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"I Resume my pen to fly from thought. I was married; and we hastened to London. I had purposed taking one of my sisters with me; for a strong motive for marrying, was the desire of having a home at which I could receive them, now their own grew so uncomfortable, as not to deserve the cheering appellation. An objection was made to her[2] accompanying me, that appeared plausible; and I reluctantly acquiesced. I was however willingly allowed to take with me Molly, poor Peggy's daughter. London and preferment, are ideas commonly associated in the country; and, as blooming as May, she bade adieu to Peggy with weeping eyes. I did not even feel hurt at the refusal in relation to my sister, till hearing what my uncle had done for me, I had the simplicity to request, speaking with warmth of their situation, that he would give them a thousand pounds a-piece, which seemed to me but justice. He asked me, giving me a kiss, 'If I had lost my senses?' I started back, as if I had found a wasp in a rose-bush. I expostulated. He sneered; and the demon of discord entered our paradise, to[3] poison with his pestiferous breath every opening joy.
"I had sometimes observed defects in my husband's understanding; but, led astray by a prevailing opinion, that goodness of disposition is of the first importance in the relative situations of life, in proportion as I perceived the narrowness of his understanding, fancy enlarged the boundary of his heart. Fatal error! How quickly is the so much vaunted milkiness of nature turned into gall, by an intercourse with the world, if more generous juices do not sustain the vital source of virtue!
"One trait in my character was extreme credulity; but, when my eyes were once opened, I saw but too clearly all I had before overlooked. My husband was sunk in my esteem; still there are youthful emotions, which, for a while,[4] fill up the chasm of love and friendship. Besides, it required some time to enable me to see his whole character in a just light, or rather to allow it to become fixed. While circumstances were ripening my faculties, and cultivating my taste, commerce and gross relaxations were shutting his against any possibility of improvement, till, by stifling every spark of virtue in himself, he began to imagine that it no where existed.
"Do not let me lead you astray, my child, I do not mean to assert, that any human being is entirely incapable of feeling the generous emotions, which are the foundation of every true principle of virtue; but they are frequently, I fear, so feeble, that, like the inflammable quality which more or less lurks in all bodies, they often lie for[5] ever dormant; the circumstances never occurring, necessary to call them into action.
"I discovered however by chance, that, in consequence of some losses in trade, the natural effect of his gambling desire to start suddenly into riches, the five thousand pounds given me by my uncle, had been paid very opportunely. This discovery, strange as you may think the assertion, gave me pleasure; my husband's embarrassments endeared him to me. I was glad to find an excuse for his conduct to my sisters, and my mind became calmer.
"My uncle introduced me to some literary society; and the theatres were a never-failing source of amusement to me. My delighted eye followed Mrs. Siddons, when, with dignified delicacy, she played Calista; and I involuntarily[6] repeated after her, in the same tone, and with a long-drawn sigh,
"These were, at first, spontaneous emotions, though, becoming acquainted with men of wit and polished manners, I could not sometimes help regretting my early marriage; and that, in my haste to escape from a temporary dependence, and expand my newly fledged wings, in an unknown sky, I had been caught in a trap, and caged for life. Still the novelty of London, and the attentive fondness of my husband, for he had some personal regard for