p></div> + +<p>The business at Havre apparently could not be easily settled. The date of +Imlay’s return became more and more uncertain, and Mary grew restless at +his prolonged stay. This she let him know soon enough. She was not a +silent heroine willing to let concealment prey on her spirits. It was as +impossible for her to smile at grief as it was to remain unconscious of +her lover’s shortcomings. Her first complaints, however, are half +playful, half serious. They were inspired by her desire to see him more +than by any misgiving as to the cause of his detention. On the 29th of +December she wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“You seem to have taken up your abode at Havre. Pray, sir! when do +you think of coming home? or, to write very considerately, when +will business permit you? I shall expect (as the country people say +in England) that you will make a <i>power</i> of money to indemnify me +for your absence....</p> + +<p>“Well! but, my love, to the old story,—am I to see you this week, +or this month? I do not know what you are about, for as you did not +tell me, I would not ask Mr. ——, who is generally pretty +communicative.”</p></div> + +<p>But the playfulness quickly disappeared. Mary was ill, and her illness +aggravated her normal sensitiveness, +<span class="pagebreak" title="213"> </span><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a> + while the terrible death-drama of +the Revolution was calculated to deepen rather than to relieve her gloom. +A day or two later she broke out vehemently:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... I hate commerce. How differently must ——’s head and heart be +organized from mine! You will tell me that exertions are necessary. +I am weary of them! The face of things public and private vexes me. +The ‘peace’ and clemency which seemed to be dawning a few days ago, +disappear again. ‘I am fallen,’ as Milton said, ‘on evil days,’ for +I really believe that Europe will be in a state of convulsion +during half a century at least. Life is but a labor of patience; it +is always rolling a great stone up a hill; for before a person can +find a resting-place, imagining it is lodged, down it comes again, +and all the work is to be done over anew!</p> + +<p>“Should I attempt to write any more, I could not change the strain. +My head aches and my heart is heavy. The world appears an ‘unweeded +garden’ where things ‘rank and vile’ flourish best.</p> + +<p>“If you do not return soon,—or, which is no such weighty matter, +talk of it,—I will throw my slippers out at window, and be off, +nobody knows where.”</p></div> + +<p>The next morning she added in a postscript:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I was very low-spirited last night, ready to quarrel with your +cheerful temper, which makes absence easy to you. And why should I +mince the matter? I was offended at your not even mentioning it. I +do not want to be loved like a goddess, but I wish to be necessary +to you. God bless you!”</p></div> + +<p>Imlay’s answers to these letters were kind and reassuring, and contained +ample explanation of his apparent coldness. He probably, to give him the +benefit of the doubt, was at this time truthful in pleading business as +an excuse for his long absence. His +<span class="pagebreak" title="214"> </span><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a> + reasons, at all events, not only +satisfied Mary but made her ashamed of what seemed to her a want of faith +in him. She was as humble in her penitence as if she had been grievously +at fault. One Monday night she wrote:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have just received your kind and rational letter, and would fain +hide my face, glowing with shame for my folly. I would hide it in +your bosom, if you would again open it to me, and nestle closely +till you bade my fluttering heart be still, by saying that you +forgave me. With eyes overflowing with tears, and in the humblest +attitude, I entreat you. Do not turn from me, for indeed I love you +fondly, and have been very wretched since the night I was so +cruelly hurt by thinking that you had no confidence in me.”</p></div> + +<p>As it continued impossible for Imlay to leave Havre, it was arranged that +Mary should join him there. She could not go at once on account of her +health. While she had been so unhappy, she had neglected to take that +care of herself which her condition necessitated, and she was suffering +the consequences. Once her mind was at rest, she made what amends she +could by exercise in the bracing winter air, in defiance of dirt and +intense cold, and by social relaxation, at least such as could be had +while the guillotine was executing daily tasks to the tune of <i>Ça ira</i>, +and women were madly turning in the mazes of the <i>Carmagnole</i>. Though she +could not boast of being quite recovered, she was soon able to report to +Imlay, “I am so <i>lightsome</i>, that I think it will not go badly with me.” +Her health sufficiently restored, and an escort—the excited condition of +the country making one more than usually indispensable—having been +found, she began her welcome journey. It was doubly welcome. One could +breathe more +<span class="pagebreak" title="215"> </span><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a> + freely away from Paris, the seat of the Reign of Terror, +where the Revolution, as Vergniaud said, was, Saturn-like, devouring its +own children; and for Mary the journey had likewise the positive pleasure +of giving her her heart’s desire. Before Imlay’s warm assurances of his +love, her uneasiness melted away as quickly as the snow at the first +breath of spring. How completely, is shown in this extract from a letter +in which she prepared him for her coming:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“You have by your tenderness and worth twisted yourself more +artfully round my heart than I supposed possible. Let me indulge +the thought that I have thrown out some tendrils to cling to the +elm by which I wish to be supported. This is talking a new language +for me! But, knowing that I am not a parasite-plant, I am willing +to receive the proofs of affection that every pulse replies to when +I think of being once more in the same house with you. God bless +you!”</p></div> + +<p>She arrived in Havre in the February of 1794. About a fortnight later +Imlay left for Paris, but many proofs of his affection had greeted her, +and during these few days he had completely calmed her fears. Judging +from the letters she sent him during this absence, he must have been as +lover-like as in the first happy days of their union. One was written the +very day after his departure:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Havre</span>, <i>Thursday morning</i>, March 12. +</p> + +<p>We are such creatures of habit, my love, that, though I cannot say +I was sorry, childishly so, for your going, when I knew that you +were to stay such a short time, and I had a plan of employment, yet +I could not sleep. I turned to your side of the bed, and tried to +make the most of the comfort of the pillow, which you used to tell +<span class="pagebreak" title="216"> </span><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a> + +me I was churlish about; but all would not do. I took, +nevertheless, my walk before breakfast, though the weather was not +inviting; and here I am, wishing you a finer day, and seeing you +peep over my shoulder, as I write, with one of your kindest looks, +when your eyes glisten and a suffusion creeps over your relaxing +features.</p> + +<p>But I do not mean to dally with you this morning. So God bless you! +Take care of yourself, and sometimes fold to your heart your +affectionate</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p></div> + +<p>The second note was written shortly before his return, and was a mere +postscript to a letter on business. Had she covered reams of paper with +her protestations, she could not have expressed her tender devotion more +strongly than in these few lines:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Do not call me stupid for leaving on the table the little bit of +paper I was to enclose. This comes of being in love at the fag-end +of a letter of business. You know you say they will not chime +together. I had got you by the fire-side with the <i>gigot</i> smoking +on the board, to lard your bare ribs, and behold, I closed my +letter without taking the paper up, that was directly under my +eyes! What had I got in them to render me so blind? I give you +leave to answer the question, if you will not scold; for I am</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours most affectionately,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p></div> + +<p>Imlay’s absence was brief, nor did he again leave Mary until the +following August. In April their child, a daughter, was born, whom Mary +called Fanny in memory of her first and dearest friend. Despite her past +imprudences, she was so well that she remained in bed but a day. Eight +days later she was out again. Though she felt no ill effects at the time, +her rashness had probably something to do with her illness when her +second child was born. These months at Havre +<span class="pagebreak" title="217"> </span><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a> + were a pleasant oasis in +the dreary desert of her existence. To no parched, sun-weary traveller +have the cooling waters of the well and the shade of the palm-tree been +more refreshing and invigorating than domestic pleasures were to Mary. +Years before she had told Mr. Johnson they were among her most highly +cherished joys, nor did they prove less desirable when realized than they +had in anticipation. She seems to have had a house of her own in Havre, +and to have seen a little of the Havrais, whom she found “ugly without +doubt,” and their houses smelling too much of commerce. They were, in a +word, <i>bourgeois</i>. But her husband and child were all the society she +wanted. With them any wilderness would have been a paradise. Her +affection increased with time, and Imlay, though discovered not to be a +demigod, grew ever dearer to her. Her love for her child, which she +confessed was at first the effect of a sense of duty, developed soon into +a deep and tender feeling. With Imlay’s wants to attend to, the little +Fanny, at one time ill with small-pox, to nurse, and her book on the +Revolution to write, the weeks and months passed quickly and happily. In +August Imlay was summoned to Paris, and at once the sky of her paradise +was overcast. She wrote to him,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“You too have somehow clung round my heart. I found I could not eat +my dinner in the great room, and when I took up the large knife to +carve for myself, tears rushed into my eyes. Do not, however, +suppose that I am melancholy, for, when you are from me, I not only +wonder how I can find fault with you, but how I can doubt your +affection.”</p></div> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="218"> </span><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p class="center">IMLAY’S DESERTION.</p> + +<p class="center">1794-1795.</p> + + +<p>Unfortunately, as a rule, the traveller on life’s journey has but as +short a time to stay in the pleasant green resting-places, as the +wanderer through the desert. In September Mary followed Imlay to Paris. +But the gates of her Eden were forever barred. Before the end of the +month he had bidden her farewell and had gone to London. Against the +fascination of money-making, her charms had little chance. His +estrangement dates from this separation. When Mary met him again, he had +forgotten love and honor, and had virtually deserted her. While her +affection became stronger, his weakened until finally it perished +altogether.</p> + +<p>Her confidence in him, however, was confirmed by the months spent at +Havre, and she little dreamed his departure was the prelude to their +final parting. For a time she was lighter-hearted than she had ever +before been while he was away. The memory of her late happiness reassured +her. Her little girl was an unceasing source of joy, and she never tired +of writing to Imlay about her. Her maternal tenderness overflows in her +letters:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="219"> </span><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a> +“... You will want to be told over and over again,” she said in +one of them, not doubting his interest to be as great as her, “that +our little Hercules is quite recovered.</p> + +<p>“Besides looking at me, there are three other things which delight +her: to ride in a coach, to look at a scarlet waistcoat, and hear +loud music. Yesterday at the fête she enjoyed the two latter; but, +to honor J. J. Rousseau, I intend to give her a sash, the first she +has ever had round her....”</p></div> + +<p>In a second, she writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have been playing and laughing with the little girl so long, +that I cannot take up my pen to address you without emotion. +Pressing her to my bosom, she looked so like you (<i>entre nous</i>, +your best looks, for I do not admire your commercial face), every +nerve seemed to vibrate to her touch, and I began to think that +there was something in the assertion of man and wife being one, for +you seemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my +heart, and lending me the sympathetic tears you excited.”</p></div> + +<p>And in still another, she exclaims:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“My little darling is indeed a sweet child; and I am sorry that you +are not here to see her little mind unfold itself. You talk of +‘dalliance,’ but certainly no lover was ever more attached to his +mistress than she is to me. Her eyes follow me everywhere, and by +affection I have the most despotic power over her. She is all +vivacity or softness. Yes; I love her more than I thought I should. +When I have been hurt at your stay, I have embraced her as my only +comfort; when pleased with her, for looking and laughing like you; +nay, I cannot, I find, long be angry with you, whilst I am kissing +her for resembling you. But there would be no end to these details. +Fold us both to your heart.”</p></div> + +<p>As the devout go on pilgrimage to places once sanctified by the presence +of a departed saint, so she visited +<span class="pagebreak" title="220"> </span><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a> + alone the haunts of the early days +of their love, living over again the incidents which had made them +sacred. “My imagination,” she told him, “... chooses to ramble back to +the barrier with you, or to see you coming to meet me and my basket of +grapes. With what pleasure do I recollect your looks and words, when I +have been sitting on the window, regarding the waving corn.” She begged +him to bring back his “barrier face,” as she thus fondly recalled their +interviews at the barrier. She told him of a night passed at Saint +Germains in the very room which had once been theirs, and, glowing with +these recollections, she warned him, that if he should return changed in +aught, she would fly from him to cherish remembrances which must be ever +dear to her. Occasionally a little humorous pleasantry interrupted the +more tender outpourings in her letters. Just as, according to Jean Paul, +a man can only afford to ridicule his religion when his faith is firm, so +it was only when her confidence in Imlay was most secure that she could +speak lightly of her love. To the reader of her life, who can see the +snake lurking in the grass, her mirth is more tragical than her grief. On +the 26th of October, Imlay having now been absent for over a month, she +writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have almost <i>charmed</i> a judge of the tribunal, R., who, though I +should not have thought it possible, has humanity, if not <i>beaucoup +d’esprit</i>. But, let me tell you, if you do not make haste back, I +shall be half in love with the author of the <i>Marseillaise</i>, who is +a handsome man, a little too broad-faced or so, and plays sweetly +on the violin.</p> + +<p>“What do you say to this threat?—why, <i>entre nous</i>, I +<span class="pagebreak" title="221"> </span><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a> + like to +give way to a sprightly vein when writing to you. ‘The devil,’ you +know, is proverbially said to ‘be in a good humor when he is +pleased.’”</p></div> + +<p>Many of her old friends in the capital had been numbered among the +children devoured by the insatiable monster. A few, however, were still +left, and she seems to have made new ones and to have again gone into +Parisian society. The condition of affairs was more conducive to social +pleasures than it had been the year before. Robespierre was dead. There +were others besides Mary who feared “the last flap of the tail of the +beast;” but, as a rule, the people, now the reaction had come, were +over-confident, and the season was one of merry-making. There were fêtes +and balls. Even mourning for the dead became the signal for rejoicing; +and gay Parisians, their arms tied with crape, danced to the memory of +the victims of the late national delirium. The Reign of Terror was over, +but so was Mary’s happiness. Public order was partly restored, but her +own short-lived peace was rudely interrupted. Imlay in London became more +absorbed in his immediate affairs, a fact which he could not conceal in +his letters; and Mary realized that compared to business she was of +little or no importance to him. She expostulated earnestly with him on +the folly of allowing money cares and ambitions to preoccupy him. She +sincerely sympathized with him in his disappointments, but she could not +understand his willingness to sacrifice sentiment and affection to sordid +cares. “It appears to me absurd,” she told him, “to waste life in +preparing to live.” Not one of the least of her trials was that she was +at this time +<span class="pagebreak" title="222"> </span><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a> + often forced to see a man who was Imlay’s friend or partner +in Paris, and who seems to have aided and abetted him in his +speculations. He tormented her with accounts of new enterprises, and she +complained very bitterly of him. “——, I know, urges you to stay,” she +wrote in one of her first letters of expostulation, “and is continually +branching out into new projects because he has the idle desire to amass a +large fortune, rather, an immense one, merely to have the credit of +having made it. But we who are governed by other motives ought not to be +led on by him; when we meet we will discuss this subject.” For a little +while she tried to believe that her doubts had no substantial basis, but +were the result of her solitude. In the same letter she said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... I will only tell you that I long to see you, and, being at +peace with you, I shall be hurt, rather than made angry, by delays. +Having suffered so much in life, do not be surprised if I +sometimes, when left to myself, grow gloomy and suppose that it was +all a dream, and that my happiness is not to last. I say happiness, +because remembrance retrenches all the dark shades of the picture.”</p></div> + +<p>But by degrees the dark shades increased until they had completely +blotted out the light made by the past. Imlay’s letters were fewer and +shorter, more taken up with business, and less concerned with her. Ought +she to endure his indifference, or ought she to separate from him +forever? was the question which now tortured her. She had tasted the +higher pleasures, and the present pain was intense in proportion. Her +letters became mournful as dirges.</p> + +<p>On the 30th of December she wrote:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="223"> </span><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a> +“Should you receive three or four of the letters at once which I +have written lately, do not think of Sir John Brute, for I do not +mean to wife you, I only take advantage of every occasion, that one +out of three of my epistles may reach your hands, and inform you +that I am not of ——’s opinion, who talks till he makes me angry +of the necessity of your staying two or three months longer. I do +not like this life of continual inquietude, and, <i>entre nous</i>, I am +determined to try to earn some money here myself, in order to +convince you that, if you choose to run about the world to get a +fortune, it is for yourself; for the little girl and I will live +without your assistance unless you are with us. I may be termed +proud; be it so, but I will never abandon certain principles of +action.</p> + +<p>“The common run of men have such an ignoble way of thinking that if +they debauch their hearts and prostitute their persons, following +perhaps a gust of inebriation, the wife, slave rather, whom they +maintain has no right to complain, and ought to receive the sultan +whenever he deigns to return with open arms, though his have been +polluted by half an hundred promiscuous amours during his absence.</p> + +<p>“I consider fidelity and constancy as two distinct things, yet the +former is necessary to give life to the other; and such a degree of +respect do I think due to myself, that if only probity, which is a +good thing in its place, brings you back, never return! for if a +wandering of the heart or even a caprice of the imagination detains +you, there is an end of all my hopes of happiness. I could not +forgive it if I would.</p> + +<p>“I have gotten into a melancholy mood, you perceive. You know my +opinion of men in general; you know that I think them systematic +tyrants, and that it is the rarest thing in the world to meet with +a man with sufficient delicacy of feeling to govern desire. When I +am thus sad, I lament that my little darling, fondly as I dote on +her, is a girl. I am sorry to have a tie to a world that for me is +ever sown with thorns.</p> + +<p>“You will call this an ill-humored letter, when, in fact, +<span class="pagebreak" title="224"> </span><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a> + it is +the strongest proof of affection I can give to dread to lose you. +—— has taken such pains to convince me that you must and ought to +stay, that it has inconceivably depressed my spirits. You have +always known my opinion. I have ever declared that two people who +mean to live together ought not to be long separated. If certain +things are more necessary to you than me,—search for them. Say but +one word, and you shall never hear of me more. If not, for God’s +sake let us struggle with poverty—with any evil but these +continual inquietudes of business, which I have been told were to +last but a few months, though every day the end appears more +distant! This is the first letter in this strain that I have +determined to forward to you; the rest lie by because I was +unwilling to give you pain, and I should not now write if I did not +think that there would be no conclusion to the schemes which +demand, as I am told, your presence.”</p></div> + +<p>Once, but only once, the light shone again. On the 15th of January she +received a kind letter from Imlay, and her anger died away. “It is +pleasant to forgive those we love,” she said to him simply. But it was +followed by his usual hasty business notes or by complete silence, and +henceforward she knew hope only by name. Her old habit of seeing +everything from the dark side returned. She could not find one redeeming +point in his conduct. Despair seized her soul. Her own misery was set +against a dark background, for she looked beneath the surface of current +events. She heard not the music of the ball-room, but that of the +battle-field. She saw not the dances of the heedless, but the tears of +the motherless and the orphaned. The luxury of the upper classes might +deceive some men, but it could not deafen her to the complaints of the +poor, who were only waiting their chance to +<span class="pagebreak" title="225"> </span><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a> + proclaim to the new +Constitution that they wanted not fine speeches, but bread. Other +discomforts contributed their share to her burden. A severe cold had +settled upon her lungs, and she imagined she was in a galloping +consumption. Her lodgings were not very convenient, but she had put up +with them, waiting day by day for Imlay’s return. Weary of her life as +Job was of his, she, like him, spoke out in the bitterness of her soul. +Her letters from this time on are written from the very valley of the +shadow of death. On February 9 she wrote:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The melancholy presentiment has for some time hung on my spirits, +that we were parted forever; and the letters I received this day, +by Mr. ——, convince me that it was not without foundation. You +allude to some other letters, which I suppose have miscarried; for +most of those I have got were only a few, hasty lines calculated to +wound the tenderness that the sight of the superscriptions excited.</p> + +<p>“I mean not, however, to complain; yet so many feelings are +struggling for utterance, and agitating a heart almost bursting +with anguish, that I find it very difficult to write with any +degree of coherence.</p> + +<p>“You left me indisposed, though you have taken no notice of it; and +the most fatiguing journey I ever had contributed to continue it. +However, I recovered my health; but a neglected cold, and continual +inquietude during the last two months, have reduced me to a state +of weakness I never before experienced. Those who did not know that +the canker-worm was at work at the core cautioned me about suckling +my child too long. God preserve this poor child, and render her +happier than her mother!</p> + +<p>“But I am wandering from my subject; indeed, my head turns giddy, +when I think that all the confidence I have had in the affection of +others is come to this. I did +<span class="pagebreak" title="226"> </span><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a> + not expect this blow from you. I +have done my duty to you and my child; and if I am not to have any +return of affection to reward me, I have the sad consolation of +knowing that I deserved a better fate. My soul is weary; I am sick +at heart; and but for this little darling I would cease to care +about a life which is now stripped of every charm.</p> + +<p>“You see how stupid I am, uttering declamation when I meant simply +to tell you that I consider your requesting me to come to you as +merely dictated by honor. Indeed, I scarcely understand you. You +request me to come, and then tell me that you have not given up all +thoughts of returning to this place.</p> + +<p>“When I determined to live with you, I was only governed by +affection. I would share poverty with you, but I turn with affright +from the sea of trouble on which you are entering. I have certain +principles of action; I know what I look for to found my happiness +on. It is not money. With you, I wished for sufficient to procure +the comforts of life; as it is, less will do. I can still exert +myself to obtain the necessaries of life for my child, and she does +not want more at present. I have two or three plans in my head to +earn our subsistence; for do not suppose that, neglected by you, I +will lie under obligations of a pecuniary kind to you! No; I would +sooner submit to menial service. I wanted the support of your +affection; that gone, all is over! I did not think, when I +complained of ——’s contemptible avidity to accumulate money, that +he would have dragged you into his schemes.</p> + +<p>“I cannot write. I enclose a fragment of a letter, written soon +after your departure, and another which tenderness made me keep +back when it was written. You will see then the sentiments of a +calmer, though not a more determined moment. Do not insult me by +saying that ‘our being together is paramount to every other +consideration!’ Were it, you would not be running after a bubble, +at the expense of my peace of mind.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps this is the last letter you will ever receive from me.”</p></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="227"> </span><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a> +Grief sometimes makes men strong. Mary’s stimulated her into a +determination to break her connection with Imlay, and to live for her +child alone. She would remain in Paris and superintend Fanny’s education. +She had already been able to look out for herself; there was no reason +why she should not do it again. Until she settled upon the means of +support to be adopted, she would borrow money from her friends. Anything +was better than to live at Imlay’s expense. As for him, such a course +would probably be a relief, and certainly it would do him no harm. “As I +never concealed the nature of my connection with you,” she wrote him, +“your reputation will not suffer.” But her plans, for some reason, did +not meet with his approval. He was tired of her, and yet he seems to have +been ashamed to confess his inconstancy. At one moment he wrote that he +was coming to Paris; at the next he bade her meet him in London. But no +mention was made of the farm in America. The excitement of commerce +proved more alluring than the peace of country life. His shilly-shallying +unnerved Mary; positive desertion would have been easier to bear. On +February 19 she wrote him:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“When I first received your letter putting off your return to an +indefinite time, I felt so hurt that I knew not what I wrote. I am +now calmer, though it was not the kind of wound over which time has +the quickest effect; on the contrary, the more I think, the sadder +I grow. Society fatigues me inexpressibly; so much so that, finding +fault with every one, I have only reason enough to discover that +the fault is in myself. My child alone interests me, and but for +her I should not take any pains to recover my health.”</p></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="228"> </span><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a> +The child was now the strongest bond of union between them. For her sake +she felt the necessity of continuing to live with Imlay as long as +possible, though his love was dead. Therefore, when he wrote definitely +that he would like her to come to him, since he could not leave his +business to go to her, she relinquished her intentions of remaining alone +in France with Fanny, and set out at once for London. She could hardly +have passed through Havre without feeling the bitter contrast between her +happiness of the year before, and her present hopelessness. “I sit, lost +in thought,” she wrote to Imlay, “looking at the sea, and tears rush into +my eyes when I find that I am cherishing any fond expectations. I have +indeed been so unhappy this winter, I find it as difficult to acquire +fresh hopes as to regain tranquillity. Enough of this; be still, foolish +heart! But for the little girl, I could almost wish that it should cease +to beat, to be no more alive to the anguish of disappointment.” The boat +upon which she sailed was run aground, and she was thus unexpectedly +detained at Havre. During this interval she touched still more closely +upon sorrow’s crown of sorrow in remembering happier things, by writing +to Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who had escaped from his prison in +Ireland to France, and giving him certain necessary information about the +house she had left, and which he was about to occupy.</p> + +<p>She reached London in April, 1795. Her gloomiest forebodings were +confirmed. Imlay had provided a furnished house for her, and had +considered her comforts. But his manner was changed. He was cold and +constrained, and she felt the difference immediately. +<span class="pagebreak" title="229"> </span><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a> + He was little with +her, and business was, as of old, the excuse. According to Godwin, he had +formed another connection with a young strolling actress. Life was thus +even less bright in London than it had been in Paris. If hell is but the +shadow of a soul on fire, she was now plunged into its deepest depths. +Its tortures were more than she could endure. For her there were, indeed, +worse things waiting at the gate of life than death, and she resolved by +suicide to escape from them. This part of her story is very obscure. But +it is certain that her suicidal intentions were so nearly carried into +effect, that she had written several letters containing her, as she +thought, last wishes, and which were to be opened after all was over. +There is no exact account of the manner in which she proposed to kill +herself, nor of the means by which she was prevented. “I only know,” +Godwin says, “that Mr. Imlay became acquainted with her purpose at a +moment when he was uncertain whether or no it was already executed, and +that his feelings were roused by the intelligence. It was perhaps owing +to his activity and representations that her life was at this time saved. +She determined to continue to exist.”</p> + +<p>This event sobered both Imlay and Mary. They saw the danger they were in, +and the consequent necessity of forming a definite conclusion as to the +nature of their future relations. They must either live together in +perfect confidence, or else they must separate. “My friend, my dear +friend,” she wrote him, “examine yourself well,—I am out of the +question; for, alas! I am nothing,—and discover what you wish to do, +what will render you most comfortable; or, to be more +<span class="pagebreak" title="230"> </span><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a> + explicit, whether +you desire to live with me, or part forever! When you can ascertain it, +tell me frankly, I conjure you! for, believe me, I have very +involuntarily interrupted your peace.” The determination could not be +made in a hurry. In the meantime Mary knew it would be unwise to remain +idle, meditating upon her wrongs. Forgetfulness of self in active work +appeared the only possible means of living through the period of +uncertainty. Imlay had business in Norway and Sweden which demanded the +personal superintendence either of himself or of a trustworthy agent. He +gave it in charge to Mary, and at the end of May she started upon this +mission. That Imlay still looked upon her as his wife, and that his +confidence in her was unlimited, is shown by the following document in +which he authorizes her to act for him:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +May 19, 1795. +</p> + +<p>Know all men by these presents that I, Gilbert Imlay, citizen of +the United States of America, at present residing in London, do +nominate, constitute, and appoint Mary Imlay, my best friend and +wife, to take the sole management and direction of all my affairs, +and business which I had placed in the hands of Mr. Elias Bachman, +negotiant, Gottenburg, or in those of Messrs. Myburg & Co., +Copenhagen, desiring that she will manage and direct such concerns +in such manner as she may deem most wise and prudent. For which +this letter shall be a sufficient power, enabling her to receive +all the money or sums of money that may be recovered from Peter +Ellison or his connections, whatever may be the issue of the trial +now carrying on, instigated by Mr. Elias Bachman, as my agent, for +the violation of the trust which I had reposed in his integrity.</p> + +<p>Considering the aggravated distresses, the accumulated +<span class="pagebreak" title="231"> </span><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a> + losses and +damages sustained in consequence of the said Ellison’s disobedience +of my injunctions, I desire the said Mary Imlay will clearly +ascertain the amount of such damages, taking first the advice of +persons qualified to judge of the probability of obtaining +satisfaction, or the means the said Ellison or his connections, who +may be proved to be implicated in his guilt, may have, or power of +being able to make restitution, and then commence a new prosecution +for the same accordingly....</p> + +<p>Respecting the cargo of goods in the hands of Messrs. Myburg and +Co., Mrs. Imlay has only to consult the most experienced persons +engaged in the disposition of such articles, and then, placing them +at their disposal, act as she may deem right and proper....</p> + +<p>Thus confiding in the talent, zeal, and earnestness of my dearly +beloved friend and companion, I submit the management of these +affairs entirely and implicitly to her discretion.</p> + +<p>Remaining most sincerely and affectionately hers truly,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +G. Imlay.</p> + +<p> +<i>Witness</i>, <span class="smcap">J. Samuel</span>. +</p></div> + +<p>Unfortunately for Mary, she was detained at Hull, from which town she was +to set sail, for about a month. She was thus unable immediately to still +the memory of her sorrows. It is touching to see how, now that she could +no longer doubt that Imlay was made of common clay, she began to find +excuses for him. She represented to herself that it was her misfortune to +have met him too late. Had she known him before dissipation had enslaved +him, there would have been none of this trouble. She was, furthermore, +convinced that his natural refinement was not entirely destroyed, and +that if he would but make the effort he could overcome his grosser +appetites. To this effect she wrote him from Hull:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="232"> </span><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a> +“I shall always consider it as one of the most serious misfortunes +of my life, that I did not meet you before satiety had rendered +your senses so fastidious as almost to close up every tender avenue +of sentiment and affection that leads to your sympathetic heart. +You have a heart, my friend; yet, hurried away by the impetuosity +of inferior feelings, you have sought in vulgar excesses for that +gratification which only the heart can bestow.</p> + +<p>“The common run of men, I know, with strong health and gross +appetites, must have variety to banish ennui, because the +imagination never lends its magic wand to convert appetite into +love, cemented by according reason. Ah! my friend, you know not the +ineffable delight, the exquisite pleasure, which arises from an +unison of affection and desire, when the whole soul and senses are +abandoned to a lively imagination, that renders every emotion +delicate and rapturous. Yes; these are emotions over which satiety +has no power, and the recollection of which even disappointment +cannot disenchant; but they do not exist without self-denial. These +emotions, more or less strong, appear to me to be the distinctive +characteristics of genius, the foundation of taste, and of that +exquisite relish for the beauties of nature, of which the common +herd of eaters and drinkers and <i>child-begetters</i> certainly have no +idea. You will smile at an observation that has just occurred to +me: I consider those minds as the most strong and original whose +imagination acts as the stimulus to their senses.</p> + +<p>“Well! you will ask what is the result of all this reasoning. Why, +I cannot help thinking that it is possible for you, having great +strength of mind, to return to nature and regain a sanity of +constitution and purity of feeling which would open your heart to +me. I would fain rest there!</p> + +<p>“Yet, convinced more than ever of the sincerity and tenderness of +my attachment to you, the involuntary hopes which a determination +to live has revived are not sufficiently strong to dissipate the +cloud that despair has spread over futurity. I have looked at the +sea and at my child, hardly daring to own to myself the secret wish +that +<span class="pagebreak" title="233"> </span><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a> + it might become our tomb, and that the heart, still so alive +to anguish, might there be quieted by death. At this moment ten +thousand complicated sentiments press for utterance, weigh on my +heart, and obscure my sight.”</p></div> + +<p>After almost a month of inactivity, the one bright spot in it being a +visit to Beverly, the home of her childhood, she sailed for Sweden, with +Fanny and a maid as her only companions. Her “Letters from Sweden, +Norway, and Denmark,” with the more personal passages omitted, were +published in a volume by themselves shortly after her return to England. +Notice of them will find a more appropriate place in another chapter. All +that is necessary here is the very portion which was then suppressed, but +which Godwin later included with the “Letters to Imlay.” The northern +trip had at least this good result. It strengthened her physically. She +was so weak when she first arrived in Sweden that the day she landed she +fell fainting to the ground as she walked to her carriage. For a while +everything fatigued her. The bustle of the people around her seemed +“flat, dull, and unprofitable.” The civilities by which she was +overwhelmed, and the endeavors of the people she met to amuse her, were +fatiguing. Nothing, for a while, could lighten her deadly weight of +sorrow. But by degrees, as her letters show, she improved. Pure air, long +walks, and rides on horseback, rowing and bathing, and days in the +country had their beneficial effect, and she wrote to Imlay on July 4, +“The rosy fingers of health already streak my cheeks; and I have seen a +physical life in my eyes, after I have been climbing the rocks, that +resembled the fond, credulous hopes of youth.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="234"> </span><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a> +But even a sound body cannot heal a broken heart. Mary could not throw +off her troubles in a day. She after a time tried to distract her mind by +entering into the amusements she had at first scorned, but it was often +in vain. “I have endeavored to fly from myself,” she said in one letter, +“and launched into all the dissipation possible here, only to feel keener +anguish when alone with my child.” There was a change for the better, +however, in her mental state, for though her grief was not completely +cured, she at least voluntarily sought to recover her emotional +equilibrium. Self-examination showed her where her weakness lay, and she +resolved to conquer it. With but too much truth, she told Imlay:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Love is a want of my heart. I have examined myself lately with +more care than formerly, and find that to deaden is not to calm the +mind. Aiming at tranquillity I have almost destroyed all the energy +of my soul, almost rooted out what renders it estimable. Yes, I +have damped that enthusiasm of character, which converts the +grossest materials into a fuel that imperceptibly feeds hopes which +aspire above common enjoyment. Despair, since the birth of my +child, has rendered me stupid; soul and body seemed to be fading +away before the withering touch of disappointment.”</p></div> + +<p>Despite her endeavors, her spiritual recovery was slow. A cry of agony +still rang through her letters. But she had at least one pleasure that +helped to soften her cares. This was her love for her child, which, +always great, was increased by Imlay’s cruelty. The tenderness which he +by his indifference repulsed, she now lavished upon Fanny. She seemed to +feel that she ought to make amends for the fact that her child +<span class="pagebreak" title="235"> </span><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a> + was, to +all intents and purposes, fatherless. In the same letter from which the +above passage is taken, there is this little outburst of maternal +affection:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I grow more and more attached to my little girl, and I cherish +this affection with fear, because it must be a long time before it +can become bitterness of soul. She is an interesting creature. On +ship-board how often, as I gazed at the sea, have I longed to bury +my troubled bosom in the less troubled deep; asserting, with +Brutus, ‘that the virtue I had followed too far was merely a name!’ +and nothing but the sight of her—her playful smiles, which seemed +to cling and twine round my heart—could have stopped me.”</p></div> + +<p>It so happened that at one time she was obliged to leave her child with +her nurse for about a month. Business called her to Tönsberg in Norway, +and the journey would have been bad for Fanny, who was cutting her teeth. +“I felt more at leaving my child than I thought I should,” she wrote to +Imlay, “and whilst at night I imagined every instant that I heard the +half-formed sounds of her voice, I asked myself how I could think of +parting with her forever, of leaving her thus helpless.” Here indeed was +a stronger argument against suicide than Christianity or its +“aftershine.” This absence stimulated her motherly solicitude and +heightened her sense of responsibility. In her appeals to Imlay to settle +upon his future course in her regard, she now began to dwell upon their +child as the most important reason to keep them together. On the 30th of +July she wrote from Tönsberg:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I will try to write with a degree of composure. I wish for us to +live together, because I want you to acquire an +<span class="pagebreak" title="236"> </span><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a> + habitual +tenderness for my poor girl. I cannot bear to think of leaving her +alone in the world, or that she should only be protected by your +sense of duty. Next to preserving her, my most earnest wish is not +to disturb your peace. I have nothing to expect, and little to +fear, in life. There are wounds that can never be healed; but they +may be allowed to fester in silence without wincing.”</p></div> + +<p>On the 7th of August she wrote again in the same strain:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“This state of suspense, my friend, is intolerable; we must +determine on something, and soon; we must meet shortly, or part +forever. I am sensible that I acted foolishly, but I was wretched +when we were together. Expecting too much, I let the pleasure I +might have caught, slip from me. I cannot live with you, I ought +not, if you form another attachment. But I promise you, mine shall +not be intruded on you. Little reason have I to expect a shadow of +happiness, after the cruel disappointments that have rent my heart; +but that of my child seems to depend on our being together. Still, +I do not wish you to sacrifice a chance of enjoyment for an +uncertain good. I feel a conviction that I can provide for her, and +it shall be my object, if we are indeed to part to meet no more. +Her affection must not be divided. She must be a comfort to me, if +I am to have no other, and only know me as her support. I feel that +I cannot endure the anguish of corresponding with you, if we are +only to correspond. No; if you seek for happiness elsewhere, my +letters shall not interrupt your repose. I will be dead to you. I +cannot express to you what pain it gives me to write about an +eternal separation. You must determine. Examine yourself. But, for +God’s sake! spare me the anxiety of uncertainty! I may sink under +the trial; but I will not complain.”</p></div> + +<p>He seems to have written to her regularly. At times she reproached him +for not letting her hear from him, +<span class="pagebreak" title="237"> </span><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a> + but at others she acknowledged the +receipt of three and five letters in one morning. If these had been +preserved, hers would not seem as importunate as they do now, for he gave +her reason to suppose that he was anxious for a reunion, and wrote in a +style which she told him she may have deserved, but which she had not +expected from him. She also referred to his admission that her words +tortured him; and there was talk of a trip together to Switzerland. But +at the same time his proofs of indifference forced her to declare that +she and pleasure had shaken hands. “How often,” she breaks out in her +agony, “passing through the rocks, I have thought, ‘But for this child, I +would lay my head on one of them, and never open my eyes again!’” The +only particular in which he remained firm was his unwillingness to give a +final decision in what, to her, was the one all-important matter. His +vacillating behavior was heartless in the extreme. Her suspense became +unbearable, and all her letters contained entreaties for him to relieve +it. She was ready, once he said the word, to undertake to support her +child and herself. But the fiat must come from him. Had it remained +entirely with her she would have returned to him. But this she could not +do unless he would receive her as his wife and promise loyalty to her. “I +do not understand you,” she wrote on the 6th of September, in answer to +one of his letters. “It is necessary for you to write more explicitly, +and determine on some mode of conduct. I cannot endure this suspense. +Decide. Do you fear to strike another blow? We live together, or +eternally apart! I shall not write to you again till I receive an answer +to this.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="238"> </span><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a> +Finally, after allowing her to suffer three months of acute agony, he +summoned up resolution enough to write and tell her he would abide by her +decision. Her business in the North had been satisfactorily settled, for +which she was, alas! to receive but poor thanks; and the welfare of the +child having now become the pivot of her actions, she returned to +England. From Dover she sent him a letter informing him that she was +prepared once more to make his home hers:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>You say I must decide for myself. I have decided that it was most +for the interest of my little girl, and for my own comfort, little +as I expect, for us to live together; and I even thought that you +would be glad some years hence, when the tumult of business was +over, to repose in the society of an affectionate friend, and mark +the progress of our interesting child, whilst endeavoring to be of +use in the circle you at last resolved to rest in, for you cannot +run about forever.</p> + +<p>From the tenor of your last letter, however, I am led to imagine +that you have formed some new attachment. If it be so, let me +earnestly request you to see me once more, and immediately. This is +the only proof I require of the friendship you profess for me. I +will then decide, since you boggle about a mere form.</p> + +<p>I am laboring to write with calmness; but the extreme anguish I +feel at landing without having any friend to receive me, and even +to be conscious that the friend whom I most wish to see will feel a +disagreeable sensation at being informed of my arrival, does not +come under the description of common misery. Every emotion yields +to an overwhelming flood of sorrow, and the playfulness of my child +distresses me. On her account I wished to remain a few days here, +comfortless as is my situation. Besides, I did not wish to surprise +you. You have told +<span class="pagebreak" title="239"> </span><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a> + me that you would make any sacrifice to promote +my happiness—and, even in your last unkind letter, you talk of the +ties which bind you to me and my child. Tell me that you wish it, +and I will cut this Gordian knot.</p> + +<p>I now most earnestly entreat you to write to me, without fail, by +the return of the post. Direct your letter to be left at the +post-office, and tell me whether you will come to me here, or where +you will meet me. I can receive your letter on Wednesday morning.</p> + +<p>Do not keep me in suspense. I expect nothing from you, or any human +being; my die is cast! I have fortitude enough to determine to do +my duty; yet I cannot raise my depressed spirits, or calm my +trembling heart. That being who moulded it thus knows that I am +unable to tear up by the roots the propensity to affection which +has been the torment of my life,—but life will have an end!</p> + +<p>Should you come here (a few months ago I could not have doubted it) +you will find me at ——. If you prefer meeting me on the road, +tell me where.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="signature">Mary. +</p></div> + +<p>The result of this letter was that Imlay and Mary tried to retie the +broken thread of their domestic relations. The latter went up to London, +and they settled together in lodgings. It would have been better for her +had she never seen him again. The fire of his love had burnt out. No +power could rekindle it. His indifference was hard to bear; but so long +as he assured her that he had formed no other attachment, she made no +complaint. For Fanny’s sake she endured the new bitterness, and found +such poor comfort as she could in being with him. It was but too true +that the constancy of her affection was the torment of her life. In spite +of everything, she still loved him. Before long, however, +<span class="pagebreak" title="240"> </span><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a> + she discovered +through her servants that he was basely deceiving her. He was keeping up +a separate establishment for a new mistress. Mary, following the impulse +of the moment, went at once to this house, where she found him. The +particulars of their interview are not known; but her wretchedness during +the night which followed maddened her. His perfidy hurt her more deeply +than his indifference. Her cup of sorrow was filled to overflowing, and +for the second time she made up her mind to fly from a world which held +nothing but misery for her. It may be concluded that for the time being +she was really mad. It will be remembered that troubles of a kindred +nature had driven Mrs. Bishop to insanity. All the Wollstonecrafts +inherited a peculiarly excitable temperament. Mary, had she not lost all +self-control, would have been deterred from suicide, as she had been from +thoughts of it in Sweden, by her love for Fanny. But her grief was so +great it drowned all memory and reason. The morning after this night of +agony she wrote to Imlay:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I write you now on my knees, imploring you to send my child and +the maid with —— to Paris, to be consigned to the care of Madame +——, Rue ——, Section de ——. Should they be removed, —— can +give their direction.</p> + +<p>“Let the maid have all my clothes, without distinction.</p> + +<p>“Pray pay the cook her wages, and do not mention the confession +which I forced from her; a little sooner or later is of no +consequence. Nothing but my extreme stupidity could have rendered +me blind so long. Yet, whilst you assured me that you had no +attachment, I thought we might still have lived together.</p> + +<p>“I shall make no comments on your conduct or any appeal to the +world. Let my wrongs sleep with me! +<span class="pagebreak" title="241"> </span><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a> + Soon, very soon, I shall be at +peace. When you receive this, my burning head will be cold.</p> + +<p>“I would encounter a thousand deaths, rather than a night like the +last. Your treatment has thrown my mind into a state of chaos; yet +I am serene. I go to find comfort; and my only fear is that my poor +body will be insulted by an endeavor to recall my hated existence. +But I shall plunge into the Thames where there is the least chance +of my being snatched from the death I seek.</p> + +<p>“God bless you! May you never know by experience what you have made +me endure. Should your sensibility ever awake, remorse will find +its way to your heart; and, in the midst of business and sensual +pleasures, I shall appear before you, the victim of your deviation +from rectitude.”</p></div> + +<p>Then she left her house to seek refuge in the waters of the river. She +went first to Battersea Bridge, but it was too public for her purpose. +She could not risk a second frustration of her designs. There was no +place in London where she could be unobserved. With the calmness of +despair, she hired a boat and rowed to Putney. It was a cold, foggy +November day, and by the time she arrived at her destination the night +had come, and the rain fell in torrents. An idea occurred to her: if she +wet her clothes thoroughly before jumping into the river, their weight +would make her sink rapidly. She walked up and down, up and down, the +bridge in the driving rain. The fog enveloped the night in a gloom as +impenetrable as that of her heart. No one passed to interrupt her +preparations. At the end of half an hour, satisfied that her end was +accomplished, she leaped from the bridge into the water below. Despite +her soaked clothing, she did +<span class="pagebreak" title="242"> </span><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a> + not sink at once. In her desperation she +pressed her skirts around her; then she became unconscious. She was +found, however, before it was too late. Vigorous efforts were made to +restore life, and she was brought back to consciousness. She had met with +the insult she most dreaded, and her disappointment was keen. Her failure +only increased her determination to destroy herself. This she told Imlay +in a letter written shortly after, dated November, 1795:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have only to lament that, when the bitterness of death was past, +I was inhumanly brought back to life and misery. But a fixed +determination is not to be baffled by disappointment: nor will I +allow that to be a frantic attempt which was one of the calmest +acts of reason. In this respect I am only accountable to myself. +Did I care for what is termed reputation, it is by other +circumstances that I should be dishonored.</p> + +<p>“You say ‘that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the +wretchedness into which we have been plunged.’ You are extricated +long since. But I forbear to comment. If I am condemned to live +longer it is a living death.</p> + +<p>“It appears to me that you lay much more stress on delicacy than on +principle; for I am unable to discover what sentiment of delicacy +would have been violated by your visiting a wretched friend, if +indeed you have any friendship for me. But since your new +attachment is the only sacred thing in your eyes, I am silent. Be +happy! My complaints shall never more damp your enjoyment; perhaps +I am mistaken in supposing that even my death could, for more than +a moment. This is what you call magnanimity. It is happy for +yourself that you possess this quality in the highest degree.</p> + +<p>“Your continually asserting that you will do all in your power to +contribute to my comfort, when you only allude to pecuniary +assistance, appears to me a flagrant breach +<span class="pagebreak" title="243"> </span><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a> + of delicacy. I want +not such vulgar comfort, nor will I accept it. I never wanted but +your heart. That gone, you have nothing more to give. Had I only +poverty to fear, I should not shrink from life. Forgive me, then, +if I say that I shall consider any direct or indirect attempt to +supply my necessities as an insult which I have not merited, and as +rather done out of tenderness for your own reputation than for me. +Do not mistake me. I do not think that you value money; therefore I +will not accept what you do not care for, though I do much less, +because certain privations are not painful to me. When I am dead, +respect for yourself will make you take care of the child.</p> + +<p>“I write with difficulty; probably I shall never write to you +again. Adieu!</p> + +<p>“God bless you!”</p></div> + +<p>Imlay, whose departure to his other house Mary construed into abandonment +of her, made, in spite of this letter, many inquiries as to her health +and tranquillity, repeated his offers of pecuniary assistance, and, at +the request of mutual acquaintances, even went to see her. But a <i>show</i> +of interest was not what she wanted, and her thanks for it was the +assurance that before long she would be where he would be saved the +trouble of either talking or thinking of her. Fortunately Mr. Johnson and +her other friends interfered actively in her behalf, and by their +arguments and representations prevailed upon her to relinquish the idea +of suicide. Through their kindness, the fever which consumed her was +somewhat abated. Her temporary madness over, she again remembered her +responsibility as a mother, and realized that true courage consists in +facing a foe, and not in flying from it. Of the change in her intentions +for the future she informed Imlay:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> + +<span class="pagebreak" title="244"> </span><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a> +<span class="smcap">London</span>, November, 1795. +</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson having forgot to desire you to send the things of mine +which were left at the house, I have to request you to let +Marguerite bring them to me.</p> + +<p>I shall go this evening to the lodging; so you need not be +restrained from coming here to transact your business. And whatever +I may think and feel, you need not fear that I shall publicly +complain. No! If I have any criterion to judge of right and wrong, +I have been most ungenerously treated; but wishing now only to hide +myself, I shall be silent as the grave in which I long to forget +myself. I shall protect and provide for my child. I only mean by +this to say that you have nothing to fear from my desperation.</p> + +<p>Farewell.</p></div> + +<p>Godwin makes the incredible statement that Imlay refusing to break off +his new connection, though he declared it to be of a temporary nature, +Mary proposed that she should live in the same house with his mistress. +In this way he would not be separated from his child, and she would +quietly wait the end of his intrigue. Imlay, according to Godwin, +consented to her suggestion, but afterwards thought better of it and +refused. There is not a word in her letters to confirm this extraordinary +story. It is simply impossible that at one moment she should have been +driven to suicide by the knowledge that he had a mistress, and that at +the next she should take a step which was equivalent to countenancing his +conduct. It is more rational to conclude that Godwin was misinformed, +than to believe this.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of November Imlay went to Paris with the woman for whom +he had sacrificed wife and child. Mary felt that the end had now really +come, as is seen in the few letters which still remain. Once +<span class="pagebreak" title="245"> </span><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a> + the first +bitterness of her disappointment had been mastered, the old tenderness +revived, and she renewed her excuses for him. “My affection for you is +rooted in my heart,” she wrote fondly and sadly. “I know you are not what +you now seem, nor will you always act and feel as you now do, though I +may never be comforted by the change.” And in another letter she said, +“Resentment and even anger are momentary emotions with me, and I wish to +tell you so, that if you ever think of me, it may not be in the light of +an enemy.” Writing to him, however, was more than she could bear. Each +letter reopened the wound he had inflicted, and inspired her with a wild +desire to see him. She therefore wisely concluded that all correspondence +between them must cease. In December, 1795, while he was still in Paris, +she bade him her last farewell, though in so doing she was, as she says, +piercing her own heart. She refused to hold further communication with +him or to receive his money, but she told him she would not interfere in +anything he might wish to do for Fanny. Here it may be said that, though +Imlay declared that a certain sum should be settled upon the latter, not +a cent of it was ever paid. This is Mary’s last letter to him:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">London</span>, December, 1795. +</p> + +<p>You must do as you please with respect to the child. I could wish +that it might be done soon, that my name may be no more mentioned +to you. It is now finished. Convinced that you have neither regard +nor friendship, I disdain to utter a reproach, though I have had +reason to think that the “forbearance” talked of has not been very +delicate. It is, however, of no consequence. I am glad you are +satisfied with your own conduct.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="246"> </span><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a> +I now solemnly assure you that this is an eternal farewell. Yet I +flinch not from the duties which tie me to life.</p> + +<p>That there is “sophistry,” on one side or other, is certain; but +now it matters not on which. On my part it has not been a question +of words. Yet your understanding or mine must be strangely warped, +for what you term “delicacy” appears to me to be exactly the +contrary. I have no criterion for morality, and have thought in +vain, if the sensations which lead you to follow an ankle or step +be the sacred foundation of principle and affection. Mine has been +of a very different nature, or it would not have stood the brunt of +your sarcasms.</p> + +<p>The sentiment in me is still sacred. If there be any part of me +that will survive the sense of my misfortunes, it is the purity of +my affections. The impetuosity of your senses may have led you to +term mere animal desire the source of principle; and it may give +zest to some years to come. Whether you will always think so, I +shall never know.</p> + +<p>It is strange that, in spite of all you do, something like +conviction forces me to believe that you are not what you appear to +be.</p> + +<p>I part with you in peace.</p></div> + +<p>She saw him once or twice afterwards. When he came to London again, +Godwin says that “she could not restrain herself from making another +effort, and desiring to see him once more. During his absence, affection +had led her to make numberless excuses for his conduct, and she probably +wished to believe that his present connection was, as he represented it, +purely of a casual nature. To this application she observes that he +returned no other answer, except declaring, with unjustifiable passion, +that he would not see her.”</p> + +<p>They did meet, however, but their meeting was accidental. Imlay was one +day paying a visit to Mr. +<span class="pagebreak" title="247"> </span><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a> + Christie, who had returned to London, and with +whom he had business relations. He was sitting in the parlor, when Mary +called. Mrs. Christie, hearing her voice, and probably fearing an +embarrassing scene, hurried out to warn her of his presence, and to +advise her not to come in the room. But Mary, not heeding her, entered +fearlessly, and, with Fanny by the hand, went up and spoke to Imlay. They +retired, it seems, to another room, and he then promised to see her +again, and indeed to dine with her at her lodgings on the following day. +He kept his promise, and there was a second interview, but it did not +lead to a reconciliation. The very next day she went into Berkshire, +where she spent the month of March with her friend, Mrs. Cotton. She +never again made the slightest attempt to see him or to hear from him. +There was a limit even to her affection and forbearance. One day, after +her return to town, she was walking along the New Road when Imlay passed +her on horseback. He jumped off his horse and walked with her for some +little distance. This was the last time they met. From that moment he +passed completely out of her life.</p> + +<p>And so ends the saddest of all sad love stories.</p> + + + +<h2><span class="pagebreak" title="248"> </span><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p class="center">LITERARY WORK.</p> + +<p class="center">1793-1796.</p> + + +<p>The first volume of “An Historical and Moral View of the Origin and +Progress of the French Revolution, and the Effect it has produced in +Europe,” which Mary wrote during the months she lived in France, was +published by Johnson in 1794. It was favorably received and criticised, +especially by that portion of the public who had sympathized with the +Revolutionists in the controversy with Burke. One admirer, in 1803, +declared it was not second even to Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall of the +Roman Empire.” It went very quickly through two editions, surest proof of +its success. The “Analytical Review” called it</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... a work of uncommon merit, abounding with strong traits of +original genius, and containing a great variety of just and +important observations on the recent affairs of France and on the +general interests of society at the present crisis.”</p></div> + +<p>Mary had apparently spent in idleness the years which had elapsed since +the “Rights of Women” had taken England by storm. But in reality she must +have made good use of them. This new book marks an enormous advance in +her mental development. It is but little disfigured by the faults of +style, and is +<span class="pagebreak" title="249"> </span><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a> + never weakened by the lack of method, which detract from +the strength and power of the work by which she is best known. In the +“French Revolution” her arguments are well weighed and balanced, and +flowers of rhetoric, with a few exceptions, are sacrificed for a simple +and concise statement of facts. Unfortunately the first volume was never +followed by a second. Had Mary finished the book, as she certainly +intended to do when she began it, it probably would still be ranked with +the standard works on the Revolution.</p> + +<p>As the title demonstrates, her object in writing this history was to +explain the moral significance, as well as the historical value, of the +incidents which she recorded. This moral element is uppermost in every +page of her book. The determination to discover the truth at all hazards +is its key-note. This end Mary hoped to accomplish, first by tracing the +French troubles to their real causes, and then by giving an unprejudiced +account of them. The result of a thorough study and investigation of her +subject was the formation of doctrines which are in close sympathy with +those of the evolutionists of to-day. Nothing strikes the reader so much +as her firm belief in the theory of development, and her conclusion +therefrom that progress in government consists in the gradual +substitution of altruistic principles for the egotism which was the +primal foundation of law and order. Profession of this creed is at once +made in both the preface and first chapter of the “French Revolution.” In +the former, she writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“By ... attending to circumstances, we shall be able to discern +clearly that the Revolution was neither produced +<span class="pagebreak" title="250"> </span><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a> + by the abilities +or the intrigues of a few individuals, nor was the effect of sudden +and short-lived enthusiasm; but the natural consequence of +intellectual improvement, gradually proceeding to perfection in the +advancement of communities from a state of barbarism to that of +polished society.”</p></div> + +<p>In considering this subject, she concludes that the civilization of the +ancients was deficient because it paid more attention to the cultivation +of taste in the few than to the development of understanding in the many, +and that that of the moderns is superior to it because of the more +general diffusion of knowledge which followed the invention of printing. +Her arguments in support of her theories are excellent.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“When,” she writes, “learning was confined to a small number of the +citizens of a state, and the investigation of its privileges was +left to a number still smaller, governments seem to have acted as +if the people were formed only for them; and ingeniously +confounding their rights with metaphysical jargon, the luxurious +grandeur of individuals has been supported by the misery of the +bulk of their fellow-creatures, and ambition gorged by the butchery +of millions of innocent victims.”</p></div> + +<p>This despotism, she further asserts, always continues so long as men are +unqualified to judge with precision of their civil and political rights. +But once they begin to think, and hence to learn the true facts of +history, they must discover that the first social systems were founded on +passion,—“individuals wishing to fence round their own wealth or power, +and make slaves of their brothers to prevent encroachment,”—and that the +laws of society could not have been originally “adjusted so as to take in +the future conduct of its members, +<span class="pagebreak" title="251"> </span><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a> + because the faculties of man are +unfolded and perfected by the improvements made by society.” This +knowledge necessarily destroys belief in the sanctity of prescription, +and when once it is made the basis of government, the ruling powers will +have as much consideration for the rights of others as for their own.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“When society was first subjugated to laws,” she writes, “probably +by the ambition of some, and the desire of safety in all, it was +natural for men to be selfish, because they were ignorant how +intimately their own comfort was connected with that of others; and +it was also very natural that humanity, rather the effect of +feeling than of reason, should have a very limited range. But when +men once see clear as the light of heaven—and I hail the glorious +day from afar!—that on the general happiness depends their own, +reason will give strength to the fluttering wings of passion, and +men will ‘do unto others what they wish they should do unto them.’”</p></div> + +<p>One of the first means, therefore, by which this much-to-be-desired end +is to be attained, is the destruction of blind reverence of the past.</p> + +<p>With uncompromising honesty, she says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“We must get entirely clear of all the notions drawn from the wild +traditions of original sin: the eating of the apple, the theft of +Prometheus, the opening of Pandora’s box, and the other fables too +tedious to enumerate, on which priests have erected their +tremendous structures of imposition to persuade us that we are +naturally inclined to evil. We shall then leave room for the +expansion of the human heart, and, I trust, find that men will +insensibly render each other happier as they grow wiser.”</p></div> + +<p>After a brief analysis of the laws of progress in general, Mary proceeds +to their special application in the +<span class="pagebreak" title="252"> </span><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a> + case of France. The illumination of +the French people she believes was hastened by the efforts of such men, +on the one hand, as Rousseau and Voltaire, who warred against +superstition, and on the other, as Quesnay and Turgot, who opposed unjust +taxation. It was through them that the nation awoke to a consciousness of +its wrongs, and saw for the first time, in the clear light of truth, the +inveterate pride of the nobles, the rapacity of the clergy, and the +prodigality of the court. The farmer then realized to the full the +injustice of a government which could calmly allow taxes and feudal +claims to swallow all but the twentieth part of the profit of his labor. +Citizens discovered the iniquity of laws which gave so little security to +their lives and property, that these could be sported <a name="c252" id="c252"></a><a class="correction" title="changed from 'with with'" href="#tn252">with</a> impunity by the aristocracy. In a word, the people found that +without a pretext of justice, they were forced to be hewers of wood and +drawers of water for a chosen few. Once enlightened they rebelled against +the nobles who treated them as beasts of burden and trod them under foot +with the mud; and they boldly demanded their rights as human beings and +as citizens.</p> + +<p>Having thus given the <i>raison d’être</i> of the great French crisis, she +describes with striking energy the events which ensued. She makes +manifest the folly and blindness of the court, the shortcomings and vile +intrigues of ministers, the duplicity and despotism of the parliaments, +which prevented the petitions and demands of the people from receiving +the attention and consideration which alone could have satisfied them. +That there were evils in the French government, not even its friends +could deny. The recognition of them +<span class="pagebreak" title="253"> </span><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a> + necessitated their being done away +with. There were but two methods by which this could be accomplished: +they must either be reformed or destroyed. The government refused to +accept the first course; the people resolved to adopt the second. Mary’s +treatment of this question is interesting. The following passage contains +her chief arguments upon the subject, and the conclusion she drew from +them, so very different from the result of Burke’s reasoning on the same +point in the “Reflections.” This passage is an excellent specimen of the +style in which the book is written. The hasty measures of the French, she +says, being worthy of philosophical investigation, fall into two distinct +inquiries:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“First, if from the progress of reason we be authorized to infer +that all governments will be meliorated, and the happiness of man +placed on the solid basis gradually prepared by the improvement of +political science; if the degrading distinctions of rank, born in +barbarism and nourished by chivalry, be really becoming in the +estimation of all sensible people so contemptible, that a modest +man, in the course of fifty years, would probably blush at being +thus distinguished; if the complexion of manners in Europe be +completely changed from what it was half a century ago, and the +liberty of its citizens tolerably secured; if every day extending +freedom be more firmly established in consequence of the general +dissemination of truth and knowledge,—it then seems injudicious +for statesmen to force the adoption of any opinion, by aiming at +the speedy destruction of obstinate prejudices; because these +premature reforms, instead of promoting, destroy the comfort of +those unfortunate beings who are under their dominion, affording at +the same time to despotism the strongest arguments to urge in +opposition to the theory of reason. Besides, the objects intended +to be forwarded +<span class="pagebreak" title="254"> </span><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a> + are probably retarded, whilst the tumult of +internal commotion and civil discord leads to the most dreadful +consequence,—the immolating of human victims.</p> + +<p>“But, secondly, it is necessary to observe, that, if the degeneracy +of the higher orders of society be such that no remedy less fraught +with horror can effect a radical cure; and if, enjoying the fruits +of usurpation, they domineer over the weak, and check, by all the +means in their power, every humane effort to draw man out of the +state of degradation into which the inequality of fortune has sunk +him; the people are justified in having recourse to coercion to +repel coercion. And, further, if it can be ascertained that the +silent sufferings of the citizens of the world are greater, though +less obvious, than the calamities produced by such violent +convulsions as have happened in France, which, like hurricanes +whirling over the face of nature, strip off all its blooming +graces, it may be politically just to pursue such measures as were +taken by that regenerating country, and at once root out those +deleterious plants which poison the better half of human +happiness.”</p></div> + +<p>Among the most remarkable passages in the book are those relating to +Marie Antoinette. As was the case when she wrote her answer to Burke, the +misery of millions unjustly subjected moved Mary more than the woes of +one woman justly deprived of an ill-used liberty. Her love and sympathy +for the people made her perhaps a little too harsh in her judgment of the +queen. “Some hard words, some very strong epithets, are indeed used of +Marie Antoinette,” Mr. Kegan Paul says in his short but appreciative +criticism of this book, “showing that she, who could in those matters +know nothing personally, could not but depend on Paris gossip; but this +is interesting, as showing what the view taken of the queen was before +passion rose to its +<span class="pagebreak" title="255"> </span><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a> + highest, before the fury of the people, with all the +ferocity of word and deed attendant on great popular movements, had +broken out.” The following lines, therefore, reflecting the feelings and +opinions of the day, must be read with as much, if not more interest than +those of later and better-informed historians:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The unfortunate Queen of France, beside the advantages of birth +and station, possessed a very fine person; and her lovely face, +sparkling with vivacity, hid the want of intelligence. Her +complexion was dazzlingly clear; and when she was pleased, her +manners were bewitching; for she happily mingled the most +insinuating voluptuous softness and affability with an air of +grandeur bordering on pride, that rendered the contrast more +striking. Independence also, of whatever kind, always gives a +degree of dignity to the mien; so that monarchs and nobles with +most ignoble souls, from believing themselves superior to others, +have actually acquired a look of superiority.</p> + +<p>“But her opening faculties were poisoned in the bud; for before she +came to Paris she had already been prepared, by a corrupt, supple +abbé, for the part she was to play; and, young as she was, became +so firmly attached to the aggrandizement of her house, that, though +plunged deep in pleasure, she never omitted sending immense sums to +her brother on every occasion. The person of the king, in itself +very disgusting, was rendered more so by gluttony, and a total +disregard of delicacy, and even decency, in his apartments; and +when jealous of the queen, for whom he had a kind of devouring +passion, he treated her with great brutality, till she acquired +sufficient finesse to subjugate him. Is it then surprising that a +very desirable woman, with a sanguine constitution, should shrink, +abhorrent, from his embraces; or that an empty mind should be +employed only to vary the pleasures which emasculated her Circean +court? And, added to this, the histories of the Julias and +Messalinas of antiquity convincingly prove that there is no end to +the vagaries of +<span class="pagebreak" title="256"> </span><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a> + the imagination, when power is unlimited, and +reputation set at defiance.</p> + +<p>“Lost, then, in the most luxurious pleasures, or managing court +intrigues, the queen became a profound dissembler; and her heart +was hardened by sensual enjoyments to such a degree that, when her +family and favorites stood on the brink of ruin, her little portion +of mind was employed only to preserve herself from danger. As a +proof of the justness of this assertion, it is only necessary to +observe that, in the general wreck, not a scrap of her writing has +been found to criminate her; neither has she suffered a word to +escape her to exasperate the people, even when burning with rage +and contempt. The effect that adversity may have on her choked +understanding, time will show [this was written some months before +the death of the queen]; but, during her prosperity, the moments of +languor that glide into the interstices of enjoyment were passed in +the most childish manner, without the appearance of any vigor of +mind to palliate the wanderings of the imagination. Still, she was +a woman of uncommon address; and though her conversation was +insipid, her compliments were so artfully adapted to flatter the +person she wished to please or dupe, and so eloquent is the beauty +of a queen, in the eyes even of superior men, that she seldom +failed to carry her point when she endeavored to gain an ascendency +over the mind of an individual. Over that of the king she acquired +unbounded sway, when, managing the disgust she had for his person, +she made him pay a kingly price for her favors. A court is the best +school in the world for actors; it was very natural then for her to +become a complete actress, and an adept in all the arts of coquetry +that debauch the mind, whilst they render the person alluring.”</p></div> + +<p>Mary’s inflexible hatred of the cruelty of the court and the nobility, +which had led to the present horrors, though great, did not prevent her +from seeing the tyranny and brutality in which the people indulged so +<span class="pagebreak" title="257"> </span><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a> + +soon as they obtained the mastery. Her treatment of the facts of the +Revolution is characterized by honesty. She is above all else an +impartial historian and philosopher. She distinguishes, it is true, +between the well-meaning multitude—those who took the Bastille, for +example—and the rabble composed of the dregs of society,—those who +headed the march to Versailles. She declares, “There has been seen +amongst the French a spurious race of men, a set of cannibals, who have +gloried in their crimes; and, tearing out the hearts that did not feel +for them, have proved that they themselves had iron bowels.” But while +she makes this distinction, she does not hesitate to admit that the +retaliation of the French people, suddenly all become sovereigns, was as +terrible as that of slaves unexpectedly loosed from their fetters. It is +but fair, after quoting her denunciations of Marie Antoinette, to show +how far the new rule was from receiving her unqualified approbation. +Describing the silence and ruin which have succeeded the old-time gayety +and grandeur of Versailles, she exclaims:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Weeping, scarcely conscious that I weep, O France! over the +vestiges of thy former oppression, which, separating man from man +with a fence of iron, sophisticated all, and made many completely +wretched, I tremble, lest I should meet some unfortunate being, +fleeing from the despotism of licentious freedom, hearing the snap +of the <i>guillotine</i> at his heels, merely because he was once noble, +or has afforded an asylum to those whose only crime is their name; +and, if my pen almost bound with eagerness to record the day that +levelled the Bastille with the dust, making the towers of despair +tremble to their base, the recollection that still the abbey is +appropriated to hold the victims of revenge and suspicion palsies +the hand +<span class="pagebreak" title="258"> </span><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a> + that would fain do justice to the assault, which tumbled +into heaps of ruins, walls that seemed to mock the resistless force +of time. Down fell the temple of despotism; but—despotism has not +been buried in its ruins! Unhappy country! when will thy children +cease to tear thy bosom? When will a change of opinion, producing a +change of morals, render thee truly free? When will truth give life +to real magnanimity, and justice place equality on a stable seat? +When will thy sons trust, because they deserve to be trusted; and +private virtue become the guarantee of patriotism? Ah! when will +thy government become the most perfect, because thy citizens are +the most virtuous?”</p></div> + +<p>The same impartiality is preserved in the relation of even the most +exciting and easily misconceived incidents of the Revolution. The +courageous and resolute resistance of the Third Estate to the clergy and +nobility is described with dignified praise which never descends into +fulsome flattery. The ignorance, vanity, jealousy, disingenuousness, +self-sufficiency, and interested motives of members of the National +Assembly are unhesitatingly exposed in recording such of their actions +as, examined superficially, might seem the outcome of a love of freedom. +In giving the details of the taking of the Bastille, and the women’s +march on Versailles, Mary becomes really eloquent. Mr. Kegan Paul’s +opinion may be here advantageously cited. “Her accounts of the Bastille +siege and of the Versailles episode,” he says, “are worth reading beside +those of the master to whose style they are so great a contrast. Carlyle +has seized on the comic element in the march to Versailles, Mary +Wollstonecraft on the tragic; and hers seems to me the worthier view.”</p> + +<p>Many of the remarks upon civilization and the influence +<span class="pagebreak" title="259"> </span><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a> +of the +cultivation of science on the understanding, with which the book is +interspersed, are full of wisdom and indicative of deep thought and +careful research. Hers was, to use with but slight change the words with +which she concludes, the philosophical eye, which, looking into the +nature and weighing the consequence of human actions, is able to discern +the cause which has produced so many dreadful effects.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding its excellence and the reputation it once had, this work +is now almost unknown. But few have ever heard of it, still fewer read +it; a fact due, of course, to its incompleteness. The first and only +volume ends with the departure of Louis from Versailles to Paris, when +the Revolution was as yet in its earliest stages. This must ever be a +matter of regret. That succeeding volumes, had she written them, would +have been even better is very probable. There was marked development in +her intellectual powers after she published the “Rights of Women.” The +increased merit of her later works somewhat confirms Southey’s +declaration, made three years after her death, that “Mary Wollstonecraft +was but beginning to reason when she died.”</p> + +<p>The last book she finished and published during her life-time was her +“Letters Written during a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and +Denmark.” Her journey, as has been explained in the last chapter, was +undertaken to attend to certain business affairs for Imlay. Landing in +Sweden, she went from there to Norway, then again to Sweden, and finally +to Denmark and Hamburg, in which latter places she remained a +comparatively short period. Not being free to go and come as she chose, +she was sometimes detained in +<span class="pagebreak" title="260"> </span><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a> + small places for two or three weeks, while +she could stay but a day or two in large cities. But she had letters of +introduction to many of the principal inhabitants of the towns and +villages to which business called her, and was thus able to see something +of the life of the better classes. The then rough mode of travelling also +brought her into close contact with the peasantry. As the ground over +which she travelled was then but little visited by English people, she +knew that her letters would have at least the charm of novelty.</p> + +<p>They were published by her friend Johnson in 1796. Hitherto, her work had +been purely of a philosophical, historical, or educational nature. The +familiar epistolary style in which she had begun to record her +observations of the French people had been quickly changed for the more +formal tone of the “French Revolution.” These travels, consequently, +marked an entirely new departure in her literary career. Their success +was at once assured. Even the fastidious Godwin, who had condemned her +other books, could find no fault with this one. Contemporary critics +agreed in sharing his good opinion.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever met with Mary Wollstonecraft’s ‘Letters from Sweden and +Norway’?” Southey asked in a letter to Thomas Southey. “She has made me +in love with a cold climate and frost and snow, with a northern +moonlight.” The impression they produced was lasting. When, several years +later, he wrote an “Epistle” to A. S. Cottle to be published in the +latter’s volume of “Icelandic Poetry,” he again alluded to them. In +referring to the places described in northern poems he declared,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="pagebreak" title="261"> </span><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a> +<span class="i0">“... Scenes like these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have almost lived before me, when I gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon their fair resemblance traced by him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sung the banished man of Ardebeil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or to the eye of Fancy held by her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who among Women left no equal mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from the world she passed; and I could weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think that <i>She</i> is to the grave gone down!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The “Annual Register” for 1796 honored the “Letters” by publishing in its +columns a long extract from them containing a description of the +Norwegian character. The “Monthly Magazine” for July of the same year +concluded that the book, “though not written with studied elegance, +interests the reader in an uncommon degree by a philosophical turn of +thought, by bold sketches of nature and manners, and above all by strong +expressions of delicate sensibility.” The verdict of the “Analytical +Review” was as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“A vigorous and cultivated intellect easily accommodates itself to +new occupations. The notion that individual genius can only excel +in one thing is a vulgar error. A mind endued by nature with strong +powers and quick sensibility, and by culture furnished in an +uncommon degree with habits of attention and reflection, wherever +it is placed will find itself employment, and whatever it +undertakes will execute it well. After the repeated proofs which +the ingenious and justly admired writer of these letters has given +the public, that her talents are far above the ordinary level, it +will not be thought surprising that she could excel in different +kinds of writing; that the qualifications which have enabled her to +instruct young people by moral lessons and tales, and to furnish +the philosopher with original and important speculations, should +also empower her to entertain and interest the +<span class="pagebreak" title="262"> </span><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a> + public in a manner +peculiarly her own by writing a book of travels.</p> + +<p>“We have no hesitation in assuring our readers that Mrs. +Wollstonecraft has done this in the present volume.”</p></div> + +<p>The qualities most desirable in a writer of travels are quickness of +perception, active interest in the places and people described, +appreciation of local color, a nice sense of discrimination, and a +pleasant, simple style. It is true that occasionally affected and +involved phrases occur in Mary’s letters from the North, and that the +tone of many passages is a trifle too sombre. But the former defects are +much less glaring and fewer in number than those of her earlier writings; +while, when it is remembered that during her journey her heart was +heavy-laden with disappointment and despair, her melancholy reflections +must be forgiven her. With the exception of these really trifling +shortcomings, she may be said to have ably fulfilled the required +conditions. It may be asserted of her, in almost the identical words +which Heine uses in praise of Goethe’s “Italian Journey,” that she, +during her travels, saw all things, the dark and the light, colored +nothing with her individual feelings, and pictured the land and its +people in the true outlines and true colors in which God clothed it.</p> + +<p>Determined to avoid the mistake common to most travellers, of speaking +from feeling rather than from reason, she shows her readers the virtues +and faults of the people among whom she travelled, without overestimating +the former or exaggerating the latter. She found Swedes and Norwegians +unaffected and hospitable, but sensual and indolent. Both good and evil +<span class="pagebreak" title="263"> </span><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a> + +she attributes to the influence of climate and to the comparatively low +stage of culture attained in these northern countries. The long winter +nights, she explains in her letters, have made the people sluggish. Their +want of interest in politics, literature, and scientific pursuits have +concentrated their attention upon the pleasures of the senses. They are +hospitable because of the excitement and social amusements hospitality +insures. They care for the flesh-pots of Egypt because they have not yet +heard of the joys of the Promised Land. The women of the upper classes +are so indolent that they exercise neither mind nor body; consequently +the former has but a narrow range, the latter soon loses all beauty. The +men seek no relaxation from their business occupations save in +Brobdingnagian dinners and suppers. If they are godly, they are never +cleanly, cleanliness requiring an effort of which they are incapable. +Indolence and indifference to culture throughout Sweden and Norway are +the chief characteristics of the natives.</p> + +<p>To Mary the coarseness of the people seemed the more unbearable because +of the wonderful beauty of their country as she saw it in midsummer. She +could not understand their continued indifference to its loveliness. Her +own keen enjoyment of it shows itself in all her letters. She constantly +pauses in relating her experiences to dwell upon the grandeur of cliffs +and sea, upon the impressive wildness of certain districts, full of great +pine-covered mountains and endless fir woods, contrasting with others +more gentle and fertile, which are covered with broad fields of corn and +rye. She loves to describe the long still summer nights and the +<span class="pagebreak" title="264"> </span><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a> + gray +dawn when the birds begin to sing, the sweet scents of the forest, and +the soft freshness of the western breeze. The smallest details of the +living picture do not escape her notice. She records the musical tinkling +of distant cow-bells and the mournful cry of the bittern. She even tells +how she sometimes, when she is out in her boat, lays down her oars that +she may examine the purple masses of jelly-fish floating in the water. +Truly, her ways were not as those of the Philistines around her.</p> + +<p>The following extract from a letter written from Gothenburg gives a good +idea of the impression made upon her by the moral ugliness and natural +beauty which she met wherever she went. The passage is characteristic, +since its themes are the two to which she most frequently recurs:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... Every day, before dinner and supper, even whilst the dishes +are cooling on the table, men and women repair to a side-table, +and, to obtain an appetite, eat bread and butter, cheese, raw +salmon or anchovies, drinking a glass of brandy. Salt fish or meat +then immediately follows, to give a further whet to the stomach. As +the dinner advances,—pardon me for taking up a few minutes to +describe what, alas! has detained me two or three hours on the +stretch, observing,—dish after dish is changed, in endless +rotation, and handed round with solemn pace to each guest; but +should you happen not to like the first dishes, which was often my +case, it is a gross breach of politeness to ask for part of any +other till its turn comes. But have patience, and there will be +eating enough. Allow me to run over the acts of a visiting day, not +overlooking the interludes.</p> + +<p>“Prelude, a luncheon; then a succession of fish, flesh, and fowl +for two hours; during which time the dessert +<span class="pagebreak" title="265"> </span><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a> +—I was sorry for the +strawberries and cream—rests on the table to be impregnated by the +fumes of the viands. Coffee immediately follows in the +drawing-room, but does not preclude punch, ale, tea and cakes, raw +salmon, etc. A supper brings up the rear, not forgetting the +introductory luncheon, almost equalling in removes the dinner. A +day of this kind you would imagine sufficient—but a to-morrow and +a to-morrow. A never-ending, still-beginning feast may be bearable, +perhaps, when stern Winter frowns, shaking with chilling aspect his +hoary locks; but during a summer sweet as fleeting, let me, my kind +strangers, escape sometimes into your fir groves, wander on the +margin of your beautiful lakes, or climb your rocks to view still +others in endless perspective; which, piled by more than giant’s +hand, scale the heavens to intercept its rays, or to receive the +parting tinge of lingering day,—day that, scarcely softened into +twilight, allows the freshening breeze to wake, and the moon to +burst forth in all her glory to glide with solemn elegance through +the azure expanse.</p> + +<p>“The cow’s bell has ceased to tinkle the herd to rest; they have +all paced across the heath. Is not this the witching time of night? +The waters murmur, and fall with more than mortal music, and +spirits of peace walk abroad to calm the agitated breast. Eternity +is in these moments; worldly cares melt into the airy stuff that +dreams are made of; and reveries, mild and enchanting as the first +hopes of love, or the recollection of lost enjoyment, carry the +hapless wight into futurity, who, in bustling life, has vainly +strove to throw off the grief which lies heavy at the heart. +Good-night! A crescent hangs out in the vault before, which +<a name="c261" id="c261"></a><a class="correction" title="'wooes' in original" href="#tn261">wooes</a> me to stray abroad: it is not a silvery +reflection of the sun, but glows with all its golden splendor. Who +fears the falling dew? It only makes the mown grass smell more +fragrant.”</p></div> + +<p>As might be expected, judging from Mary’s natural benevolence, the +poverty and misery she saw during +<span class="pagebreak" title="266"> </span><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a> + her journey awakened feelings of deep +compassion. She describes in tones of pity the wretched condition of the +lower classes in Sweden. Servants, she writes, are no better than slaves. +They are beaten and maltreated by their masters, and are paid so little +that they cannot afford to wear sufficient clothing or to eat decent +food. Laborers live in huts wretched beyond belief, and herd together +like animals. They have so accustomed themselves to a stifling +atmosphere, that fresh air is never let into their houses even in summer, +and the mere idea of cleanliness is beyond their comprehension. Indolence +is their failing as well as that of their superiors in rank. Many in +their brutishness refuse to exert themselves save to find the food +absolutely necessary to support life, and are too sluggish to be curious. +It is pleasant to know that they have at least one good quality, in the +exercise of which they surpass the rich. This is politeness, the national +virtue. Mary observes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The Swedes pique themselves on their politeness; but far from +being the polish of a cultivated mind, it consists merely of +tiresome forms and ceremonies. So far indeed from entering +immediately into your character, and making you feel instantly at +your ease, like the well-bred French, their over-acted civility is +a continual restraint on all your actions. The sort of superiority +which a fortune gives when there is no superiority of education, +excepting what consists in the observance of senseless forms, has a +contrary effect than what is intended; so that I could not help +reckoning the peasantry the politest people of Sweden, who, only +aiming at pleasing you, never think of being admired for their +behavior.”</p></div> + +<p>Mary found the condition of the Norwegians somewhat better. The lower +classes were freer, more industrious, +<span class="pagebreak" title="267"> </span><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a> +and more opulent. She describes +their inns as comfortable, whereas those of the Swedes had not been even +inhabitable. The upper classes, though, like the Swedes, over-fond of the +pleasures of the table, narrow in their range of ideas, and wholly +without imagination, at least gave some signs of better days in their +dawning interest in culture. She writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The Norwegians appear to me a sensible, shrewd people, with little +scientific knowledge, and still less taste for literature; but they +are arriving at the epoch which precedes the introduction of the +arts and sciences.</p> + +<p>“Most of the towns are seaports, and seaports are not favorable to +improvement. The captains acquire a little superficial knowledge by +travelling, which their indefatigable attention to the making of +money prevents their digesting; and the fortune that they thus +laboriously acquire is spent, as it usually is in towns of this +description, in show and good living. They love their country, but +have not much public spirit. Their exertions are, generally +speaking, only for their families; which I conceive will always be +the case, till politics, becoming a subject of discussion, enlarges +the heart by opening the understanding. The French Revolution will +have this effect. They sing at present, with great glee, many +republican songs, and seem earnestly to wish that the republic may +stand; yet they appear very much attached to their prince royal; +and, as far as rumor can give an idea of character, he appears to +merit their attachment.”</p></div> + +<p>She remained in Copenhagen and Hamburg but a short time. Imlay’s +unkindness and indecision had, by the time she reached Holland, so +increased her melancholy that the good effect of the bracing northern air +was partially destroyed. She lost her interest in the novelty of her +surroundings, and as she says in +<span class="pagebreak" title="268"> </span><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a> + one of her last letters, stayed much at +home. But her perceptive faculties were not wholly deadened. She notes +with her usual precision the indolence and dulness of the Danes, and the +unwavering devotion of the Hamburgers to commerce, and describes the +towns of Hamburg and Copenhagen with graphic force. These descriptions +are well worth reading.</p> + +<p>It was always impossible for Mary not to reflect and moralize upon what +passed around her. She not only wanted to examine and record phenomena +and events, but to discover a reason for their existence. She invariably +sought for the primal causes and the final results of the facts in which +she was interested. The civilization of the northern countries through +which she travelled, so different from the culture of England and France, +gave her ample food for thought. The reflections it aroused found their +way into her letters. Some of them are really remarkable, as for example, +the following:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Arriving at Sleswick, the residence of Prince Charles of +Hesse-Cassel, the sight of the soldiers recalled all the unpleasing +ideas of German despotism, which imperceptibly vanished as I +advanced into the country. I viewed, with a mixture of pity and +horror, these beings training to be sold to slaughter, or be +slaughtered, and fell into reflections on an old opinion of mine, +that it is the preservation of the species, not of individuals, +which appears to be the design of the Deity throughout the whole of +nature. Blossoms come forth only to be blighted; fish lay their +spawn where it will be devoured; and what a large portion of the +human race are born merely to be swept prematurely away! Does not +this waste of budding life emphatically assert, that it is not men, +but man, whose preservation is so necessary to the completion of +the grand +<span class="pagebreak" title="269"> </span><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a> + plan of the universe? Children peep into existence, +suffer, and die; men play like moths about a candle, and sink into +the flame; war and the ‘thousand ills which flesh is heir to’ mow +them down in shoals, whilst the more cruel prejudices of society +palsy existence, introducing not less sure, though slower decay.”</p></div> + +<p>Had Mary Wollstonecraft lived in the present time, she too would have +written hymns to Man. This is another of the many strange instances in +her writings of the resemblance between theories which she evolved for +herself and those of modern philosophers. She lived a century too soon.</p> + +<p>The “Letters” were published in the same year, 1796, in Wilmington, +Delaware. A few years later, extracts from them, translated into +Portuguese, together with a brief sketch of their author, were published +in Lisbon, while a German edition appeared in Hamburg and Altona. The +book is now not so well known as it deserves to be. Mary’s descriptions +of the physical characteristics of Norway and Sweden are equal to any +written by more recent English travellers to Scandinavia; and her account +of the people is valuable as an unprejudiced record of the manners and +customs existing among them towards the end of the eighteenth century. +But though so little known, it is still true that, as her self-appointed +defender said in 1803, “Letters so replete with correctness of remark, +delicacy of feeling, and pathos of expression, will cease to exist only +with the language in which they were written.”</p> + +<p>Shortly after her death, Godwin published in four volumes all Mary’s +unprinted writings, unfinished as well as finished. This collection, +which is called simply +<span class="pagebreak" title="270"> </span><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a> + “Posthumous Works of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin,” +may most appropriately be noticed here in connection with the more +complete productions of her last years.</p> + +<p>Of the “Letters to Imlay,” which fill the third and a part of the fourth +volume, nothing more need be said. They have been fully explained, and +sufficient extracts from them have been made in the account of that +period of her life during which they were written. The next in importance +of these writings is “Maria; or, The Wrongs of Woman,” a novel. It is but +a fragment. Mary intended to revise the first chapters carefully, and of +the last she had written nothing but the headings and a few detached +hints and passages. Godwin, in his Preface, says, “So much of it as is +here given to the public, she was far from considering as finished; and +in a letter to a friend directly written on this subject, she says, ‘I am +perfectly aware that some of the incidents ought to be transposed and +heightened by more luminous shading; and I wished in some degree to avail +myself of criticism before I began to adjust my events into a story, the +outline of which I had sketched in my mind.’” It therefore must be more +gently criticised than such of her books as were published during her +life-time, and considered by her ready to be given to the public. But, as +the last work upon which she was engaged, and as one which engrossed her +thoughts for months, and to which she devoted, for her, an unusual amount +of labor, it must be read with interest.</p> + +<p>The incidents of the story are, in a large measure, drawn from real life. +Her own experience, that of her sister, and events which had come within +her actual knowledge, are the materials which she used. +<span class="pagebreak" title="271"> </span><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a> + These served her +purpose as well as, if not better than, any she could have invented. The +only work of her imagination is the manner in which she grouped them +together to form her plot. The story is, briefly, as follows: Maria, the +heroine, whose home-life seems to be a description of the interior of the +Wollstonecraft household, marries to secure her freedom, rather than from +affection for her lover, as was probably the case with “poor Bess.” Her +husband, who even in the days of courtship had been a dissolute rascal, +but hypocrite enough to conceal the fact, throws off his mask after +marriage. He speculates rashly, drinks, and indulges in every low vice. +All this she bears until he, calculating upon her endurance, seeks to +sell her to a friend, that her dishonor may be his gain financially. Then +he learns that he has gone too far. She flies from his house, to which +she refuses, on any consideration, to return. All attempts to bring her +back having failed, he, by a successful stratagem, seizes her as she is +on her way to Dover with her child, and, taking possession of the latter, +has his wife confined in an insane asylum. Here, after days of horror, +Maria succeeds in softening the heart of her keeper, Jemima by name, and +through her makes the acquaintance of Henry Darnford, a young man who, +like her, has been made a prisoner under the false charge of lunacy. +Jemima’s friendship is so completely won that she allows these two +companions in misery to see much of each other. She even tells them her +story, which, as a picture of degradation, equals that of some of Defoe’s +heroines. Darnford then tells his, and the reader at once recognizes in +him another Imlay. Finally, by a lucky accident the two +<span class="pagebreak" title="272"> </span><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a> + prisoners make +their escape, and Jemima accompanies them. The latter part of the story +consists of sketches and the barest outlines; but these indicate the +succession of its events and its conclusion. Maria and Darnford live +together as husband and wife in London. The former believes that she is +right in so doing, and cares nothing for the condemnation of society. She +endures neglect and contumely because she is supported by confidence in +the rectitude of her conduct. Her husband now has her lover tried for +adultery and seduction, and in his absence Maria undertakes his defence. +Her separation from her husband is the consequence, but her fortune is +thrown into chancery. She refuses to leave Darnford, but he, after a few +years, during which she has borne him two children, proves unfaithful. In +her despair, she attempts to commit suicide, but fails. When +consciousness and reason return, she resolves to live for her child.</p> + +<p>“Maria” is a story with a purpose. Its aim is the reformation of the +evils which result from the established relations of the sexes. Certain +rights are to be vindicated by a full exposition of the wrongs which +their absence causes. Mary wished, as her Preface sets forth, to exhibit +the misery and oppression peculiar to women, that arise out of the +partial laws and customs of society. “Maria,” in fact, was to be a +forcible proof of the necessity of those social changes which she had +urged in the “Vindication of the Rights of Women.” In the career of the +heroine the wrongs women suffer from matrimonial despotism and cruelty +are demonstrated; while that of Jemima shows how impossible it is for +poor or degraded women to find +<span class="pagebreak" title="273"> </span><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a> + employment. The principal interest in the +book arises from the fact that in it Mary explains more definitely than +she had in any previous work, her views about the laws and restrictions +of matrimony. Otherwise the principles laid down in it do not differ from +those which she had already stated in print. Her justification of Maria’s +conduct is in reality a declaration of her belief that cruelty, +depravity, and infidelity in a man are sufficient reasons for his wife to +separate herself from him, this separation requiring no legal permit; and +that a pure honest love sanctifies the union of two people which may not +have been confirmed by a civil or religious ceremony. The following +passage is a partial statement of these views, which proved very +exasperating to her contemporaries. It is the advice given to Maria, +after her flight, by a friendly uncle:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The marriage state is certainly that in which women, generally +speaking, can be most useful; but I am far from thinking that a +woman, once married, ought to consider the engagement as +indissoluble (especially if there be no children to reward her for +sacrificing her feelings) in case her husband merits neither her +love nor esteem. Esteem will often supply the place of love, and +prevent a woman from being wretched, though it may not make her +happy. The magnitude of a sacrifice ought always to bear some +proportion to the utility in view; and for a woman to live with a +man for whom she can cherish neither affection nor esteem, or even +be of any use to him, excepting in the light of a housekeeper, is +an abjectness of condition, the enduring of which no concurrence of +circumstances can ever make a duty in the sight of God or just men. +If indeed she submits to it merely to be maintained in idleness, +she has no right to complain bitterly of her fate; or to act, as a +person of independent character might, as if she had a title to +disregard general rules.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="274"> </span><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a> +“But the misfortune is, that many women only submit in appearance, +and forfeit their own respect to secure their reputation in the +world. The situation of a woman separated from her husband is +undoubtedly very different from that of a man who has left his +wife. He, with lordly dignity, has shaken off a clog; and the +allowing her food and raiment is thought sufficient to secure his +reputation from taint. And, should she have been inconsiderate, he +will be celebrated for his generosity and forbearance. Such is the +respect paid to the master-key of property! A woman, on the +contrary, resigning what is termed her natural protector (though he +never was so but in name), is despised and shunned for asserting +the independence of mind distinctive of a rational being, and +spurning at slavery.”</p></div> + +<p>The incidents selected by Mary to prove her case are, it must be +admitted, disagreeable, and the minor details too frequently revolting. +The stories of Maria, Darnford, and Jemima are records of shame, crime, +and human bestiality little less unpleasant than the realism of a Zola. +It is an astonishing production, even for an age when Fielding and +Smollett were not considered coarse. But, as was the case in the “Rights +of Women,” this plainness of speech was due not to a delight in impurity +and uncleanness for their own sakes, but to Mary’s certainty that by the +proper use of subjects vile in themselves, she could best establish +principles of purity. Whatever may be thought of her moral creed and of +her manner of promulgating it, no reader of her books can deny her the +respect which her courage and sincerity evoke. One may mistrust the +mission of a Savonarola, and yet admire his inexorable adherence to it. +Mary Wollstonecraft’s faith in, and devotion to, the doctrines she +preached was as +<span class="pagebreak" title="275"> </span><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a> + firm and unflinching as those of any religiously +inspired prophet.</p> + +<p>This story gives little indication of literary merit. The style is +stilted, and there is no attempt at delineation of character. It is +wholly without dramatic action; for this, Mary explains, would have +interfered with her main object. But then its straightforward statement +of facts, by concentrating the attention upon them, adds very strongly to +the impression they produce. Maria is as complete a departure from the +conventional heroine of the day, as, at a later period, Charlotte +Brontë’s Rochester was from the heroes of contemporary novelists. And the +book contains at least one description which should find a place here. +This is the account Maria gives of a visit she makes to her country home +a few years after her marriage and realization of its bitterness, and is +really a record of the sentiments awakened in her when she visited +Beverly, her early home, just before she left England for Sweden. The +passage, in its contrast to the oppressive narrative which it interrupts, +is as refreshing as a cool sea-breeze after the suffocating sirocco of +the desert:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“This was the first time I had visited my native village since my +marriage. But with what different emotions did I return from the +busy world, with a heavy weight of experience benumbing my +imagination, to scenes that whispered recollections of joy and hope +most eloquently to my heart! The first scent of the wild-flowers +from the heath thrilled through my veins, awakening every sense to +pleasure. The icy hand of despair seemed to be removed from my +bosom; and, forgetting my husband, the nurtured visions of a +romantic mind, bursting on me with all their +<span class="pagebreak" title="276"> </span><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a> + original wildness and +gay exuberance, were again hailed as sweet realities. I forgot, +with equal facility, that I ever felt sorrow or knew care in the +country; while a transient rainbow stole athwart the cloudy sky of +despondency. The picturesque forms of several favorite trees, and +the porches of rude cottages, with their smiling hedges, were +recognized with the gladsome playfulness of childish vivacity. I +could have kissed the chickens that pecked on the common; and +longed to pat the cows, and frolic with the dogs that sported on +it. I gazed with delight on the wind-mill, and thought it lucky +that it should be in motion at the moment I passed by: and entering +the dear green lane which led directly to the village, the sound of +the well-known rookery gave that sentimental tinge to the varying +sensations of my active soul, which only served to heighten the +lustre of the luxuriant scenery. But spying, as I advanced, the +spire peeping over the withered tops of the aged elms that composed +the rookery, my thoughts flew immediately to the church-yard; and +tears of affection, such was the effect of my imagination, bedewed +my mother’s grave! Sorrow gave place to devotional feelings. I +wandered through the church in fancy as I used sometimes to do on a +Saturday evening. I recollected with what fervor I addressed the +God of my youth; and once more with rapturous love looked above my +sorrows to the Father of nature. I pause, feeling forcibly all the +emotions I am describing; and (reminded, as I register my sorrows, +of the sublime calm I have felt when, in some tremendous solitude, +my soul rested on itself, and seemed to fill the universe) I +insensibly breathe softly, hushing every wayward emotion, as if +fearing to sully with a sigh a contentment so ecstatic.”</p></div> + +<p>“Maria” seemed to many of its readers an unanswerable proof of the charge +of immorality brought against its authoress. Mrs. West, in her “Letters +to a Young Man,” pointed to it as evidence of Mary’s unfitness for the +world beyond the grave. The +<span class="pagebreak" title="277"> </span><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a> + “Biographical Dictionary” undoubtedly +referred to it when it declared that much of the four volumes of Mary’s +posthumous writings “had better been suppressed, as ill calculated to +excite sympathy for one who seems to have rioted in sentiments alike +repugnant to religion, sense, and decency.” Modern readers have been +kinder. The following is Miss Mathilde Blind’s criticism, which, though a +little too enthusiastic perhaps, shows a keen appreciation of the +redeeming merits of the book:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“For originality of invention, tragic incident, and a certain fiery +eloquence of style, this is certainly the most remarkable and +mature of her works, although one may object that for a novel the +moral purpose is far too obvious, the manner too generalized, and +many of the situations revolting to the taste of a modern reader. +But, with all its faults, it is a production that, in the +implacable truth with which it lays open the festering sores of +society, in the unshrinking courage with which it drags into the +light of day the wrongs the feeble have to suffer at the hands of +the strong, in the fiery enthusiasm with which it lifts up its +voice for the voiceless outcasts, may be said to resemble ‘Les +Misérables,’ by Victor Hugo.”</p></div> + +<p>The other contents of these four volumes are as follows: a series of +lessons in spelling and reading, which, because prepared especially for +her “unfortunate child,” Fanny Imlay, are an interesting relic; the +“Letters on the French Nation,” mentioned in a previous chapter; a +fragment and list of proposed “Letters on the Management of Infants;” +several letters to Mr. Johnson, the most important of which have been +already given; the “Cave of Fancy,” an Oriental tale, as Godwin calls +<span class="pagebreak" title="278"> </span><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a> + +it,—the story of an old philosopher who lives in a desolate sea-coast +district and there seeks to educate a child, saved from a shipwreck, by +means of the spirits under his command (the few chapters Godwin thought +proper to print were written in 1787, and then put aside, never to be +finished); an “Essay on Poetry, and Our Relish for the Beauties of +Nature,” a short discussion of the difference between the poetry of the +ancients, who recorded their own impressions from nature, and that of the +moderns, who are too apt to express sentiments borrowed from books (this +essay was published in the “Monthly Magazine” for April, 1797); and +finally, to conclude the list of contents, the book contains some “Hints” +which were to have been incorporated in the second part of the “Rights of +Women” which Mary intended to write.</p> + +<p>These fragments and works are intrinsically of small value. The “Cave of +Fancy” contains an interesting definition of sensibility, in which Mary, +perhaps unconsciously, gives an excellent analysis of her own sensitive +nature. This quality, the old sage says, is the</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“result of acute senses, finely fashioned nerves, which vibrate at +the slightest touch, and convey such clear intelligence to the +brain, that it does not require to be arranged by the judgment. +Such persons instantly enter into the character of others, and +instinctively discern what will give pain to every human being; +their own feelings are so varied that they seem to contain in +themselves not only all the passions of the species, but their +various modifications. Exquisite pain and pleasure is their +portion; nature wears for them a different aspect than is displayed +to common mortals. One moment it is a paradise: all is beautiful; a +cloud arises, an emotion +<span class="pagebreak" title="279"> </span><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a> + receives a sudden damp, darkness invades +the sky, and the world is an unweeded garden.”</p></div> + +<p>Of the “Hints,” one on a subject which has of late years been very +eloquently discussed is valuable as demonstrating her opinion of the +relation of religion to morals. It is as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Few can walk alone. The staff of Christianity is the necessary +support of human weakness. An acquaintance with the nature of man +and virtue, with just sentiments on the attributes, would be +sufficient, without a voice from heaven, to lead some to virtue, +but not the mob.”</p></div> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="280"> </span><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p class="center">RETROSPECTIVE.</p> + +<p class="center">1794-1796.</p> + + +<p>Mary’s torture of suspense was now over. The reaction from it would +probably have been serious, if she had not had the distraction of work. +Activity was, as it had often been before, the tonic which restored her +to comparative health. She had no money, and Fanny, despite Imlay’s +promises, was entirely dependent upon her. Her exertions to maintain +herself and her child obliged her to stifle at least the expression of +misery. One of her last outbursts of grief found utterance in a letter to +Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who in France had been the witness of her +happiness. Shortly after her final farewell to Imlay, she wrote to this +friend:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">London</span>, Jan. 26, 1796. +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Though I have not heard from you, I should have +written to you, convinced of your friendship, could I have told you +anything of myself that could have afforded you pleasure. I am +unhappy. I have been treated with unkindness, and even cruelty, by +the person from whom I had every reason to expect affection. I +write to you with an agitated hand. I cannot be more explicit. I +value your good opinion, and you know how to feel for me. I looked +for something like happiness in the discharge of my relative +duties, and the heart on which I leaned has pierced mine to the +quick. I have not +<span class="pagebreak" title="281"> </span><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a> + been used well, and live but for my child; for I +am weary of myself. I still think of settling in France, because I +wish to leave my little girl there. I have been very ill, have +taken some desperate steps; but I am now writing for independence. +I wish I had no other evil to complain of than the necessity of +providing for myself and my child. Do not mistake me. Mr. Imlay +would be glad to supply all my pecuniary wants; but unless he +returns to himself, I would perish first. Pardon the incoherence of +my style. I have put off writing to you from time to time, because +I could not write calmly. Pray write to me. I will not fail, I was +going to say, when I have anything good to tell you. But for me +there is nothing good in store. My heart is broken! I am yours, +etc.,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Imlay. +</p></div> + +<p>Outwardly she became much calmer. She resumed her old tasks; Mr. Johnson +now, as ever, practically befriending her by providing her with work. She +had nothing so much at heart as her child’s interests, and these seemed +to demand her abjuration of solitude and her return to social life. Her +existence externally was, save for the presence of Fanny, exactly the +same as it had been before her departure for France. Another minor change +was that she was now known as Mrs. Imlay. Imlay had asked her to retain +his name; and to prevent the awkwardness and misunderstandings that +otherwise would have arisen, she consented to do so.</p> + +<p>During this period she had held but little communication with her family. +The coolness between her sisters and herself had, from no fault of hers, +developed into positive anger. Their ill-will, which had begun some years +previous, had been stimulated by her comparative silence during her +residence abroad. She had really written to them often, but it was +impossible at +<span class="pagebreak" title="282"> </span><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a> + that time for letters not to miscarry. Those which she +sent by private opportunities reached them, and they contain proofs of +her unremitting and affectionate solicitude for them. Always accustomed +to help them out of difficulties, she worried over what she heard of +their circumstances, and while her hands were, so to speak, tied, she +made plans to contribute to their future comforts. These letters were not +given in the order of their date, that they might not interrupt the +narrative of the Imlay episode. They may more appropriately be quoted +here. The following was written to Everina about a month before Fanny’s +birth:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="dateline"> + +<span class="smcap">Havre</span>, March 10, 1794. +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Girl</span>,—It is extremely uncomfortable to write to you thus +without expecting, or even daring to ask for an answer, lest I +should involve others in my difficulties, and make them suffer for +protecting me. The French are at present so full of suspicion that +had a letter of James’s, imprudently sent to me, been opened, I +would not have answered for the consequence. I have just sent off a +great part of my manuscripts, which Miss Williams would fain have +had me burn, following her example; and to tell you the truth, my +life would not have been worth much had they been found. It is +impossible for you to have any idea of the impression the sad +scenes I have witnessed have left on my mind. The climate of France +is uncommonly fine, the country pleasant, and there is a degree of +ease and even simplicity in the manners of the common people which +attaches me to them. Still death and misery, in every shape of +terror, haunt this devoted country. I certainly am glad that I came +to France, because I never could have had a just opinion of the +most extraordinary event that has ever been recorded, and I have +met with some uncommon instances of friendship, which my heart will +ever gratefully store up, and call to +<span class="pagebreak" title="283"> </span><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a> + mind when the remembrance is +keen of the anguish it has endured for its fellow-creatures at +large, for the unfortunate beings cut off around me, and the still +more unfortunate survivors. If any of the many letters I have +written have come to your hands or Eliza’s, you know that I am +safe, through the protection of an American, a most worthy man, who +joins to uncommon tenderness of heart and quickness of feeling, a +soundness of understanding and reasonableness of temper rarely to +be met with. Having been brought up in the interior parts of +America, he is a most natural, unaffected creature. I am with him +now at Havre, and shall remain there till circumstances point out +what is necessary for me to do. Before I left Paris, I attempted to +find the Laurents, whom I had several times previously sought for, +but to no purpose. And I am apt to think that it was very prudent +in them to leave a shop that had been the resort of the nobility.</p> + +<p>Where is poor Eliza? From a letter I received many, many months +after it was written, I suppose she is in Ireland. Will you write +to tell her that I most affectionately remember her, and still have +in my mind some places for her future comfort. Are you well? But +why do I ask? you cannot reply to me. This thought throws a damp on +my spirits whilst I write, and makes my letter rather an act of +duty than a present satisfaction. God bless you! I will write by +every opportunity, and am yours sincerely and affectionately,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p></div> + +<p>Another written from Paris, before Imlay had shown himself in his true +colors, is full of kindness, containing a suggestion that Everina should +join her in the spring:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, September, 1794. +</p> + +<p>As you must, my dear girl, have received several letters from me, +especially one I sent to London by Mr. Imlay, I avail myself of +this opportunity just to tell you that I am well and my child, and +to request you to write by this +<span class="pagebreak" title="284"> </span><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a> + occasion. I do, indeed, long to +hear from you and Eliza. I have at last got some tidings of +Charles, and as they must have reached you, I need not tell you +what sincere satisfaction they afforded me. I have also heard from +James; he too, talks of success, but in a querulous strain. What +are you doing? Where is Eliza? You have perhaps answered these +questions in answer to the letters I gave in charge to Mr. I.; but +fearing that some fatality might have prevented their reaching you, +let me repeat that I have written to you and to Eliza at least half +a score of times, pointing out different ways for you to write to +me, still have received no answers. I have again and again given +you an account of my present situation, and introduced Mr. Imlay to +you as a brother you would love and respect. I hope the time is not +very distant when we shall all meet. Do be very particular in your +account of yourself, and if you have not time to procure me a +letter from Eliza, tell me all about her. Tell me, too, what is +become of George, etc., etc. I only write to ask questions, and to +assure you that I am most affectionately yours,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary Imlay. +</p> + +<p>P. S. <i>September 20.</i>—Should peace take place this winter, what +say you to a voyage in the spring, if not to see your old +acquaintance, to see Paris, which I think you did not do justice +to. I want you to see my little girl, who is more like a boy. She +is ready to fly away with spirits, and has eloquent health in her +cheeks and eyes. She does not promise to be a beauty, but appears +wonderfully intelligent, and though I am sure she has her father’s +quick temper and feelings, her good-humor runs away with all the +credit of my good nursing....</p></div> + +<p>That she had discussed the question of her sisters’ prospects with Imlay +seems probable from the fact that while he was in London alone, in +November, 1794, he wrote very affectionately to Eliza, saying,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="285"> </span><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a> +“... We shall both of us continue to cherish feelings of +tenderness for you, and a recollection of your unpleasant +situation, and we shall also endeavor to alleviate its distress by +all the means in our power. The present state of our fortune is +rather [word omitted]. However, you must know your sister too well, +and I am sure you judge of that knowledge too favorably, to suppose +that whenever she has it in her power she will not apply some +specific aid to promote your happiness. I shall always be most +happy to receive your letters; but as I shall most likely leave +England the beginning of next week, I will thank you to let me hear +from you as soon as convenient, and tell me ingenuously in what way +I can serve you in any manner or respect....”</p></div> + +<p>But all Mary’s efforts to be kind could not soften their resentment. On +the contrary, it was still further increased by the step she took in +their regard on her return to England in the same year. When in France +she had gladly suggested Everina’s joining her there; but in London, +after her discovery of Imlay’s change of feeling, she naturally shrank +from receiving her or Eliza into her house. Her sorrow was too sacred to +be exposed to their gaze. She was brave enough to tell them not to come +to her, a course of action that few in her place would have had the +courage to pursue. In giving them her reasons for this new determination, +she of course told them but half the truth. To Everina she wrote:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="dateline"> +April 27, 1795. +</p> + +<p>When you hear, my dear Everina, that I have been in London near a +fortnight without writing to you or Eliza, you will perhaps accuse +me of insensibility; for I shall not lay any stress on my not being +well in consequence of a violent cold I caught during the time I +was nursing, but tell you that I put off writing because I was at a +loss +<span class="pagebreak" title="286"> </span><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a> + what I could do to render Eliza’s situation more comfortable. +I instantly gave Jones ten pounds to send, for a very obvious +reason, in his own name to my father, and could send her a trifle +of this kind immediately, were a temporary assistance necessary. I +believe I told you that Mr. Imlay had not a fortune when I first +knew him; since that he has entered into very extensive plans which +promise a degree of success, though not equal to the first +prospect. When a sufficient sum is actually realized, I know he +will give me for you and Eliza five or six hundred pounds, or more +if he can. In what way could this be of the most use to you? I am +above concealing my sentiments, though I have boggled at uttering +them. It would give me sincere pleasure to be situated near you +both. I cannot yet say where I shall determine to spend the rest of +my life; but I do not wish to have a third person in the house with +me; my domestic happiness would perhaps be interrupted, without my +being of much use to Eliza. This is not a hastily formed opinion, +nor is it in consequence of my present attachment, yet I am obliged +now to express it because it appears to me that you have formed +some such expectation for Eliza. You may wound me by remarking on +my determination, still I know on what principle I act, and +therefore you can only judge for yourself. I have not heard from +Charles for a great while. By writing to me immediately you would +relieve me from considerable anxiety. Mrs. Imlay, No. 26 Charlotte +Street, Rathbone Place.</p> + +<p class="yours"> +Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="signature">Mary. +</p></div> + +<p>Two days later she wrote to this effect to Mrs. Bishop. Both letters are +almost word for word the same, so that it would be useless to give the +second. It was too much for Eliza’s inflammable temper. All her worst +feelings were stirred by what she considered an insult. The kindness of +years was in a moment +<span class="pagebreak" title="287"> </span><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a> + effaced from her memory. Her indignation was +probably fanned into fiercer fury by her disappointment. From a few words +she wrote to Everina it seems as if both had been relying upon Mary for +the realization of certain “goodly prospects.” She returned Mary’s letter +without a word, but to Everina she wrote;—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have enclosed this famous letter to the author of the ‘Rights of +Women,’ without any reflection. She shall never hear from <i>Poor +Bess</i> again. Remember, I am fixed as my misery, and nothing can +change my present plan. This letter has so strangely agitated me +that I know not what I say, but this I feel and know, that if you +value my existence you will comply with my requisition [that is, to +find her a situation in Ireland where she, Everina, then was], for +I am positive I will never torture our amiable friend in Charlotte +Street. Is not this a good spring, my dear girl? At least poor Bess +can say it is a fruitful one. Alas, poor Bess!”</p></div> + +<p>It seemed to be Mary’s fate to prove the truth of the saying, that if to +him that hath, it shall be given, so also from him that hath not, shall +it be taken away. Just as she realized that Imlay’s love was lost +forever, Eliza’s cruel, silent answer to her letter came to tell her it +would be useless to turn to her sisters for sympathy. They failed to do +justice to her heart, but she bore them no resentment. In one of her last +letters to Imlay, she reminds him that when she went to Sweden she had +asked him to attend to the wants of her father and sisters, a request +which he had ignored. The anger she excited in them, however, was never +entirely appeased, and from that time until her death, she heard but +little of them, and saw still less.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="288"> </span><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a> +But, though deserted by those nearest to her, her friends rallied round +her. She was joyfully re-welcomed to the literary society which she had +before frequented. She was not treated as an outcast, because people +resolutely refused to believe the truth about her connection with Imlay. +She was far from encouraging them in this. Godwin says in her desire to +be honest she went so far as to explain the true state of the case to a +man whom she knew to be the most inveterate tale-bearer in London, and +who would be sure to repeat what she told him. But it was of no avail. +Her personal attractions and cleverness predisposed friends in her favor. +In order to retain her society and also to silence any scruples that +might arise, they held her to be an injured wife, as indeed she really +was, and not a deserted mistress. A few turned from her coldly; but those +who eagerly reopened their doors to her were in the majority. One old +friend who failed at this time, when his friendship would have been most +valued, was Fuseli. Knowles has published a note in which Mary reproaches +the artist for his want of sympathy. It reads as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>When I returned from France I visited you, sir, but finding myself +after my late journey in a very different situation, I vainly +imagined you would have called upon me. I simply tell you what I +thought, yet I write not at present to comment on your conduct or +to expostulate. I have long ceased to expect kindness or affection +from any human creature, and would fain tear from my heart its +treacherous sympathies. I am alone. The injustice, without alluding +to hopes blasted in the bud, which I have endured, wounding my +bosom, have set my thoughts adrift into an ocean of painful +conjecture. I ask impatiently +<span class="pagebreak" title="289"> </span><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a> + what and where is truth? I have been +treated brutally, but I daily labor to remember that I still have +the duty of a mother to fulfil.</p> + +<p>I have written more than I intended,—for I only meant to request +you to return my letters: I wish to have them, and it must be the +same to you. Adieu!</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p></div> + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="290"> </span><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p class="center">WILLIAM GODWIN.</p> + + +<p>William Godwin was one of those with whom Mary renewed her acquaintance. +The impression they now made on each other was very different from that +which they had received in the days when she was still known as Mrs. +Wollstonecraft. Since he was no less famous than she, and since it was +his good fortune to make the last year of her life happy, and by his love +to compensate her for her first wretched experience, a brief sketch of +his life, his character, and his work is here necessary. It is only by +knowing what manner of man he was, and what standard of conduct he +deduced from his philosophy, that his relations to her can be fairly +understood.</p> + +<p>William Godwin, the seventh child of thirteen, was the son of a +Dissenting minister, and was born March 3, 1756, at <a name="c290" id="c290"></a><a class="correction" title="Usual spelling is 'Wisbech'" href="#tn290">Wisbeach</a>, +Cambridgeshire. He came on both sides of respectable middle-class +families. His father’s father and brother had both been clergymen, the +one a Methodist preacher, the other a Dissenter. His father was a man of +but little learning, whose strongest feeling was disapprobation of the +Church of England, and whose “creed was so puritanical that he considered +the fondling of a cat a profanation of the Lord’s day.” Mrs. Godwin in +her earlier years was gay, too much so for the wife of a minister, some +people +<span class="pagebreak" title="291"> </span><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a> + thought, but after her husband’s death she joined a Methodistical +sect, and her piety in the end grew into fanaticism. A Miss Godwin, a +cousin, who lived with the family, had perhaps the greatest influence +over William Godwin when he was a mere child. She was not without +literary culture, and through her he learnt something of books. But her +religious principles were severely Calvinistic, and these she impressed +upon him at the same time.</p> + +<p>His first school-mistress was an old woman, who was concerned chiefly +with his soul, and who gave him, before he had completed his eighth year, +an intimate knowledge of the Bible. The inevitable consequence of this +training was that religion became his first thought. Thanks to his +cousin, however, and to his natural cleverness and ambition, he was saved +from bigotry by his interest in wider subjects, though they were for many +years secondary considerations. From an early age he had, as he says of +himself, developed an insatiable curiosity and love of distinction. One +of his later tutors was Mr. Samuel Newton, an Independent minister and a +follower of Sandeman, “a celebrated north country apostle, who, after +Calvin had damned ninety-nine in a hundred of mankind, has contrived a +scheme for damning ninety-nine in a hundred of the followers of Calvin.” +Godwin remained some years with him, and was so far influenced by his +doctrines, that when, later, he sought admission into Homerton Academy, a +Dissenting institution, he was refused, because he seemed to the +authorities to show signs of Sandemanianism. But he had no difficulty in +entering Hoxton College; and here, in his twenty-third year, he +<span class="pagebreak" title="292"> </span><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a> + finished +his religious and secular education. During these years his leading +inspiration had been a thirst after knowledge and truth.</p> + +<p>This was in 1778. Upon leaving college he began his career as minister, +but he was never very successful, and before long his religious views +were much modified. His search for truth led him in a direction in which +he had least expected to go. In 1781, when he was fulfilling the duties +of his profession at Stowmarket, he began to read the French +philosophers, and by them his faith in Christianity was seriously shaken. +1783 was the last year in which he appeared in the pulpit. He gave up the +office and went to London, where he supported himself by writing. In the +course of a short time he dropped the title of Reverend and emancipated +himself entirely from his old religious associations.</p> + +<p>His first literary work was the “Life of Lord Chatham,” and this was +followed by a defence of the coalition of 1783. He then obtained regular +employment on the “English Review,” published by Murray in Fleet Street, +wrote several novels, and became a contributor to the “Political Herald.” +He was entirely dependent upon his writings, which fact accounts for the +variety displayed in them. His chief interest was, however, in politics. +He was a Liberal of the most pronounced type, and his articles soon +attracted the attention of the Whigs. His services to that party were +considered so valuable that when the above-mentioned paper perished, Fox, +through Sheridan, proposed to Godwin that he should edit it, the whole +expense to be paid from a fund set aside for just such purposes. But +Godwin declined. By accepting he would have sacrificed his independence +<span class="pagebreak" title="293"> </span><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a> + +and have become their mouthpiece, and he was not willing to sell himself. +He seems at one time to have been ambitious to be a Member of Parliament, +and records with evident satisfaction Sheridan’s remark to him: “You +ought to be in Parliament.” But his integrity again proved a +stumbling-block. He could not reconcile himself to the subterfuges which +Whigs as well as Tories silently countenanced. Honesty was his besetting +quality quite as much as it was Mary’s. He was unfit to take an active +part in politics; his sphere of work was speculative.</p> + +<p>He was the foremost among the devoted adherents in England of Rousseau, +Helvetius, and the other Frenchmen of their school. He was one of the +“French Revolutionists,” so called because of their sympathy with the +French apostles of liberty and equality; and at their meetings he met +such men as Price, Holcroft, Earl Stanhope, Horne Tooke, Geddes, all of +whom considered themselves fortunate in having his co-operation. Thomas +Paine was one of his intimate acquaintances; and the “Rights of Man” was +submitted to him, to receive his somewhat qualified praise, before it was +published. He was one of the leading spirits in developing the radicalism +of his time, and thus in preparing the way for that of the present day; +and the influence of his writings over men of his and the next generation +was enormous. Indeed, it can hardly now be measured, since much which he +wrote, being unsigned and published in papers and periodicals, has been +lost.</p> + +<p>He was always on the alert in political matters, ready to seize every +opportunity to do good and to promote the cause of freedom. He was, in a +word, +<span class="pagebreak" title="294"> </span><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a> + one of that large army of pilgrims whose ambition is to “make +whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight.” In 1791 he wrote an +anonymous letter to Fox, in which he advanced the sentiments to which he +later gave expression in his “Political Justice,” his principal work. In +his autobiographical notes he explains:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Mr. Fox, in the debate on the bill for giving a new constitution +to Canada, had said that he would not be the man to propose the +abolition of a House of Lords in a country where such a power was +already established; but as little would he be the man to recommend +the introduction of such a power where it was not. This was by no +means the only public indication he had shown how deeply he had +drank of the spirit of the French Revolution. The object of the +above-mentioned letters [that is, his own to Fox, and one written +by Holcroft to Sheridan] was to excite these two illustrious men to +persevere gravely and inflexibly in the career on which they had +entered. I was strongly impressed with the sentiment that in the +then existing circumstances of England and of Europe, great and +happy improvements might be achieved under such auspices without +anarchy and confusion. I believed that important changes must +arise, and I was inexpressibly anxious that such changes should be +effected under the conduct of the best and most competent leaders.”</p></div> + +<p>This brief note explains at once the two leading doctrines of his +philosophy: the necessity of change, and the equal importance of +moderation in effecting it. His political creed was, paradoxical as this +may seem, the outcome of his religious education. He had long since given +up the actual faith in which he was born and trained; after going through +successive stages of Sandemanianism, Deism, and Socinianism, he had, in +1787, become a “complete unbeliever;” but he never +<span class="pagebreak" title="295"> </span><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a> + entirely outlived its +influence. This was of a twofold nature. It taught him to question the +sanctity of established institutions, and it crushed in him, even if it +did not wholly eradicate, strong passion and emotional demonstration. No +man in England was as thorough a radical as he. Paine’s or Holcroft’s +conceptions of human freedom were like forms of slavery compared to his +broad, exhaustive theories. But, on the other hand, there never was a +more earnest advocate of moderation. Burke and the French royalists could +not have been more eloquent opponents of violent measures of reform than +he was. Towards the end of the last century it was easier for a +Dissenter, who had already overthrown one barrier, than for the orthodox, +to rebel against existing social and political laws and customs. From the +belief that freedom from the authority of the Church of England was +necessary to true piety, it was but a step to the larger faith that +freedom from the restraints of government and society was indispensable +to virtue. Godwin, after he ceased to be a religious, became a political +and social Dissenter. In his zeal for the liberty of humanity, he +contended for nothing less than the destruction of all human laws. French +Republicans demanded the simplest possible form of government. But +Godwin, outstripping them, declared there should be none whatsoever. “It +may seem strange,” Mrs. Shelley writes, “that any one should, in the +sincerity of his heart, believe that no vice could exist with perfect +freedom, but my father did; it was the very basis of his system, the very +keystone of the arch of justice, by which he desired to knit together the +whole human family.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="296"> </span><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a> +His ultra-radicalism led him to some wise and reasonable, and other +strange and startling conclusions, and these he set before the public in +his “Political Justice,” the first book he published under his own name. +It appeared in 1793, and immediately created a great sensation. It must +be ranked as one of the principal factors in the development of English +thought. A short explanation of the doctrines embodied in it will throw +important light on his subsequent relations to Mary, as well as on his +own character. The foundation of the arguments he advances in this book +is his belief in the efficacy of reason in the individual as a guide to +conduct. He thought that, if each human being were free to act as he +chose, he would be sure to act for the best; for, according to him, +instincts do not exist. He makes no allowance for the influence of the +past in forming the present, ignoring the laws of heredity. A man’s +character is formed by the nature of his surroundings. Virtue and vice +are the result not of innate tendencies, but of external circumstances. +When these are perfected, evil will necessarily disappear from the world. +He had so successfully subordinated his own emotions, that in his +philosophical system he calmly ignores passion as a mainspring of human +activity. This is exemplified by the rule he lays down for the regulation +of a man’s conduct to his fellow-beings. He must always measure their +respective worth, and not the strength of his affection for them, even if +the individuals concerned be his near relations. Supposing, for example, +he had to choose between saving the life of a Fénelon and that of a +chambermaid, he must select the former +<span class="pagebreak" title="297"> </span><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a> + because of his superior talents, +even though the latter should be his mother or his wife. Affections are +to be forgotten in the calculations of reason. Godwin’s faith in the +supremacy of the intellect was not lessened because he was forced to +admit that men often do not act reasonably. This is, he explains, because +they are without knowledge of the absolute truth. Show them what is true +or right, and all, even the most abandoned criminal, will give up what is +false or wrong. Logic is the means by which the regeneration of mankind +is to be effected. Reason is the dynamite by which the monopoly of rank +is to be shattered. “Could Godwin,” Leslie Stephen very cleverly says, +“have caught Pitt, or George III., or Mrs. Brownrigg, and subjected them +to a Socratic cross-examination, he could have restored them to the paths +of virtue, as he would have corrected an error in a little boy’s sums.”</p> + +<p>Men, Godwin taught, can never know the truth so long as human laws exist; +because when subject to any control, good, bad, or indifferent, they are +not free to reason, and hence their actions are deprived of their only +legitimate inspiration. Arguing from these premises, his belief in the +necessity of the abolition of all forms of government, political and +social, and his discouragement of the acquirement of habits, were +perfectly logical. Had he confined himself to general terms in expressing +his convictions, his conclusions would not have been so startling. +Englishmen were becoming accustomed to theories of reform. But always +just and uncompromising, he unhesitatingly defined particular instances +by which he illustrated the truth of his teaching, thus making the ends +he hoped +<span class="pagebreak" title="298"> </span><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a> + to achieve clearer to his readers. He boldly advanced the +substitution of an appeal to reason for punishment in the treatment of +criminals, and this at a time when such a doctrine was considered +treason. He declared that any article of property justly belongs to those +who most want it, “or to whom the possession of it will be most +beneficial.” But his objection to the marriage law seemed the most +glaringly immoral part of his philosophy. He assailed theoretically an +institution for which Mary Wollstonecraft had practically shown her +disapprobation. His reasoning in this regard is curious, and reveals the +little importance he attached to passion. He disapproved of the marriage +tie because he thought that two people who are bound together by it are +not at liberty to follow the dictates of their own minds, and hence are +not acting in accordance with pure reason. Free love or a system of +voluntary divorce would be less immoral, because in either of these cases +men and women would be self-ruled, and therefore could be relied upon to +do what is right. Besides, according to his ideal of justice in the +matter of property, a man or a woman belongs to whomsoever most needs him +or her, irrespective of any relations already formed. It follows +naturally that the children born in a community where these ideas are +adopted are to be educated by the state, and must not be subjected to +rules or discipline, but taught from the beginning to regulate their +conduct by the light of reason. Godwin, like so many other philosophers +of his times, based his arguments upon abstract principles, and failed to +seek concrete proofs. He built up a structure beautiful in theory, but +impossible in real life until man +<span class="pagebreak" title="299"> </span><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a> + develops into a very much higher order +of being. An enthusiast, despite his calmness, he looked forward to the +time when death would be an evil of the past, and when no new men would +be born into the world. He believed that the day would come when “there +will be no war, no crimes, no administration of justice, as it is called, +and no government.” There will be “neither disease, anguish, melancholy, +nor resentment. Every man will seek with ineffable ardor the good of +all.” Human optimism could go no farther.</p> + +<p>It is not surprising that his book made a stir in the political world. +None of the Revolutionists had delivered themselves of such +ultra-revolutionary sentiments. Men had been accused of high treason for +much more moderate views. Perhaps it was their very extravagance that +saved him, though he accounted for it in another way. “I have +frequently,” Mrs. Shelley explains, “heard my father say that ‘Political +Justice’ escaped prosecution from the reason that it appeared in a form +too expensive for general acquisition. Pitt observed, when the question +was debated in the Privy Council, that ‘a three-guinea book could never +do much harm among those who had not three shillings to spare.’” Godwin +purposely published his work in this expensive form because he knew that +by so doing he would keep it from the multitude, whose passions he would +have been the last to arouse or to stimulate. He only wished it to be +studied by men too enlightened to encourage abrupt innovation. <i>Festina +lente</i> was his motto. The success of the book, however, went beyond his +expectations and perhaps his intentions. Three editions were issued in as +many +<span class="pagebreak" title="300"> </span><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a> + years. Among the class of readers to whom he immediately appealed, +the verdict passed upon it varied. Dr. Priestley thought it very +original, and that it would probably prove useful, though its fundamental +principles were too pure to be practical. Horne Tooke pronounced it a bad +book, calculated to do harm. The Rev. Samuel Newton’s vigorous +disapproval of it caused a final breach between Godwin and his old tutor. +As a rule, the Liberal party accepted it as the work of inspiration, and +the conservative condemned it as the outcome of atheism and political +rebellion. When Godwin, after its publication, made a trip into +Warwickshire to stay with Dr. Parr, he found that his fame had preceded +him. He was known to the reading public in the counties as well as in the +capital, and he was everywhere received with curiosity and kindness. To +no one whom he met was he a stranger.</p> + +<p>His novel, “Caleb Williams,” established his literary reputation. Its +success almost realized Mrs. Inchbald’s prediction that “fine ladies, +milliners, mantua-makers, and boarding-school girls will love to tremble +over it, and that men of taste and judgment will admire the superior +talents, the <i>incessant</i> energy of mind you have evinced.” He was at this +time one of the most conspicuous and most talked-about men in London. He +counted among his friends and acquaintances all the distinguished men and +women of the day; among whom he was in great demand, notwithstanding the +fact that he talked neither much nor well, and that not even the most +brilliant conversation could prevent his taking short naps when in +company. But he was extremely fond of social pleasures. His philosophy +had +<span class="pagebreak" title="301"> </span><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a> + made him neither an ascetic nor an anchorite. He worked for only +three or four hours each day; and the rest of the time was given up to +reading, to visiting, and to the theatre, he being particularly attracted +to the latter form of amusement. His reading was as omnivorous as that of +Lord Macaulay. Metaphysics, poetry, novels, were all grist for his mill. +This general interest saved him from becoming that greatest of all bores, +a man with but one idea.</p> + +<p>He was as cold in his conduct as in his philosophy. He maintained in the +various relations of life an imperturbable calmness. But it was not that +of a Goethe, who knows how to harmonize passion and intellect; it was +that of a man in whom the former is an unknown quantity. He was always +methodical in his work. Great as his interest in his subject might be, +his ardor was held within bounds. There were no long vigils spent +wrestling with thought, or days and weeks passed alone and locked in his +study that nothing might interfere with the flow of ideas, unless, as +happened occasionally, he was working against time. He wrote from nine +till one, and then, when he found his brain confused by this amount of +labor, he readily reduced the number of his working hours. Literary +composition was undertaken by him with the same placidity with which +another man might devote himself to book-keeping. His moral code was +characterized by the same cool calculation. He had early decided that +usefulness to his fellow-creatures was the only thing which made life +worth living. It is doubtful whether any other human being would have set +about fulfilling this object as he did. He writes of himself:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="302"> </span><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a> +“No man could be more desirous than I was of adopting a practice +conformable to my principles, as far as I could do so without +affording reasonable ground of offence to any other person. I was +anxious not to spend a penny on myself which I did not imagine +calculated to render me a more capable servant of the public; and +as I was averse to the expenditure of money, so I was not inclined +to earn it but in small portions. I considered the disbursement of +money for the benefit of others as a very difficult problem, which +he who has the possession of it is bound to solve in the best +manner he can, but which affords small encouragement to any one to +acquire it who has it not. The plan, therefore, I resolved on was +leisure,—a leisure to be employed in deliberate composition, and +in the pursuit of such attainments as afforded me the most promise +to render me useful. For years I scarcely did anything at home or +abroad without the inquiry being uppermost in my mind whether I +could be better employed for general benefit.”</p></div> + +<p>He was equally uncompromising in his friendships. His feelings towards +his friends were always ruled by his sense of justice. He was the first +to come forward with substantial help in their hour of need, but he was +also the first to tell them the truth, even though it might be +unpleasant, when he thought it his duty to do so. His unselfishness is +shown in his conduct during the famous state trials, in which Holcroft, +his most intimate friend, Horne Tooke, and several other highly prized +acquaintances, were accused of high treason. His boldly avowed +revolutionary principles made him a marked man, but he did all that was +in his power to defend them. He expressed in the columns of the “Morning +Chronicle” his unqualified opinion of the atrocity of the proceedings +against them; and throughout the trials he stood by the side of the +<span class="pagebreak" title="303"> </span><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a> + +prisoners, though by so doing he ran the risk of being arrested with +them. But if his friends asked his assistance when it did not seem to him +that they deserved it, he was as fearless in withholding it. A Jew +money-lender, John King by name, at whose house he dined frequently, was +arrested on some charge connected with his business. He appealed to +Godwin to appear in court and give evidence in his favor; whereupon the +latter wrote to him, not only declining, but forcibly explaining that he +declined because he could not conscientiously attest to his, the Jew’s, +moral character. There was no ill-will on his part, and he continued to +dine amicably with King. Engrossed as he was with his own work, he could +still find time to read a manuscript for Mrs. Inchbald, or a play for +Holcroft, but when he did so, he was very plain-spoken in pointing out +their faults. He incurred the former’s displeasure by correcting some +grammatical errors in a story she had submitted to him, and he deeply +wounded the latter by his unmerciful abuse of the “Lawyer.” “You come +with a sledge-hammer of criticism,” Holcroft said to him on this +occasion, “describe it [the play] as absolutely contemptible, tell me it +must be damned, or, if it should escape, that it cannot survive five +nights.” Yet his affection for Holcroft was unwavering. The conflicting +results to which his honesty sometimes led are strikingly set forth in +his relations to Thomas Cooper, a distant cousin, who at one time lived +with him as pupil. He studied attentively the boy’s character, and did +his utmost to treat him gently and kindly, but, on the other hand, he +expressed in his presence his opinion +<span class="pagebreak" title="304"> </span><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a> + of him in language harsh enough to +justify his pupil’s indignation. It is more than probable that this same +frankness was one of the causes of his many quarrels—<i>démêlés</i>, he calls +them in his diary—with his most devoted friends. His sincerity, however, +invariably triumphed, and these were always mere passing storms.</p> + +<p>He was passionless even in relations which usually arouse warmth in the +most phlegmatic natures. He was a good son and brother, yet so +undemonstrative that his manner passed at times for indifference. Though +in beliefs and sentiments he had drifted far apart from his mother, he +never let this fact interfere with his filial respect and duty; and her +long and many letters to him are proofs of his unfailing kindness for +her. Men more affectionate than he might have rebelled against her +maternal sermons. He never did. But the good lady had occasion to object +to his coldness. In one of her letters she asks him why he cannot call +her “Honored Mother” as well as “Madam,” by which title he addressed her, +adding naïvely that “it would be full as agreeable.” He was always +willing to look out for the welfare of his brothers, two of whom were +somewhat disreputable characters, and of his sister Hannah, who lived in +London. With the latter he was on particularly friendly terms, and saw +much of her, yet Mrs. Sothren—the cousin who had been such a help to him +in his early years—reproves him for writing of her as “Miss Godwin” +instead of “sister,” and fears lest this may be a sign that his brotherly +affection, once great, had abated.</p> + +<p>He seems at one time to have thought that he could +<span class="pagebreak" title="305"> </span><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a> + provide himself with +a wife in the same manner in which he managed his other affairs. He +imagined that in contracting such a relationship, love was no more +indispensable than a heroine was to the interest of a novel. He proposed +that his sister Hannah should choose a wife for him; and she, in all +seriousness, set about complying with his request. In a spirit as +business-like as his, she decided upon a friend, calculated she was sure +to meet his requirements, and then sent him a list of her merits, much as +one might write a recommendation of a governess or a cook. Her letter on +the subject is so unique, and it is so impossible that it should have +been written to any one but Godwin, that it is well worth while quoting +part of it. She sent him a note of introduction to the lady in question, +who, she writes,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... is in every sense formed to make one of your disposition +really happy. She has a pleasing voice, with which she accompanies +her musical instrument with judgment. She has an easy politeness in +her manners, neither free nor reserved. She is a good housekeeper +and a good economist, and yet of a generous disposition. As to her +internal accomplishments, I have reason to speak still more highly +of them; good sense without vanity, a penetrating judgment without +a disposition to satire, good nature and humility, with about as +much religion as my William likes, struck me with a wish that she +was my William’s wife. I have no certain knowledge of her fortune, +but that I leave for you to learn. I only know her father has been +many years engaged in an employment which brings in £500 or £600 +per annum, and Miss Gay is his only child.”</p></div> + +<p>Not even this report could kindle the philosophical William into warmth. +He waited many months before +<span class="pagebreak" title="306"> </span><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a> + he called upon this paragon, and when he +finally saw her, he failed to be enraptured according to Hannah’s +expectations. “Poor Miss Gay,” as the Godwins subsequently called her, +never received a second visit.</p> + +<p>When it came to the point he found that something depended upon himself, +and that he could not be led by his sister’s choice, satisfactory as it +might be. That he should for a moment have supposed such a step possible +is the more surprising, because he afterwards showed himself to be not +only fond of the society of women, but unusually nice and discriminating +in selecting it. His women friends were all famous either for beauty or +cleverness. Before his marriage he was on terms of intimacy with Mrs. +Inchbald, with Amelia Alderson, soon to become Mrs. Opie, and with the +beautiful Mrs. Reveley, whose interest in politics and desire for +knowledge were to him greater charms than her personal attractions. +Notwithstanding his unimpassioned nature, William Godwin was never a +philosophical Aloysius of Gonzaga, to voluntarily blind himself to +feminine beauty.</p> + +<p>Indeed, there must have been beneath all his coldness a substratum of +warm and strong feeling. He possessed to a rare degree the power of +making friends and of giving sympathy to his fellow-beings. The man who +can command the affection of others, and enter into their emotions, must +know how to feel himself. It was for more than his intellect that he was +loved by men like Holcroft and Josiah Wedgwood, like Coleridge and Lamb, +and that he was sought after by beautiful and clever women. His talents +alone +<span class="pagebreak" title="307"> </span><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a> + would not have won the hearts of young men, and yet he invariably +made friends with those who came under his influence. Willis Webb and +Thomas Cooper, who, in his earlier London life, lived with him as pupils, +not only respected but loved him, and gave him their confidence. In a +later generation, youthful enthusiasts, of whom Bulwer and Shelley are +the most notable, looked upon Godwin as the chief apostle in the cause of +humanity, and, beginning by admiring him as a philosopher, finished by +loving him as a man. Those who know him only through his works or by +reading his biography, cannot altogether understand how it was that he +thus attracted and held the affections of so many men and women. But the +truth is that, while Godwin was naturally a man of an uncommonly cold +temperament, much of his emotional insensibility was artificially +produced by his puritanical training. He was perfectly honest when in his +philosophy of life he banished the passions from his calculations. He was +so thoroughly schooled in stifling emotion and its expression, that he +thought himself incapable of passional excitement, and, reasoning from +his own experience, failed to appreciate its importance in shaping the +course of human affairs. But it may be that people brought into personal +contact with him felt that beneath his passive exterior there was at +least the possibility of passion. Mary Wollstonecraft was the first to +develop this possibility into certainty, and to arouse Godwin to a +consciousness of its existence. She revolutionized not only his life, but +his social doctrines. Through her he discovered the flaw in his +arguments, and then honestly confessed his +<span class="pagebreak" title="308"> </span><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a> + mistake to the world. A few +years after her death he wrote in the Introduction to “St. Leon:”—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“... I think it necessary to say on the present occasion ... that +for more than four years I have been anxious for opportunity and +leisure to modify some of the earlier chapters of that work +[“Political Justice”] in conformity to the sentiments inculcated in +this. Not that I see cause to make any change respecting the +principle of justice, or anything else fundamental to the system +there delivered; but that I apprehend domestic and private +affections inseparable from the nature of man, and from what may be +styled the culture of the heart, and am fully persuaded that they +are not incompatible with a profound and active sense of justice in +the mind of him that cherishes them.”</p></div> + +<p>When Godwin met Mary, after her desertion by Imlay, he was forty years of +age, in the full prime and vigor of his intellect, and in the height of +his fame. She was thirty-seven, only three years his junior. She was the +cleverest woman in England. Her talents had matured, and grief had made +her strong. She was strikingly handsome. She had, by her struggles and +sufferings, acquired what she calls in her “Rights of Women” a +<i>physionomie</i>. Even Mrs. Inchbald and Mrs. Reveley, hard as life had gone +with them, had never approached the depth of misery which she had +fathomed. The eventful meeting took place in the month of January, 1796, +shortly after Mary had returned from her travels in the North. Miss Hayes +invited Godwin to come to her house one evening when Mary expected to be +there. He accepted her invitation without hesitation, but evinced no +great eagerness.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="309"> </span><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a> +“I will do myself the pleasure of waiting on you Friday,” he +wrote, “and shall be happy to meet Mrs. Wollstonecraft, of whom I +know not that I ever said a word of harm, and who has frequently +amused herself with depreciating me. But I trust you acknowledge in +me the reality of a habit upon which I pique myself, that I speak +of the qualities of others uninfluenced by personal considerations, +and am as prompt to do justice to an enemy as to a friend.”</p></div> + +<p>The meeting was more propitious than their first some few years earlier +had been. Godwin had, with others, heard her sad story, and felt sorry +for her, and perhaps admired her for her bold practical application of +his principles. This was better than the positive dislike with which she +had once inspired him. But still his feeling for her was negative. He +would probably never have made an effort to see her again. What Mary +thought of him has not been recorded. But she must have been favorably +impressed, for when she came back to London from her trip to Berkshire, +she called upon him in his lodgings in Somer’s Town. He, in the mean +time, had read her “Letters from Norway,” and they had given him a higher +respect for her talents. The inaccuracies and the roughness of style +which had displeased him in her earlier works had disappeared. There was +no fault to be found with the book, but much to be said in its praise. +Once she had pleased him intellectually, he began to discover her other +attractions, and to enjoy being with her. Her conversation, instead of +wearying him, as it once had, interested him. He no longer thought her +forward and conceited, but succumbed to her personal charms. How great +these were can be learned from the following description of +<span class="pagebreak" title="310"> </span><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a> + her +character written by Mrs. Shelley, who obtained her knowledge from her +mother’s intimate acquaintances. She says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Mary Wollstonecraft was one of those beings who appear once +perhaps in a generation to gild humanity with a ray which no +difference of opinion nor chance of circumstance can cloud. Her +genius was undeniable. She had been bred in the hard school of +adversity, and having experienced the sorrows entailed on the poor +and the oppressed, an earnest desire was kindled in her to diminish +these sorrows. Her sound understanding, her intrepidity, her +sensibility and eager sympathy, stamped all her writings with force +and truth, and endowed them with a tender charm which enchants +while it enlightens. She was one whom all loved who had ever seen +her. Many years are passed since that beating heart has been laid +in the cold, still grave, but no one who has ever seen her speaks +of her without enthusiastic veneration. Did she witness an act of +injustice, she came boldly forward to point it out and induce its +reparation; was there discord between friends or relatives, she +stood by the weaker party, and by her earnest appeals and +kindliness awoke latent affection, and healed all wounds. ‘Open as +day to melting charity,’ with a heart brimful of generous +affection, yearning for sympathy, she had fallen on evil days, and +her life had been one course of hardship, poverty, lonely struggle, +and bitter disappointment.</p> + +<p>“Godwin met her at the moment when she was deeply depressed by the +ingratitude of one utterly incapable of appreciating her +excellence; who had stolen her heart, and availed himself of her +excessive and thoughtless generosity and lofty independence of +character, to plunge her in difficulties and then desert her. +Difficulties, worldly difficulties, indeed, she set at naught, +compared with her despair of good, her confidence betrayed, and +when once she could conquer the misery that clung to her heart, she +struggled cheerfully to meet the poverty that was her inheritance, +and to do her duty by her darling child.”</p></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="311"> </span><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a> +Godwin now began to see her frequently. She had established herself in +rooms in Gumming Street, Pentonville, where she was very near him. They +met often at the houses of Miss Hayes, Mr. Johnson, and other mutual +friends. Her interests and tastes were the same as his; and this fact he +recognized more fully as time went on. It is probably because his +thoughts were so much with her, that the work he accomplished during this +year was comparatively small. None of the other women he knew and admired +had made him act spontaneously and forget to reason out his conduct as +she did. He really had at one time thought of making Amelia Alderson his +wife, but this, for some unrecorded reason, proving an impossibility, he +calmly dismissed the suggestion from his mind and continued the friend he +had been before. Had Mrs. Reveley been single he might have allowed +himself to love her, as he did later, when he was a widower and she a +widow. But so long as her husband was alive, and he knew he had no right +to do so, he, with perfect equanimity, regulated his affection to suit +the circumstances. But he never reasoned either for or against his love +for Mary Wollstonecraft. It sprang from his heart, and it had grown into +a strong passion before he had paused to deliberate as to its +advisability.</p> + +<p>As for Mary, Godwin’s friendship coming just when it did was an +inestimable service. Never in all her life had she needed sympathy as she +did then. She was virtually alone. Her friends were kind, but their +kindness could not quite take the place of the individual love she +craved. Imlay had given it to her for a +<span class="pagebreak" title="312"> </span><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a> + while, and her short-lived +happiness with him made her present loneliness seem more unendurable. Her +separation from him really dated back to the time when she left Havre. +Her affection for him had been destroyed sooner than she thought because +she had struggled bravely to retain it for the sake of her child. The +gayety and many distractions of London life could not drown her heart’s +wretchedness. It was through Godwin that she became reconciled to +England, to life, and to herself. He revived her enthusiasm and renewed +her interest in the world and mankind; but above all he gave her that +special devotion without which she but half lived. In the restlessness +that followed her loss of Imlay’s love, she had resolved to make the tour +of Italy or Switzerland. Therefore when she had returned to London, +expecting it to be but a temporary resting-place, she had taken furnished +lodgings. “Now, however,” as Godwin says in his Memoirs, “she felt +herself reconciled to a longer abode in England, probably without exactly +knowing why this change had taken place in her mind.” She moved to other +rooms in the extremity of Somer’s Town, and filled them with the +furniture she had used in Store Street in the first days of her +prosperity, and which had since been packed away. The unpacking of this +furniture was with her what the removal of widows’ weeds is with other +women. Her first love had perished; but from it rose another stronger and +better, just as the ripening of autumn’s fruits follows the withering of +spring’s blossoms. She mastered the harvest-secret, learning the value of +that death which yields higher fruition.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="313"> </span><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a> +In July, Godwin left London and spent the month in Norfolk. Absence from +Mary made him realize more than he had hitherto done that she had become +indispensable to his happiness. She was constantly in his thoughts. The +more he meditated upon her, the more he appreciated her. There was less +pleasure in his excursion than in the meeting with her which followed it. +They were both glad to be together again; nor did they hesitate to make +their gladness evident. At the end of three weeks they had confessed to +each other that they could no longer live apart. Henceforward their lines +must be cast in the same places. Godwin’s story of their courtship is +eloquent in its simplicity. It is almost impossible to believe that it +was written by the author of “Political Justice.”</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The partiality we conceived for each other,” he explains, “was in +that mode which I have always regarded as the purest and most +refined style of love. It grew with equal advances in the mind of +each. It would have been impossible for the most minute observer to +have said who was before, and who was after. One sex did not take +the priority which long-established custom has awarded it, nor the +other overstep that delicacy which is so severely imposed. I am not +conscious that either party can assume to have been the agent or +the patient, the toil-spreader or the prey, in the affair. When, in +the course of things, the disclosure came, there was nothing, in a +manner, for either party to disclose to the other.... It was +friendship melting into love.”</p></div> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="314"> </span><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p class="center">LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE.</p> + +<p class="center">1796-1797.</p> + + +<p>Godwin and Mary did not at once marry. The former, in his “Political +Justice,” had frankly confessed to the world that he thought the existing +institution of marriage an evil. Mary had by her conduct avowed her +agreement with him. But their views in this connection having already +been fully stated need not be repeated. In omitting to seek legal +sanction to their union both were acting in perfect accord with their +standard of morality. Judged according to their motives, neither can be +accused of wrong-doing. Pure in their own eyes, they deserve to be so in +the world’s esteem. Their mistake consisted in their disregard of the +fact that, to preserve social order in the community, sacrifices are +required from the individual. They forgot—as Godwin, who was opposed to +sudden change, should not have forgotten—that laws made for men in +general cannot be arbitrarily altered to suit each man in particular.</p> + +<p>Godwin, strange to say, was ruled in this matter not only by principle, +but by sentiment. For the first time his emotions were stirred, and he +really loved. He was more awed by his passion than a more susceptible man +would have been. It seemed to him too sacred +<span class="pagebreak" title="315"> </span><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a> + to flaunt before the +public. “Nothing can be so ridiculous upon the face of it,” he says in +the story of their love, “or so contrary to the genuine march of +sentiment, as to require the overflowing of the soul to wait upon a +ceremony, and that which, wherever delicacy and imagination exist, is of +all things most sacredly private, to blow a trumpet before it, and to +record the moment when it has arrived at its climax.” Mary was anxious to +conceal, at least for a time, their new relationship. She was not ashamed +of it, for never, even when her actions seem most daring, did she swerve +from her ideas of right and wrong. But though, as a rule, people had +blinded themselves to the truth, some bitter things had been said about +her life with Imlay, and some friends had found it their duty to be +unkind. All that was unpleasant she had of course heard. One is always +sure to hear the evil spoken of one. A second offence against social +decrees would assuredly call forth redoubled discussion and increased +vituperation. The misery caused by her late experience was still vivid in +her memory. She was no less sensitive than she had been then, and she +shrank from a second scandal. She dreaded the world’s harshness, much as +a Tennyson might that of critics whom he knows to be immeasurably his +inferiors.</p> + +<p>The great change in their relations made little difference in their way +of living. Their determination to keep it secret would have been +sufficient to prevent any domestic innovations in the establishment of +either. But, in addition to this, Godwin had certain theories upon the +subject. Because his love was the outcome of strong feeling and not of +calm discussion, his +<span class="pagebreak" title="316"> </span><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a> + reliance upon reason, as the regulator of his +actions, did not cease. The habits of a life-time could not be so easily +broken. If he had not governed love in its growth, he at least ruled its +expression. It was necessary to decide upon a course of conduct for the +two lives now made one. At this juncture he was again the placid +philosopher. It had occurred to him, probably in the days when Hannah +Godwin was wife-hunting for him, or later, when Amelia Alderson met with +his good-will, that if husband and wife live on too intimate and familiar +terms, the chances are they will tire of each other very soon. When the +charm of novelty and uncertainty is removed, there is danger of satiety. +Whereas, if domestic pleasures can be combined with a little of the +formality which exists previous to marriage, all the advantages of the +married state are secured, while the monotony that too often kills +passion is avoided. Since he and Mary were to be really, if not legally, +man and wife, the time had come to test the truth of these ideas. The +plan he proposed was that they should be as independent of each other as +they had hitherto been, that the time spent together should not in any +way be restricted or regulated by stated hours, and that, in their +amusements and social intercourse, each should continue wholly free.</p> + +<p>Mary readily acquiesced, though such a suggestion would probably never +have originated with her. Her heart was too large and warm for doubts, +where love was concerned. She was the very opposite of Godwin in this +respect. She had the poetic rather than the philosophic temperament, and +when she loved it was with an intensity that made analysis of her +feelings +<span class="pagebreak" title="317"> </span><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a> + and their possible results out of the question. It is true that +in her “Rights of Women” she had shown that passion must inevitably lose +its first ardor, and that love between man and wife must in the course of +time become either friendship or indifference. But while she had reasoned +dispassionately in an abstract treatise, she had not been equally +temperate in the direction of her own affairs. Her love for Imlay had not +passed into the second stage, but his had deteriorated into indifference +very quickly. Godwin was, as she well knew, in every way unlike Imlay. +That she felt perfect confidence in him is seen by her willingness to +live with him. But still, sure as she was of his innate uprightness, when +he suggested to her means by which to insure the continuance of his love, +she was only too glad to adopt them. She had learned, if not to be +prudent herself, at least to comply with the prudence of others.</p> + +<p>It would not be well perhaps for every one to follow their plan of life, +but with them it succeeded admirably. Godwin remained in his lodgings, +Mary in hers. He continued his old routine of work, made his usual round +of visits, and went by himself, as of yore, to the theatre, and to the +dinners and suppers of his friends. Mary pursued uninterruptedly her +studies and writings, conducted her domestic concerns in the same way, +and sought her amusements singly, sometimes meeting Godwin quite +unexpectedly at the play or in private houses. His visits to her were as +irregular in point of time as they had previously been, and when one +wanted to make sure of the other for a certain hour or at a certain +place, a regular engagement had to be made. The thoroughness with which +they maintained their +<span class="pagebreak" title="318"> </span><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a> + independence is illustrated by the following note +which Mary sent to Godwin one morning, about a month before their +marriage:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Did I not see you, friend Godwin, at the theatre last night? I +thought I met a smile, but you went out without looking around.”</p></div> + +<p>She was not mistaken. Godwin has recorded in his diary that he was at the +theatre on that particular occasion. They not only did not inform each +other of their movements, but they even considered it unnecessary to +speak when they met by chance. Godwin’s realization of his theory further +confirmed him in the belief that in this particular he was right. When he +wrote “St. Leon,” he is supposed to have intended Marguerite, the +heroine, for the picture of his wife. In that novel, in his account of +the hero’s domestic affairs, he indirectly testifies to the merits of his +own home-life. St. Leon says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“We had each our separate pursuits, whether for the cultivation of +our minds or the promotion of our mutual interests. Separation gave +us respectability in each other’s eyes, while it prepared us to +enter with fresh ardor into society and conversation.”</p></div> + +<p>The peculiar terms on which they lived had at least one advantage. They +were the means of giving to later generations a clear insight into their +domestic relations. For, as the two occupied separate lodgings and were +apart during the greater part of the day, they often wrote to each other +concerning matters which people so united usually settle by word of +mouth. Godwin’s diary was a record of bare facts. +<span class="pagebreak" title="319"> </span><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a> + Mary never kept one. +There was no one else to describe their every-day life. This is exactly +what is accomplished by the notes which thus, while they are without +absolute merit, are of relative importance. They are really little +informal conversations on paper. To read them is like listening to some +one talking. They show how ready Mary was to enlist Godwin’s sympathy on +all occasions, small as well as great, and how equally ready he was to be +interested. It is always a surprise to find that the children of light +are, despite their high mission, made of the same stuff as other men. It +is therefore strange to hear these two apostles of reform talking much in +the same strain as ordinary mortals, making engagements to dine on beef, +groaning over petty ailments and miseries, and greeting each other in +true <i>bon compagnon</i> style. Mary’s notes, like her letters to Imlay, are +essentially feminine. Short as they are, they are full of womanly +tenderness and weakness. Sometimes she wrote to invite Godwin to dinner +or to notify him that she intended calling at his apartments, at the same +time sending a bulletin of her health and of her plans for the day. At +others she seems to have written simply because she could not wait, even +a few hours, to make a desired explanation, to express an irrepressible +complaint, or to acquaint him with some domestic <i>contretemps</i>. The +following are fair specimens of this correspondence:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Jan. 5, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Thursday morning.</i>—I was very glad that you were not with me last +night, for I could not rouse myself. To say the truth, I was unwell +and out of spirits; I am better to-day.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="320"> </span><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a> +I shall take a walk before dinner, and expect to see you this +evening, <i>chez moi</i>, about eight, if you have no objection.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Jan. 12, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Thursday morning.</i>—I am better this morning, but it snows so +incessantly that I do not know how I shall be able to keep my +appointment this evening. What say you? But you have no petticoats +to dangle in the snow. Poor women,—how they are beset with plagues +within and without!</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Jan. 13, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Friday morning.</i>—I believe I ought to beg your pardon for talking +at you last night, though it was in sheer simplicity of heart, and +I have been asking myself why it so happened. Faith and troth, it +was because there was nobody else worth attacking, or who could +converse. C. had wearied me before you entered. But be assured, +when I find a man that has anything in him, I shall let my +every-day dish alone.</p> + +<p>I send you the “Emma” for Mrs. Inchbald, supposing you have not +altered your mind.</p> + +<p>Bring Holcroft’s remarks with you, and Ben Jonson.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Jan. 27, 1797. +</p> + +<p>I am not well this morning. It is very tormenting to be thus, +neither sick nor well, especially as you scarcely imagine me +indisposed.</p> + +<p>Women are certainly great fools; but nature made them so. I have +not time or paper, else I could draw an inference, not very +illustrative of your chance-medley system. But I spare the +moth-like opinion; there is room enough in the world, etc.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Feb. 3, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Friday morning.</i>—Mrs. Inchbald was gone into the city to dinner, +so I had to measure back my steps.</p> + +<p>To-day I find myself better, and, as the weather is fine, +<span class="pagebreak" title="321"> </span><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a> + mean to +call on Dr. Fordyce. I shall leave home about two o’clock. I tell +you so, lest you should call after that hour. I do not think of +visiting you in my way, because I seem inclined to be industrious. +I believe I feel affectionate to you in proportion as I am in +spirits; still I must not dally with you, when I can do anything +else. There is a civil speech for you to chew.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Feb. 22, 1797. +</p> + +<p>Everina’s [her sister was at this time staying with her] cold is +still so bad, that unless pique urges her, she will not go out +to-day. For to-morrow I think I may venture to promise. I will +call, if possible, this morning. I know I must come before half +after one; but if you hear nothing more from me, you had better +come to my house this evening.</p> + +<p>Will you send the second volume of “Caleb,” and pray <i>lend</i> me a +bit of Indian-rubber. I have lost mine. Should you be obliged to +quit home before the hour I have mentioned, say. You will not +forget that we are to dine at four. I wish to be exact, because I +have promised to let Mary go and assist her brother this afternoon. +I have been tormented all this morning by puss, who has had four or +five fits. I could not conceive what occasioned them, and took care +that she should not be terrified. But she flew up my chimney, and +was so wild, that I thought it right to have her drowned. Fanny +imagines that she was sick and ran away.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +March 11, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Saturday morning.</i>—I must dine to-day with Mrs. Christie, and +mean to return as early as I can; they seldom dine before five.</p> + +<p>Should you call and find only books, have a little patience, and I +shall be with you.</p> + +<p>Do not give Fanny a cake to-day. I am afraid she stayed too long +with you yesterday.</p> + +<p>You are to dine with me on Monday, remember; the salt beef awaits +your pleasure.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> + +<span class="pagebreak" title="322"> </span><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a> +March 17, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Friday morning.</i>—And so, you goose, you lost your supper, and +deserved to lose it, for not desiring Mary to give you some beef.</p> + +<p>There is a good boy, write me a review of Vaurien. I remember there +is an absurd attack on a Methodist preacher because he denied the +eternity of future punishments.</p> + +<p>I should be glad to have the Italian, were it possible, this week, +because I promised to let Johnson have it this week.</p></div> + +<p>These notes speak for themselves.</p> + +<p>There was now a decided improvement in the lives of both Mary and Godwin. +The latter, under the new influence, was humanized. Domestic ties, which +he had never known before, softened him. He hereafter appears not only as +the passionless philosopher, but as the loving husband and the +affectionate father, little Fanny Imlay being treated by him as if she +had been his own child. His love transformed him from a mere student of +men to a man like all others. He who had always been, so far as his +emotional nature was concerned, apart from the rest of his kind, was, in +the end, one with them. From being a sceptic on the subject, he was +converted into a firm believer in human passion. With the zeal usually +attributed to converts, he became as warm in his praise of the emotions +as he had before been indifferent in his estimation of them. This change +is greatly to Mary’s credit. As, in his Introduction to “St. Leon” he +made his public recantation of faith, so in the course of the story he +elaborated his new doctrines, and, by so doing, paid tribute to the woman +who had wrought the wonder. His hero’s description +<span class="pagebreak" title="323"> </span><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"></a> + of married pleasures +being based on his own knowledge of them, he writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Now only it was that I tasted of perfect happiness. To judge from +my own experience in this situation, I should say that nature has +atoned for all the disasters and miseries she so copiously and +incessantly pours upon her sons by this one gift, the transcendent +enjoyment and nameless delights which, wherever the heart is pure +and the soul is refined, wait on the attachment of two persons of +opposite sexes.... It has been said to be a peculiar felicity for +any one to be praised by a man who is himself eminently a subject +of praise; how much happier to be prized and loved by a person +worthy of love. A man may be prized and valued by his friend; but +in how different a style of sentiment from the regard and +attachment that may reign in the bosom of his mistress or his +wife.... In every state we long for some fond bosom on which to +rest our weary head; some speaking eye with which to exchange the +glances of intelligence and affection. Then the soul warms and +expands itself; then it shuns the observation of every other +beholder; then it melts with feelings that are inexpressible, but +which the heart understands without the aid of words; then the eyes +swim with rapture, then the frame languishes with enjoyment; then +the soul burns with fire; then the two persons thus blest are no +longer two; distance vanishes, one thought animates, one mind +informs them. Thus love acts; thus it is ripened to perfection; +never does man feel himself so much alive, so truly ethereal, as +when, bursting the bonds of diffidence, uncertainty, and reserve, +he pours himself entire into the bosom of the woman he adores.”</p></div> + +<p>Mary was as much metamorphosed by her new circumstances as Godwin. Her +heart at rest, she grew gay and happy. She was at all times, even when +harassed with cares, thoughtful of other people. When +<span class="pagebreak" title="324"> </span><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"></a> + her own troubles +had ceased, her increased kindliness was shown in many little ways, which +unfortunately cannot be appreciated by posterity, but which made her, to +her contemporaries, a more than ever delightful companion and sympathetic +friend. “She had always possessed,” Godwin says of her, “in an +unparalleled degree the art of communicating happiness, and she was now +in the constant and unlimited exercise of it. She seemed to have attained +that situation which her disposition and character imperiously demanded, +but which she had never before attained; and her understanding and her +heart felt the benefit of it.” She never at any time tried to hide her +feelings, whatever these might be; therefore she did not disguise her +new-found happiness, though she gave no reason for its existence. It +revealed itself in her face, in her manners, and even in her +conversation. “The serenity of her countenance,” again to quote Godwin, +best of all authorities for this period of her life, “the increasing +sweetness of her manners, and that consciousness of enjoyment that seemed +ambitious that every one she saw should be happy as well as herself, were +matters of general observation to all her acquaintance.” Her beauty, +depending so much more upon expression than upon charm of coloring or +regularity of features, naturally developed rather than decreased with +years. Suffering and happiness had left their impress upon her face, +giving it the strength, the strange melancholy, and the tenderness which +characterize her portrait, painted by Opie about this time. Southey, who +was just then visiting London, bears witness to her striking personal +appearance. He wrote to his friend Cottle:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="325"> </span><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"></a> +“Of all the lions or <i>literati</i> I have seen here, Mary Imlay’s +countenance is the best, infinitely the best; the only fault in it +is an expression somewhat similar to what the prints of Horne Tooke +display,—an expression indicating superiority, not haughtiness, +not sarcasm in Mary Imlay, but still it is unpleasant. Her eyes are +light brown, and although the lid of one of them is affected by a +little paralysis, they are the most meaning I ever saw.”<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnnum">1</a></p></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><span class="label"><a href="#FNanchor_1_3">1</a></span> Mr. Kegan Paul, in the spring of 1884, showed the author of +this Life a lock of Mary Wollstonecraft’s hair. It is wonderfully soft in +texture, and in color a rich auburn, turning to gold in the sunlight.</p></div> +</div> + +<p>On March 29, 1797, after they had lived together happily and serenely for +seven months, Mary and Godwin were married. The marriage ceremony was +performed at old Saint Pancras Church, in London, and Mr. Marshal, their +mutual friend, and the clerk were the only witnesses. So unimportant did +it seem to Godwin, to whom reason was more binding than any conventional +form, that he never mentioned it in his diary, though in the latter he +kept a strict account of his daily actions. It meant as little to Mary as +it did to him, and she playfully alluded to the change, in one of her +notes written a day or two afterwards:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="dateline"> +March 31, 1797. +</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—I return you the volumes; will you get me the rest? I +have not perhaps given it as careful a reading as some of the +sentiments deserve.</p> + +<p>Pray send me by Mary, for my luncheon, a part of the supper you +announced to me last night, as I am to be a partaker of your +worldly goods, you know!</p></div> + +<p>They were induced to take this step, not by any dissatisfaction with the +nature of the connection they +<span class="pagebreak" title="326"> </span><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"></a> + had already formed, but by the fact that +Mary was soon to become a mother for the second time. Godwin explains +that “she was unwilling, and perhaps with reason, to incur that exclusion +from the society of many valuable and excellent individuals, which custom +awards in cases of this sort. I should have felt an extreme repugnance to +the having caused her such an inconvenience.” But probably another +equally strong motive was, that both had at heart the welfare of their +unborn child. In Godwin’s ideal state of society, illegitimacy would be +no disgrace. But men were very far from having attained it; and children +born of unmarried parents were still treated as if they were criminals. +Mary doubtlessly realized the bitterness in store for Fanny, through no +fault of her own, and was unwilling to bring another child into the world +to meet so cruel a fate. So long as their actions affected no one but +themselves, she and Godwin could plead a right to bid defiance to society +and its customs, since they were willing to bear the penalty; but once +they became responsible for a third life, they were no longer free +agents. The duties they would thereby incur were so many arguments for +compliance with social laws.</p> + +<p>At first they told no one of their marriage. Mrs. Shelley gives two +reasons for their silence. Godwin was very sensitive to criticism, +perhaps even more so than Mary. He confessed once to Holcroft: “Though I +certainly give myself credit for intellectual powers, yet I have a +failing which I have never been able to overcome. I am so cowed and cast +down by rude and unqualified assault, that for a time I am unable +<span class="pagebreak" title="327"> </span><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"></a> + to +recover.” This was true not only in connection with his literary work, +but with all his relations in life. He knew that severe comments would be +called forth by an act in direct contradiction to doctrines he had +emphatically preached. His adherents would condemn him as an apostate. +His enemies would accept his practical retraction of one of his theories +as a proof of the unsoundness of the rest. It required no little courage +to submit to such an ordeal. But the other motive for secrecy was more +urgent. Mary, after Imlay left her, was penniless. She resumed at once +her old tasks. But her expenses were greater than they had been, and her +free time less, since she had to provide for and take care of Fanny. +Besides, Imlay’s departure had caused certain money complications. Mr. +Johnson and other kind friends, however, were now, as always, ready to +help her out of pressing difficulties, and to assume the debts which she +could not meet. Godwin, who had made it a rule of life not to earn more +money than was absolutely necessary for his very small wants, and who had +never looked forward to maintaining a family, could not at once +contribute towards Mary’s support, or relieve her financial +embarrassments. The announcement of their marriage would be the signal +for her friends to cease giving her their aid, and she could not, as yet, +settle her affairs alone. This was the difficulty which forced them into +temporary silence.</p> + +<p>However, to secure the end for which they had married, long concealment +was impossible. Godwin applied to Mr. Thomas Wedgwood of Etruria for a +loan of £50, without giving him any explanation for +<span class="pagebreak" title="328"> </span><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"></a> + his request, though +he was sure, on account of his well-known economy and simple habits, it +would appear extraordinary. This sum enabled Mary to tide over her +present emergency, and the marriage was made public on the 6th of April, +a few days after the ceremony had been performed. One of the first to +whom Godwin told the news was Miss Hayes. This was but fair, since it was +under her auspices that they renewed their acquaintance to such good +purpose. His note is dated April 10:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“My fair neighbor desires me to announce to you a piece of news +which it is consonant to the regard which she and I entertain for +you, you should rather learn from us than from any other quarter. +She bids me remind you of the earnest way in which you pressed me +to prevail upon her to change her name, and she directs me to add +that it has happened to me, like many other disputants, to be +entrapped in my own toils; in short, that we found that there was +no way so obvious for her to drop the name of Imlay as to assume +the name of Godwin. Mrs. Godwin—who the devil is that?—will be +glad to see you at No. 29 Polygon, Somer’s Town, whenever you are +inclined to favor her with a call.”</p></div> + +<p>About ten days later he wrote to Mr. Wedgwood, and his letter confirms +Mrs. Shelley’s statement. His effort to prove that his conduct was not +inconsistent with his creed shows how keenly he felt the criticisms it +would evoke; and his demand for more money reveals the slender state of +the finances of husband and wife:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<span class="smcap">No. 7 Evesham Buildings, Somer’s Town</span>,<br /> +April 19, 1797. +</p> + +<p>You have by this time heard from B. Montague of my marriage. This +was the solution of my late application to +<span class="pagebreak" title="329"> </span><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></a> + you, which I promised +speedily to communicate. Some persons have found an inconsistency +between my practice in this instance and my doctrines. But I cannot +see it. The doctrine of my “Political Justice” is, that an +attachment in some degree permanent between two persons of opposite +sexes is right, but that marriage as practised in European +countries is wrong. I still adhere to that opinion. Nothing but a +regard for the happiness of the individual which I had no right to +injure could have induced me to submit to an institution which I +wish to see abolished, and which I would recommend to my fellow-men +never to practise but with the greatest caution. Having done what I +thought necessary for the peace and respectability of the +individual, I hold myself no otherwise bound than I was before the +ceremony took place.</p> + +<p>It is possible, however, that you will not see the subject in the +same light, and I perhaps went too far, when I presumed to suppose +that if you were acquainted with the nature of the case, you would +find it to be such as to make the interference I requested of you +appear reasonable. I trust you will not accuse me of duplicity in +having told you that it was not for myself that I wanted your +assistance. You will perceive that that remark was in reference to +the seeming inconsistency between my habits of economy and +independence, and the application in question.</p> + +<p>I can see no reason to doubt that, as we are both successful +authors, we shall be able by our literary exertions, though with no +other fortune, to maintain ourselves either separately or, which is +more desirable, jointly. The loan I requested of you was rendered +necessary by some complication in her pecuniary affairs, the +consequence of her former connection, the particulars of which you +have probably heard. Now that we have entered into a new mode of +living, which will probably be permanent, I find a further supply +of fifty pounds will be necessary to enable us to start fair. This +you shall afford us, if you feel perfectly assured of its +propriety; but if there be the smallest doubt in your mind, I shall +be much more gratified by your obeying that doubt, than superseding +it. I do not at +<span class="pagebreak" title="330"> </span><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"></a> + present feel inclined to remain long in any man’s +debt, not even in yours. As to the not having published our +marriage at first, I yielded in that to her feelings. Having +settled the principal point in conformity to her interests, I felt +inclined to leave all inferior matters to her disposal.</p> + +<p>We do not entirely cohabit.</p> + +<p class="signature"> +W. Godwin. +</p></div> + +<p>Strange to say, the announcement of their marriage did not produce quite +so satisfactory an effect as they had anticipated. Mary, notwithstanding +her frank protest, was still looked upon as Imlay’s wife. Her intimate +connection with Godwin had been very generally understood, but not +absolutely known, and hence it had not ostracized her socially. If +conjectures and comments were made, they were whispered, and not uttered +aloud. But the marriage had to be recognized, and the fact that Mary was +free to marry Godwin, though Imlay was alive, was an incontrovertible +proof that her relation to the latter had been illegal. People who had +been deaf to her statements could not ignore this formal demonstration of +their truth. Hitherto, their friendliness to her could not be construed +into approval of her unconventionality. But now, by continuing to visit +her and receive her at their houses, they would be countenancing an +offence against morality which the world ranks with the unpardonable +sins. They might temporize with their own consciences, but not with +public opinion. They were therefore in a dilemma, from which there was no +middle course of extrication. Thus forced to decisive measures, a number +of her friends felt obliged to forego all acquaintance with her. Two whom +she then lost, and whom she most deeply regretted, were Mrs. Siddons and +Mrs. +<span class="pagebreak" title="331"> </span><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></a> + Inchbald. In speaking of their secession, Godwin says: “Mrs. +Siddons, I am sure, regretted the necessity which she conceived to be +imposed on her by the peculiarity of her situation, to conform to the +rules I have described.” Mrs. Inchbald wept when she heard the news. +Godwin was one of her highly valued friends and admirers, and was a +constant visitor at her house. She feared, now he had a wife, his visits +would be less frequent. Her conduct on this occasion was so ungracious +that one wonders if her vanity were not more deeply wounded than her +moral sensibility. Her congratulations seem inspired by personal pique, +rather than by strong principle. She wrote and wished Godwin joy, and +then declared that she was so sure his new-found happiness would make him +forgetful of all other engagements, that she had invited some one else to +take his place at the theatre on a certain night when they had intended +going together. “If I have done wrong,” she told him, “when you next +marry, I will do differently.” Notwithstanding her note, Godwin thought +her friendship would stand the test to which he had put it, and both he +and Mary accompanied her on the appointed night. But Mrs. Inchbald was +very much in earnest, and did not hesitate to show her feelings. She +spoke to Mary in a way that Godwin later declared to be “base, cruel, and +insulting;” adding, “There were persons in the box who heard it, and they +thought as I do.” The breach thus made was never completely healed. Mr. +and Mrs. Twiss, at whose house Mary had hitherto been cordially welcomed, +also sacrificed her friendship to what, Godwin says, they were “silly +enough to think a proper etiquette.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="332"> </span><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></a> +But there still remained men and women of larger minds and hearts who +fully appreciated that Mary’s case was exceptional, and not to be judged +by ordinary standards. The majority of her acquaintances, knowing that +her intentions were pure, though her actions were opposed to accepted +ideals of purity, were brave enough to regulate their behavior to her by +their convictions. Beautiful Mrs. Reveley was as much moved as Mrs. +Inchbald when she heard the news of Godwin’s marriage, but her friendship +was formed in a finer mould. Mrs. Shelley says that “she feared to lose a +kind and constant friend; but becoming intimate with Mary Wollstonecraft, +she soon learnt to appreciate her virtues and to love her. She soon +found, as she told me in after days, that instead of losing one she had +secured two friends, unequalled, perhaps, in the world for genius, +single-heartedness, and nobleness of disposition, and a cordial +intercourse subsisted between them.” It was from Mrs. Reveley that Mrs. +Shelley obtained most of her information about her mother’s married life. +Men like Johnson, Basil Montague, Thomas Wedgwood, Horne Tooke, Thomas +Holcroft, did not of course allow the marriage to interfere with their +friendship. It is rather strange that Fuseli should have now been willing +enough to be civil. Marriage, in his opinion, had restored Mary to +respectability. “You have not, perhaps, heard,” he wrote to a friend, +“that the assertrix of female rights has given her hand to the +<i>balancier</i> of political justice.” He not only called on Mrs. Godwin, but +he dined with her, an experiment, however, which did not prove +pleasurable, for Horne Tooke, Curran, and Grattan were of the +<span class="pagebreak" title="333"> </span><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></a> + party, and +they discussed politics. Fuseli, who loved nothing better than to talk, +had never a chance to say a word. “I wonder you invited me to meet such +wretched company,” he exclaimed to Mary in disgust.</p> + +<p>Thomas Holcroft, one of the four men whom Godwin acknowledged to have +greatly influenced him, wrote them an enthusiastic letter of +congratulation. Addressing them both, he says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“From my very heart and soul I give you joy. I think you the most +extraordinary married pair in existence. May your happiness be as +pure as I firmly persuade myself it must be. I hope and expect to +see you both, and very soon. If you show coldness, or refuse me, +you will do injustice to a heart which, since it has really known +you, never for a moment felt cold to you.</p> + +<p>“I cannot be mistaken concerning the woman you have married. It is +Mrs. W. Your secrecy a little pains me. It tells me you do not yet +know me.”</p></div> + +<p>This latter paragraph is explained by the fact that Godwin, when he wrote +to inform Holcroft of his marriage, was so sure the latter would +understand whom he had chosen that he never mentioned Mary’s name. +Another friend who rejoiced in her new-found happiness was Mr. Archibald +Hamilton Rowan. But he was then living near Wilmington, Delaware, and the +news was long in reaching him. His letter of congratulation was, +strangely enough, written the very day on which Mary was buried.</p> + +<p>The announcement of this marriage was received in Norfolk by the Godwin +family with pleasure. Mrs. Godwin, poor old lady, thought that if her son +could +<span class="pagebreak" title="334"> </span><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></a> + thus alter his moral code, there was a greater chance of his being +converted from his spiritual backslidings. She wrote one of her long +letters, so curious because of their medley of pious sentiment and +prosaic realism, and wished Godwin and his wife happiness in her own name +and that of all his friends in her part of the country. Her good will to +Mary was practically expressed by an invitation to her house and a +present of eggs, together with an offer of a feather-bed. Her motherly +warning and advice to them was:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“My dears, whatever you do, do not make invitations and +entertainments. That was what hurt Jo. Live comfortable with one +another. The Hart of her husband safely trusts in her. I cannot +give you no better advice than out of Proverbs, the Prophets, and +New Testament. My best affections attend you both.”</p></div> + +<p>Mary’s family were not so cordial. Everina and Mrs. Bishop apparently +never quite forgave her for the letter she wrote after her return to +England with Imlay, and they disapproved of her marriage. They complained +that her strange course of conduct made it doubly difficult for them, as +her sisters, to find situations. When, shortly after the marriage, Godwin +went to stay a day or two at Etruria, Everina, who was then governess in +the Wedgwood household, would not at first come down to see him, and, as +far as can be judged from his letters, treated him very coolly throughout +his visit.</p> + +<p>Godwin and Mary now made their joint home in the Polygon, Somer’s Town. +But the former had his separate lodgings in the Evesham Buildings, where +he went every morning to work, and where he sometimes spent +<span class="pagebreak" title="335"> </span><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a> + the night. +They saw little, if any, more of each other than they had before, and +were as independent in their goings-out and comings-in. On the 8th of +April, when the news was just being spread, Mary wrote to Godwin, as if +to assure him that she, for her part, intended to discourage the least +change in their habits. She says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have just thought that it would be very pretty in you to call on +Johnson to-day. It would spare me some awkwardness, and please him; +and I want you to visit him often on a Tuesday. This is quite +disinterested, as I shall never be of the party. Do, you would +oblige me. But when I press anything, it is always with a true +wifish submission to your judgment and inclination. Remember to +leave the key of No. 25 with us, on account of the wine.”</p></div> + +<p>While Mary seconded Godwin in his domestic theories, there were times +when less independence would have pleased her better. She had been +obliged to fight the battle of life alone, and, when the occasion +required it, she was equal to meeting single-handed whatever difficulties +might arise. But instinctively she preferred to lean upon others for +protection and help. Godwin would never wittingly have been selfish or +cruel in withholding his assistance. But, as each had agreed to go his +and her own way, it no more occurred to him to interfere with what he +thought her duties, than it would have pleased him had she interfered +with his. She had consented to his proposition, and in accepting her +consent, he had not been wise enough to read between the lines. Much as +he loved Mary, he never seems to have really understood her. She had now +to take entire charge of matters which her friends had +<span class="pagebreak" title="336"> </span><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></a> + hitherto been +eager to attend to for her. They could not well come forward, once it had +become Godwin’s right to do what to them had been a privilege. Mary felt +their loss and his indifference, and frankly told him so:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I am not well to-day,” she wrote in one of their little +conversational notes, dated the 11th of April; “my spirits have +been harassed. Mary will tell you about the state of the sink, etc. +Do you know you plague me—a little—by not speaking more +determinately to the landlord, of whom I have a mean opinion. He +tires me by his pitiful way of doing everything. I like a man who +will say yes or no at once.”</p></div> + +<p>The trouble seems to have been not easily disposed of, for the same day +she wrote again, this time with some degree of temper:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I wish you would desire Mr. Marshal to call on me. Mr. Johnson or +somebody has always taken the disagreeable business of settling +with tradespeople off my hands. I am perhaps as unfit as yourself +to do it, and my time appears to me as valuable as that of other +persons accustomed to employ themselves. Things of this kind are +easily settled with money, I know; but I am tormented by the want +of money, and feel, to say the truth, as if I was not treated with +respect, owing to your desire not to be disturbed.”</p></div> + +<p>These were mere passing clouds over the bright horizon of their lives, +such as it is almost impossible for any two people living together in the +same relationship to escape. Both were sensitive, and each had certain +qualities peculiarly calculated to irritate the other. Mary was +quick-tempered and nervous. Godwin was cool and methodical. With Mary, +love was +<span class="pagebreak" title="337"> </span><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></a> + the first consideration; Godwin, who had lived alone for many +years, was ruled by habit. Their natures were so dissimilar, that +occasional interruptions to their peace were unavoidable. But these never +developed into serious warfare. They loved each other too honestly to +cherish ill-feeling. Godwin wrote to Mary one morning,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I am pained by the recollection of our conversation last night [of +the conversation there is unfortunately no record]. The sole +principle of conduct of which I am conscious in my behavior to you +has been in everything to study your happiness. I found a wounded +heart, and as that heart cast itself on me, it was my ambition to +heal it. Do not let me be wholly disappointed.</p> + +<p>“Let me have the relief of seeing you this morning. If I do not +call before you go out, call on me.”</p></div> + +<p>He was not disappointed. A reconciliatory interview must have taken +place, for on the very same day Mary wrote him this essentially friendly +note:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Fanny is delighted with the thought of dining with you. But I wish +you to eat your meat first, and let her come up with the pudding. I +shall probably knock at your door in my way to Opie’s; but should I +not find you, let me request you not to be too late this evening. +Do not give Fanny butter with her pudding.”</p></div> + +<p>“Ours was not an idle happiness, a paradise of selfish and transitory +pleasures,” Godwin asserts in referring to the months of their married +life. Mary never let her work come to a standstill. Idleness was a +failing unknown to her, nor had marriage, as has been seen, lessened the +necessity of industry. Indeed, it was now especially important that she +should exert her powers +<span class="pagebreak" title="338"> </span><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a> + of working to the utmost, which is probably the +reason that little remains to show as product of this period. Reviewing +and translating were still more profitable, because more certain, than +original writing; and her notes to Godwin prove by their allusions that +Johnson continued to keep her supplied with employment of this kind. She +had several larger schemes afoot, for the accomplishment of which nothing +was wanting but time. She proposed, among other things, to write a series +of letters on the management of infants. This was a subject to which in +earlier years she had given much attention, and her experience with her +own child had been a practical confirmation of conclusions then formed. +This was to have been followed by another series of books for the +instruction of children. The latter project was really the older of the +two. Her remarks on education in the “Rights of Women” make it a matter +of regret that she did not live to carry it out. But her chief literary +enterprise during the last year of her life was her story of “Maria; or, +The Wrongs of Woman.” Her interest in it as an almost personal narrative, +and her desire to make it a really good novel, were so great that she +wrote and rewrote parts of it many times. She devoted more hours to it +than would be supposed possible, judging from the rapidity with which her +other books were produced.</p> + +<p>But, however busy she might be, she was always at leisure to do good. +Business was never an excuse for her to decline the offices of humanity. +Everina was her guest during this year, and at a time, too, when it was +particularly inconvenient for her to have visitors. Her kindness also +revealed itself in many minor ways. +<span class="pagebreak" title="339"> </span><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></a> + When she had to choose between her +own pleasure and that of others, she was sure to decide in their favor. A +proof of her readiness to sacrifice herself in small matters is contained +in the following note, written to Godwin:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<i>Saturday morning</i>, May 21, 1797. +</p> + +<p>... Montague called on me this morning, that is, breakfasted with +me, and invited me to go with him and the Wedgwoods into the +country to-morrow and return the next day. As I love the country, +and think, with a poor mad woman I know, that there is God or +something very consolatory in the air, I should without hesitation +have accepted the invitation, but for my engagement with your +sister. To her even I should have made an apology, could I have +seen her, or rather have stated that the circumstance would not +occur again. As it is, I am afraid of wounding her feelings, +because an engagement often becomes important in proportion as it +has been anticipated. I began to write to ask your opinion +respecting the propriety of sending to her, and feel as I write +that I had better conquer my desire of contemplating +unsophisticated nature, than give her a moment’s pain.</p></div> + + + +<h2> +<span class="pagebreak" title="340"> </span><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></a> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p class="center">LAST MONTHS: DEATH.</p> + +<p class="center">1797.</p> + + +<p>During the month of June of this year, Godwin made a pleasure trip into +Staffordshire with Basil Montague. The two friends went in a carriage, +staying over night at the houses of different acquaintances, and were +absent for a little more than a fortnight. Godwin, while away, made his +usual concise entries in his diary, but to his wife he wrote long and +detailed accounts of his travels. The guide-book style of his letters is +somewhat redeemed by occasional outbursts of tenderness, pleasant to read +as evidences that he could give Mary the demonstrations of affection +which to her were so indispensable. By his playful messages to little +Fanny and his interest in his unborn child, it can be seen that, despite +his bachelor habits, domestic life had become very dear to him. Fatigue +and social engagements could not make him forget his promise to bring the +former a mug. “Tell her” [that is, Fanny], he writes, “I have not +forgotten her little mug, and that I shall choose her a very pretty one.” +And again, “Tell Fanny I have chosen a mug for her, and another for +Lucas. There is an F. on hers and an L. on his, shaped in an island of +flowers of green and orange-tawny alternately.” He warns Mary to be +careful of +<span class="pagebreak" title="341"> </span><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"></a> + herself, assuring her that he remembers at all times the +condition of her health, and wishes he could hear from moment to moment +how she feels. He and Montague, riding out early in the morning, recall +the important fact that it is the very hour at which “little Fanny is +going to plungity-plunge.” When Mary’s letters are accidentally detained +he is as worried and hurt as she would be under similar circumstances. +From Etruria he writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Another evening and no letter. This is scarcely kind. I reminded +you in time that it would be impossible to write to me after +Saturday, though it is not improbable you may not see me before the +Saturday following. What am I to think? How many possible accidents +will the anxiety of affection present to one’s thoughts! Not +serious ones, I hope; in that case I trust I should have heard. But +headaches, but sickness of the heart, a general loathing of life +and of me. Do not give place to this worst of diseases! The least I +can think is that you recollect me with less tenderness and +impatience than I reflect on you. There is a general sadness in the +sky; the clouds are shutting around me and seem depressed with +moisture; everything turns the soul to melancholy. Guess what my +feelings are when the most soothing and consolatory thought that +occurs is a temporary remission and oblivion in your affections.</p> + +<p>“I had scarcely finished the above when I received your letter +accompanying T. W.’s, which was delayed by an accident till after +the regular arrival of the post. I am not sorry to have put down my +feelings as they were.”</p></div> + +<p>But even his tenderness is regulated by his philosophy. The lover becomes +the philosopher quite unconsciously:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“One of the pleasures I promised myself in my excursion,” he writes +in another letter, “was to increase my +<span class="pagebreak" title="342"> </span><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"></a> + value in your estimation, +and I am not disappointed. What we possess without intermission, we +inevitably hold light; it is a refinement in voluptuousness to +submit to voluntary privations. Separation is the image of death, +but it is death stripped of all that is most tremendous, and his +dart purged of its deadly venom. I always thought Saint Paul’s +rule, that we should die daily, an exquisite Epicurean maxim. The +practice of it would give to life a double relish.”</p></div> + +<p>Imlay, too, had found absence a stimulus to love, but there was this +difference in what at first appears to be a similarity of opinion between +himself and Godwin: while the former sought it that he might not tire of +Mary, the latter hoped it would keep her from growing tired of him.</p> + +<p>Mary’s letters to her husband are full of the tender love which no woman +knew how to express as well as she did. They are not as passionate and +burning as those to Imlay, but they are sincerely and lovingly +affectionate, and reveal an ever increasing devotion and a calmer +happiness than that she had derived from her first union. Godwin, +fortunately, was able to appreciate them:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“You cannot imagine,” he tells her on the 10th of June, “how happy +your letter made me. No creature expresses, because no creature +feels, the tender affections so perfectly as you do; and, after all +one’s philosophy, it must be confessed that the knowledge that +there is some one that takes an interest in one’s happiness, +something like that which each man feels in his own, is extremely +gratifying. We love, as it were, to multiply the consciousness of +our existence, even at the hazard of what Montague described so +pathetically one night upon the New Road, of opening new avenues +for pain and misery to attack us.”</p></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="343"> </span><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"></a> +The letter to which he refers is probably the following, written two +days after his departure:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It was so kind and considerate in you to write sooner than I +expected, that I cannot help hoping you would be disappointed at +not receiving a greeting from me on your arrival at Etruria. If +your heart was in your mouth, as I felt, just now, at the sight of +your hand, you may kiss or shake hands with the letter, and imagine +with what affection it was written. If not, stand off, profane one!</p> + +<p>I was not quite well the day after you left me; but it is past, and +I am well and tranquil, excepting the disturbance produced by +Master William’s joy, who took it into his head to frisk a little +at being informed of your remembrance. I begin to love this little +creature, and to anticipate his birth as a fresh twist to a knot +which I do not wish to untie. Men are spoilt by frankness, I +believe, yet I must tell you that I love you better than I supposed +I did, when I promised to love you forever. And I will add what +will gratify your benevolence, if not your heart, that on the whole +I may be termed happy. You are a kind, affectionate creature, and I +feel it thrilling through my frame, giving and promising pleasure.</p> + +<p>Fanny wants to know “what you are gone for,” and endeavors to +pronounce Etruria. Poor papa is her word of kindness. She has been +turning your letter on all sides, and has promised to play with +Bobby till I have finished my answer.</p> + +<p>I find you can write the kind of letter a friend ought to write, +and give an account of your movements. I hailed the sunshine and +moonlight, and travelled with you, scenting the fragrant gale. +Enable me still to be your company, and I will allow you to peep +over my shoulder, and see me under the shade of my green blind, +thinking of you, and all I am to hear and feel when you return. You +may read my heart, if you will.</p> + +<p>I have no information to give in return for yours. Holcroft is to +dine with me on Saturday; so do not +<span class="pagebreak" title="344"> </span><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"></a> + forget us when you drink your +solitary glass, for nobody drinks wine at Etruria, I take it. Tell +me what you think of Everina’s situation and behavior, and treat +her with as much kindness as you can,—that is, a little more than +her manner will probably call forth,—and I will repay you.</p> + +<p>I am not fatigued with solitude, yet I have not relished my +solitary dinner. A husband is a convenient part of the furniture of +a house, unless he be a clumsy fixture. I wish you, from my soul, +to be riveted in my heart; but I do not desire to have you always +at my elbow, although at this moment I should not care if you were. +Yours truly and tenderly,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Mary. +</p> + +<p>Fanny forgets not the mug.</p> + +<p>Miss Pinkerton seems content. I was amused by a letter she wrote +home. She has more in her than comes out of her mouth. My dinner is +ready, and it is washing-day. I am putting everything in order for +your return. Adieu!</p></div> + +<p>Once during this trip the peaceful intercourse between husband and wife +was interrupted. Godwin might philosophize to his heart’s content about +the advantages of separation, but Mary could not be so sure of them. +Absence in Imlay’s case had not in the end brought about very good +results; and as the days went by, Godwin’s letters, at least so it seemed +to her, became more descriptive and statistical, and less tender and +affectionate. Interest in Dr. Parr and the Wedgwoods and the country +through which he was travelling overshadowed for the time being matters +of mere sentiment. With the memory of another correspondence from which +love had gradually disappeared, still fresh, she felt this change +bitterly, and reproached Godwin for it in very plain language:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="dateline"> +<span class="pagebreak" title="345"> </span><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"></a> +June 19, Monday, <i>almost 12 o’clock</i>. +</p> + +<p>One of the pleasures you tell me that you promised yourself from +your journey was the effect your absence might produce on me. +Certainly at first my affection was increased, or rather was more +alive. But now it is just the contrary. Your later letters might +have been addressed to anybody, and will serve to remind you where +you have been, though they resemble nothing less than mementos of +affection.</p> + +<p>I wrote to you to Dr. Parr’s; you take no notice of my letter. +Previous to your departure, I requested you not to torment me by +leaving the day of your return undecided. But whatever tenderness +you took away with you seems to have evaporated on the journey, and +new objects and the homage of vulgar minds restored you to your icy +philosophy.</p> + +<p>You tell me that your journey could not take less than three days, +therefore, as you were to visit Dr. D.[arwin]. and Dr. P.[arr], +Saturday was the probable day. You saw neither, yet you have been a +week on the road. I did not wonder, but approved of your visit to +Mr. Bage. But a <i>show</i> which you waited to see, and did not see, +appears to have been equally attractive. I am at a loss to guess +how you could have been from Saturday to Sunday night travelling +from Coventry to Cambridge. In short, your being so late to-night, +and the chance of your not coming, shows so little consideration, +that unless you suppose me to be a stick or a stone, you must have +forgot to think, as well as to feel, since you have been on the +wing. I am afraid to add what I feel. Good-night.</p></div> + +<p>This misunderstanding, however, was not of long duration. The “little +rift” in their case never widened to make their life-music mute. Godwin +returned to London, his love in nowise diminished, and all ill-feeling +and doubts were completely effaced from Mary’s mind. His shortcomings +were after all not +<span class="pagebreak" title="346"> </span><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"></a> + due to any change in his affections, nor to the +slightest suspicion of satiety. By writing long letters with careful +description of everything he saw and did, he was treating Mary as he +would have desired to be treated himself. His “icy philosophy,” which +made him so undemonstrative, was not altogether to her liking, but it was +incomparably better than the warmth of a man like Imlay, who was too +indifferent as to the individuality of the object of his demonstrations. +The uprightness of Godwin precluded all possibility of infidelity, and +once Mary’s first disappointment at some new sign of his coldness was +over, her confidence in him was unabated. After this short interruption +to their semi-domestic life, they both resumed their old habits. Their +separate establishments were still kept up, their social amusements +continued, though Mary, because of the condition of her health, could not +now enter into them quite so freely, and the little notes again began to +pass between them. These were as amicable as they had ever been. In the +two following, the familiar friendly style of this curious correspondence +is not in the least impaired. The first is interesting in showing how far +she was from accepting her husband’s opinion when her own reason was +opposed to it, and also in giving an idea of the esteem in which she was +held socially:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +June 25, 1797. +</p> + +<p>I know that you do not like me to go to Holcroft’s. I think you +right in the principle, but a little wrong in the present +application.</p> + +<p>When I lived alone, I always dined on a Sunday with company, in the +evening, if not at dinner, at St. P.[aul +<span class="pagebreak" title="347"> </span><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"></a> +’s with Johnson], +generally also of a Tuesday, and some other day at Fuseli’s.</p> + +<p>I like to see new faces as a study, and since my return from +Norway, or rather since I have accepted of invitations, I have +dined every third Sunday at Twiss’s, nay, oftener, for they sent +for me when they had any extraordinary company. I was glad to go, +because my lodging was noisy of a Sunday, and Mr. S.’s house and +spirits were so altered, that my visits depressed him instead of +exhilarating me.</p> + +<p>I am, then, you perceive, thrown out of my track, and have not +traced another. But so far from wishing to obtrude on yours, I had +written to Mrs. Jackson, and mentioned Sunday, and am now sorry +that I did not fix on to-day as one of the days for sitting for my +picture.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Johnson I would go without ceremony, but it is not +convenient for me at present to make haphazard visits.</p> + +<p>Should Carlisle chance to call on you this morning, send him to me, +but by himself, for he often has a companion with him, which would +defeat my purpose.</p></div> + +<p>The second note is even more friendly:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<i>Monday morning</i>, July 3, 1797. +</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reveley can have no doubt about to-day, so we are to stay at +home. I have a design upon you this evening to keep you quite to +myself—I hope nobody will call!—and make you read the play.</p> + +<p>I was thinking of a favorite song of my poor friend Fanny’s: “In a +vacant rainy day, you shall be wholly mine,” etc.</p> + +<p>Unless the weather prevents you from taking your accustomed walk, +call on me this morning, for I have something to say to you.</p></div> + +<p>But a short period of happiness now remained to them. Mary expected to be +confined about the end of August, and she awaited that event with no +<span class="pagebreak" title="348"> </span><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"></a> + +misgivings. She had been perfectly strong and well when Fanny was born. +She considered women’s illness on such occasions due much more to +imaginative than to physical causes, and her health through the past few +months had been, save for one or two trifling ailments, uncommonly good. +There was really no reason for her to fear the consequences. Both she and +Godwin looked forward with pleasure to the arrival of their first son, as +they hoped the child would prove to be.</p> + +<p>She was taken ill early on Wednesday morning, the 30th of August, and +sent at once for Mrs. Blenkinsop, matron and midwife to the Westminster +Lying-in Hospital. Godwin says that, “influenced by ideas of decorum, +which certainly ought to have no place, at least in cases of danger, she +determined to have a woman to attend her in the capacity of midwife.” But +it seems much more in keeping with her character that the engagement of +Mrs. Blenkinsop was due, not so much to motives of decorum as to her +desire to uphold women in a sphere of action for which she believed them +eminently fitted. Godwin went as usual to his rooms in the Evesham +Buildings. Mary specially desired that he should not remain in the house, +and to reassure him that all was well, she wrote him several notes during +the course of the morning. These have no counterpart in the whole +literature of letters. They are, in their way, unique:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Aug. 30, 1797. +</p> + +<p>I have no doubt of seeing the animal to-day, but must wait for Mrs. +Blenkinsop to guess at the hour. I have sent for her. Pray send me +the newspaper. I wish I +<span class="pagebreak" title="349"> </span><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"></a> + had a novel or some book of sheer +amusement to excite curiosity and while away the time. Have you +anything of the kind?</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Aug. 30, 1797. +</p> + +<p>Mrs. Blenkinsop tells me that everything is in a fair way, and that +there is no fear of the event being put off till another day. Still +<i>at present</i> she thinks I shall not immediately be freed from my +load. I am very well. Call before dinner-time, unless you receive +another message from me.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +<i>Three o’clock</i>, Aug. 30, 1797. +</p> + +<p>Mrs. Blenkinsop tells me I am in the most natural state, and can +promise me a safe delivery, but that I must have a little patience.</p></div> + +<p>Finally, that night at twenty minutes after eleven, the child—not the +William talked of for months, but a daughter, afterwards to be Mrs. +Shelley—was born. Godwin was now sitting in the parlor below, waiting +the, as he never doubted, happy end. But shortly after two o’clock he +received the alarming news that the patient was in some danger. He went +immediately and summoned Dr. Poignard, physician to the Westminster +Hospital, who hastened to the assistance of Mrs. Blenkinsop, and by eight +o’clock the next morning the peril was thought safely over. Mary having +expressed a wish to see Dr. Fordyce, who was her friend as well as a +prominent physician, Godwin sent for him, in spite of some objections to +his so doing on the part of Dr. Poignard. Dr. Fordyce was very well +satisfied with her condition, and later, in the afternoon, mentioned as a +proof of the propriety of employing midwives on such occasions, for which +practice he was a strong advocate, that Mrs. Godwin +<span class="pagebreak" title="350"> </span><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"></a> + “had had a woman, +and was doing extremely well.” For a day or two Godwin was so anxious +that he did not leave the house; but Mary’s progress seemed thoroughly +satisfactory, and on Sunday he went with a friend to pay some visits, +going as far even as Kensington, and did not return until dinner-time. +His home-coming was a sad one. Mary had been much worse, and in her +increasing illness had worried because of his long absence. He did not +leave her again, for from this time until her death on the following +Sunday, the physicians could give him but the faintest shadow of a hope.</p> + +<p>The week that intervened was long and suffering for the sick woman, and +heart-breaking for the watcher. Every possible effort was made to save +her; and if medical skill and the devotion of friends could have availed, +she must have lived. Dr. Fordyce and Dr. Clarke were in constant +attendance. Mr.—afterwards Sir—Anthony Carlisle, who had of his own +accord already called once or twice, was summoned professionally on +Wednesday evening, September 6, and remained by her side until all was +over. Godwin never left her room except to snatch a few moments of sleep +that he might be better able to attend to her slightest wants. His loving +care during these miserable days could not have been surpassed. Mary, had +she been the nurse, and he the patient, could not have been more tender +and devoted. But his curious want of sentiment, and the eminently +practical bent of his mind, manifested themselves even at this sad and +solemn time. Once when Mary was given an anodyne to quiet her wellnigh +unendurable pain, the relief that followed was so +<span class="pagebreak" title="351"> </span><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"></a> + great that she +exclaimed to her husband, “Oh, Godwin, I am in heaven!” But, as Kegan +Paul says, “even at that moment Godwin declined to be entrapped into the +admission that heaven existed.” His immediate reply was, “You mean, my +dear, that your physical sensations are somewhat easier.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fenwick and Miss Hayes, two good true friends, nursed her and took +charge of the sick-room. Mr. Fenwick, Mr. Basil Montague, Mr. Marshal, +and Mr. Dyson established themselves in the lower part of the house that +they might be ready and on hand for any emergency. It is in the hour of +trouble that friendship receives its strongest test. Mary’s friends, when +it came, were not found wanting.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” Godwin says, “could exceed the equanimity, the patience, and +affectionateness of the poor sufferer. I entreated her to recover; I +dwelt with trembling fondness on every favorable circumstance; and, as +far as it was possible in so dreadful a situation, she, by her smiles and +kind speeches, rewarded my affection.” After the first night of her +illness she told him that she would have died during its agony had she +not been determined not to leave him. Throughout her sickness she was +considerate of those around her. Her ruling passion was strong in death. +When her attendants recommended her to sleep, she tried to obey, though +her disease made this almost impossible. She was gentle even in her +complaints. Expostulation and contradiction were peculiarly irritating to +her in her then nervous condition, but one night when a servant +heedlessly expostulated with her, all she said was, “Pray, pray do not +let her reason with me!” Religion +<span class="pagebreak" title="352"> </span><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"></a> + was not once, to use Godwin’s +expression, a torment to her. Her religious views had modified since the +days long past when she had sermonized so earnestly to George Blood. She +had never, however, despite Godwin’s atheism, lost her belief in God nor +her reliance upon Him. But, at no time an adherent to mere form, she was +not disturbed in her last moments by a desire to conform to church +ceremonies. Religion was at this crisis, as it had always been, a source +of comfort and not of worry. She had invariably preferred virtue to vice, +and she was not now afraid of reaping the reward of her actions. The +probability of her approaching death did not occur to her until the last +two days, and then she was so enfeebled that she was not harassed by the +thought as she had been at first. On Saturday, the 9th, Godwin, who had +been warned by Mr. Carlisle that her hours were numbered, and who wished +to ascertain if she had any directions to leave, consulted her about the +future of the two children. The physician had particularly charged him +not to startle her, for she was too weak to bear any excitement. He +therefore spoke as if he wished to arrange for the time of her illness +and convalescence. But she understood his real motive. “I know what you +are thinking of,” she told him. But she added that she had nothing to +communicate upon the subject. Her faith in him and in his wisdom was +entire. “He is the kindest, best man in the world,” were among the very +last words she uttered before she lost consciousness. Her survival from +day to day seemed almost miraculous to the physicians who attended her. +Mr. Carlisle refused, until the very end, to lose all hope. “Perhaps one +in +<span class="pagebreak" title="353"> </span><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"></a> + a million of persons in her state might possibly recover,” he said. +But his hopes were vain. At six o’clock on Sunday morning, the 10th, he +was obliged to summon Godwin, who had retired for a few hours’ sleep, to +his wife’s bedside. At twenty minutes before eight the same morning, Mary +died.</p> + +<p>A somewhat different version of Mary’s last hours and of the immediate +cause of her death is given in some manuscript “Notes and Observations on +the Shelley Memorials,” written by Mr. H. W. Reveley, son of the Mrs. +Reveley who was Godwin’s great friend. His account is as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“When Mrs. Godwin was confined of her daughter, the late Mary +Shelley, she was very ill; and my mother, then Mrs. Reveley, was +constantly visiting her until her death, eight days after her +confinement. I was often there with my mother, and I saw Mrs. +Godwin the day before her death, when she was considered much +better and quite out of danger. Her death was occasioned by a +dreadful fright, in this manner. At the time of her confinement a +gentleman and lady lodged in the first floor, whether as visitors +or otherwise I cannot say, but that they were intruders in some way +I am certain. The husband was continually beating his wife, and at +last there was a violent contest between them, owing to his +endeavoring to throw his wife over the balcony into the street. Her +screams of course attracted a crowd in front of the house. Mrs. +Godwin heard the lady’s shrieks and the shouts of the crowd that a +man was throwing his wife out of the window, and the next day Mrs. +Godwin died. What became of that miscreant and his wife I never +knew.”</p></div> + +<p>There may have been some foundation for this story. An ill-tempered +husband may have had lodgings in the same house; but it is extremely +doubtful that his +<span class="pagebreak" title="354"> </span><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"></a> + ill-temper had so fatal an effect on Mary. Godwin +would certainly have recorded the fact had it been true, for his Memoir +gives the minutest details of his wife’s illness. The very day on which +Mr. Reveley says Mary was out of danger was that on which Godwin was +asking her for final instructions about her children, so sure were the +physicians that her end was near. Mr. Reveley was very young at the time. +His observations were not written until he was quite an old man. It would +not be unlikely, then, that his memory played him false in this +particular.</p> + +<p>Mary was thirty-eight years of age, in the full prime of her powers. Her +best work probably remained to be done, for her talents, like her beauty, +were late in maturing. Her style had already greatly improved since she +first began to write. Constant communication with Godwin would no doubt +have developed her intellect, and the calm created by her more happy +circumstances would have lessened her pessimistic tendencies. Moreover, +life, just as she lost it, promised to be brighter than it had ever been +before. Godwin’s after career shows that he would not have proved +unworthy of her love. Domestic pleasures were dear to her as intellectual +pursuits. In her own house, surrounded by husband and children, she would +have been not only a great but a happy woman. It is at least a +satisfaction to know that her last year was content and peaceful. Few +have needed happiness more than she did, for to few has it been given to +suffer the hardships that fell to her share.</p> + +<p>The very same day, Godwin himself wrote to announce his wife’s death to +several of his friends. It was characteristic of the man to be systematic +even in his grief, +<span class="pagebreak" title="355"> </span><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"></a> + which was sincere. He recorded in his diary the +details of each day during Mary’s illness, and it was not until the last +that he shrank from coldly stating events to him so truly tragic. The +only dashes which occur in his diary follow the date of Sunday, Sept. 10, +1797. Kegan Paul says that his writing to his friends “was probably an +attempt to be stoical, but a real indulgence in the luxury of woe.” To +Holcroft, who, he knew, could appreciate his sorrow, he said, “I firmly +believe that there does not exist her equal in the world. I know from +experience we were formed to make each other happy. I have not the least +expectation that I can now ever know happiness again.” Mrs. Inchbald was +another to whom he at once sent the melancholy news. “I always thought +you used her ill, but I forgive you,” he told her in his note. Now that +Mary was dead he felt the insult that had been shown her even more keenly +than at the time. His words roused all Mrs. Inchbald’s ill-feeling, and, +with a singular want of consideration, she sent with her condolences an +elaborate explanation of her own conduct. Two or three more notes passed +between them. Godwin’s plain-speaking—he told his correspondent very +clearly what he thought of her—is excusable. But her arguments in +self-justification and her want of respect for the dead are unpardonable.</p> + +<p>Basil Montague, Mrs. Fenwick, and Miss Hayes continued their friendly +help, and wrote several of the necessary letters for him. The following +is from Miss Hayes to Mr. Hugh Skeys, the husband of Mary’s friend. It is +valuable because written by one who was with her in her last moments:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="356"> </span><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"></a> +<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Myself and Mrs. Fenwick were the only two female friends +that were with Mrs. Godwin during her last illness. Mrs. Fenwick +attended her from the beginning of her confinement with scarcely +any intermission. I was with her for the four last days of her +life, and though I have had but little experience in scenes of this +sort, yet I can confidently affirm that my imagination could never +have pictured to me a mind so tranquil, under affliction so great. +She was all kindness and attention, and cheerfully complied with +everything that was recommended to her by her friends. In many +instances she employed her mind with more sagacity on the subject +of her illness than any of the persons about her. Her whole soul +seemed to dwell with anxious fondness on her friends; and her +affections, which were at all times more alive than perhaps those +of any other human being, seemed to gather new disinterestedness +upon this trying occasion. The attachment and regret of those who +surrounded her appeared to increase every hour, and if her +principles are to be judged of by what I saw of her death, I should +say no principles could be more conducive to calmness and +consolation.</p></div> + +<p>The rest of the letter is missing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fenwick was intrusted with the duty of informing the +Wollstonecrafts, through Everina, of Mary’s death. Her letter is as +interesting as that of Miss Hayes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="dateline"> +Sept. 12, 1797. +</p> + +<p>I am a stranger to you, Miss Wollstonecraft, and at present greatly +enfeebled both in mind and body; but when Mr. Godwin desired that I +would inform you of the death of his most beloved and most +excellent wife, I was willing to undertake the task, because it is +some consolation to render him the slightest service, and because +my thoughts perpetually dwell upon her virtues and her loss. Mr. +Godwin himself cannot, upon this occasion, write to you.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="357"> </span><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"></a> +Mrs. Godwin died on Sunday, September 10, about eight in the +morning. I was with her at the time of her delivery, and with very +little intermission until the moment of her death. Every skilful +effort that medical knowledge of the highest class could make was +exerted to save her. It is not possible to describe the unremitting +and devoted attentions of her husband. Nor is it easy to give you +an adequate idea of the affectionate zeal of many of her friends, +who were on the watch night and day to seize on an opportunity of +contributing towards her recovery, and to lessen her sufferings.</p> + +<p>No woman was ever more happy in marriage than Mrs. Godwin. Who ever +endured more anguish than Mr. Godwin endures? Her description of +him, in the very last moments of her recollection was, “He is the +kindest, best man in the world.”</p> + +<p>I know of no consolations for myself, but in remembering how happy +she had lately been, and how much she was admired and almost +idolized by some of the most eminent and best of human beings.</p> + +<p>The children are both well, the infant in particular. It is the +finest baby I ever saw. Wishing you peace and prosperity, I remain +your humble servant,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +Eliza Fenwick. +</p> + +<p>Mr. Godwin requests you will make Mrs. Bishop acquainted with the +particulars of this afflicting event. He tells me that Mrs. Godwin +entertained a sincere and earnest affection for Mrs. Bishop.</p></div> + +<p>The funeral was arranged by Mr. Basil Montague and Mr. Marshal for +Friday, the 15th. All Godwin’s and Mary’s intimate acquaintances were +invited to be present. Among these was Mr. Tuthil, whose views were +identical with Godwin’s. This invitation gave rise to another short +correspondence, unfortunate at such a time. Mr. Tuthil considered it +inconsistent with his principles, if not immoral, to take part in any +religious +<span class="pagebreak" title="358"> </span><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"></a> + ceremonies; and Godwin, while he respected his scruples, +disapproved of his coldness, which made such a decision possible. But he +was the only one who refused to show this mark of respect to Mary’s +memory. Godwin himself was too exhausted mentally and physically to +appear at the funeral. When Friday morning came he shut himself up in +Marshal’s rooms and unburdened his heavy heart by writing to Mr. +Carlisle. At the same hour Mary Wollstonecraft was buried at old Saint +Pancras, the church where but a few short months before she had been +married. A monument was afterwards erected over her willow-shadowed +grave. It bore this inscription:—</p> + +<p class="center little vspaced"> +MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN,<br /> +AUTHOR OF<br /> +A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.<br /> +BORN XVII. APRIL, MDCCLIX.<br /> +DIED X. SEPTEMBER, MDCCXCVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p>Many years later, when Godwin’s body lay by her side, the quiet old +churchyard was ruined by the building of the Metropolitan and Midland +Railways. But there were those living who loved their memory too dearly +to allow their graves to be so ruthlessly disturbed. The remains of both +were removed by Sir Percy Shelley to Bournemouth where his mother, Mary +Godwin Shelley, was already laid. “There,” Kegan Paul writes, “on a sunny +bank sloping to the west, among the rose-wreathed crosses of many who +have died in more orthodox beliefs, lie those who at least might each of +them have said,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘Write me as one who loves his fellow-men.’”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagebreak" title="359"> </span><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"></a> +Mary Wollstonecraft’s death was followed by exhaustive discussion not +only of her work but of her character. The result was, as Dr. Beloe +affirms, “not very honorable to her fair fame as a woman, whatever it +might be to her reputation as an author.” The following passage written +at this time shows the estimation in which she was held by a number of +her contemporaries:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“She was a woman of strong intellect and of ungovernable passions. +To the latter, when once she had given the reins, she seems to have +yielded on all occasions with little scruple, and as little +delicacy. She appears in the strongest sense a voluptuary and +sensualist, but without refinement. We compassionate her errors, +and respect her talents; but our compassion is lessened by the +mischievous tendency of her doctrines and example; and our respect +is certainly not extended or improved by her exclaiming against +prejudices of some of the most dangerous of which she was herself +perpetually the victim, by her praises of virtue, the sanctity of +which she habitually violated, and by her pretences to philosophy, +whose real mysteries she did not understand, and the dignity of +which, in various instances, she sullied and disgraced.”</p></div> + +<p>It was to silence such base calumnies that Godwin wrote his Memoirs. This +was undoubtedly the wisest way to answer Mary’s critics. As he says of +Marguerite in “St. Leon,” “The story of her life is the best record of +her virtues. Her defects, if defects she had, drew their pedigree from +rectitude of sentiment and perception, from the most generous +sensibility, from a heart pervaded and leavened with tenderness.” That +truth is mighty above all things is shown by this story to have been her +creed. By it she regulated her +<span class="pagebreak" title="360"> </span><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360"></a> + feelings, her thoughts, and her deeds. +Whether her principles and conduct be applauded or condemned, she must +always be honored for her integrity of motive, her fearlessness of +action, and her faithful devotion to the cause of humanity. Like Heine, +she deserves to have a sword laid upon her grave, for she was a brave +soldier in the battle of freedom for mankind.</p> + + + +<p class="gaplet little center narrow bt"> +<a name="University_Press_John_Wilson_Son_Cambridge" id="University_Press_John_Wilson_Son_Cambridge"></a>University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.</p> + + + + +<p class="center biggap big narrow bb"><i>Messrs. Roberts Brothers’ Publications.</i></p> + + +<p class="center big"><b>Famous Women Series.</b></p> + +<p class="center biggest">MRS. SIDDONS.</p> + +<p class="center big">By NINA H. KENNARD.</p> + +<p class="center">One Volume. 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The latest contribution to the “Famous Women Series” gives the life +of Mrs. Siddons, carefully and appreciatively compiled by Nina H. +Kennard. Previous lives of Mrs. Siddons have failed to present the +many-sided character of the great tragic queen, representing her +more exclusively in her dramatic capacity. Mrs. Kennard presents +the main facts in the lives previously written by Campbell and +Boaden, as well as the portion of the great actress’s history +appearing in Percy Fitzgerald’s “Lives of the Kembles;” and beyond +any other biographer gives the more tender and domestic side of her +nature, particularly as shown in her hitherto unpublished letters. +The story of the early dramatic endeavors of the little Sarah +Kemble proves not the least interesting part of the narrative, and +it is with a distinct human interest that her varying progress is +followed until she gains the summit of popular favor and success. +The picture of her greatest public triumphs receives tender and +artistic touches in the view we are given of the idol of brilliant +and intellectual London sitting down with her husband and father to +a frugal home supper on retiring from the glare of the +footlights.—<i>Commonwealth.</i></p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>We think the author shows good judgment in devoting comparatively +little space to criticism of Mrs. Siddons’s dramatic methods, and +giving special attention to her personal traits and history. Hers +was an extremely interesting life, remarkable no less for its +private virtues than for its public triumphs. Her struggle to gain +the place her genius deserved was heroic in its persistence and +dignity. Her relations with the authors, wits, and notables of her +day give occasion for much entertaining and interesting anecdotical +literature. Herself free from humor, she was herself often the +occasion of fun in others. The stories of her tragic manner in +private life are many and ludicrous.... The book abounds in +anecdotes, bits of criticism, and pictures of the stage and of +society in a very interesting transitional period.—<i>Christian +Union.</i></p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A fitting addition to this so well and so favorably known series is +the life of the wonderful actress, Sarah Siddons, by Mrs. Nina +Kennard. To most of the present generation the great woman is only +a name, though she lived until 1831; but the present volume, with +its vivid account of her life, its struggles, triumphs, and closing +years, will give to such a picture that is most lifelike. A +particularly pleasant feature of the book is the way in which the +author quotes so copiously from Mrs. Siddons’s correspondence. +These extracts from letters written to friends, and with no thought +of their ever appearing in print, give the most spontaneous +expressions of feeling on the part of the writer, as well as her +own account of many events of her life. They furnish, therefore, +better data upon which to base an opinion of her real personality +and character than anything else could possibly give. The volume is +interesting from beginning to end, and one rises from its perusal +with the warmest admiration for Sarah Siddons because of her great +genius, her real goodness, and her true womanliness, shown in the +relations of daughter, wife, and mother. Modern actresses, amateur +or professional, with avowed intentions of “elevating the stage,” +should study this noble woman’s example; for in this direction she +accomplished more, probably, than any other one person has ever +done, and at greater odds.—<i>N. E. Journal of Education.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the +publishers</i>,</p> + +<p class="signature"> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. +</p> + +<p class="biggap center big"><i>Already published:</i></p> + +<p class="narrow vspaced"> +<span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span> By Mathilde Blind.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Emily Brontë.</span> By Miss Robinson.<br /> +<span class="smcap">George Sand.</span> By Miss Thomas.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mary Lamb.</span> By Mrs. Gilchrist.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Margaret Fuller.</span> By Julia Ward Howe.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maria Edgeworth.</span> By Miss Zimmern.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Fry.</span> By Mrs. E. R. Pitman.<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Countess of Albany.</span> By Vernon Lee.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mary Wollstonecraft.</span> By Mrs. E. R. Pennell.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harriet Martineau.</span> By Mrs. F. Fenwick Miller.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rachel.</span> By Mrs. Nina H. Kennard.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Madame Roland.</span> By Mathilde Blind.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Susanna Wesley.</span> By Eliza Clarke.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Margaret of Angoulême.</span> By Miss Robinson.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Siddons.</span> By Mrs. Nina H. Kennard.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Madame de Staël.</span> By Bella Duffy.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hannah More.</span> By Charlotte M. Yonge.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Adelaide Ristori.</span> An Autobiography.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Eliz. Barrett Browning.</span> By J. H. Ingram.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jane Austen.</span> By Mrs. Charles Malden.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saint Theresa.</span> By Mrs. Bradley Gilman.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="transnote"> +<h4>Transcriber's note</h4> + + <p>A few obvious punctuation misprints have been corrected.</p> + + <p><a name="tn26" id="tn26"></a>"formed beween them at that time" corrected to + "formed between them at that time" on <a href="#c26">page 26</a>.</p> + + <p><a name="tn70" id="tn70"></a>"a new horse is inpected by a racer" corrected to + "a new horse is inspected by a racer" on <a href="#c70">page 70</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="tn127" id="tn127"></a> "fond of ingenious subtilties;" no change made on <a href="#c127">page 127</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="tn252" id="tn252"></a> + "sported with with impunity by the aristocracy" corrected to + "sported with impunity by the aristocracy" on <a href="#c252">page 252</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="tn261" id="tn261"></a> + "which wooes me to stray abroad" no change made on <a href="#c261">page 261</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="tn290" id="tn290"></a> + "born March 3, 1756, at Wisbeach," no change made on <a href="#c290">page 290</a> + (usual spelling is Wisbech).</p> + + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mary Wollstonecraft, by Elizabeth Robins Pennell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT *** + +***** This file should be named 22800-h.htm or 22800-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/0/22800/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Louise Pryor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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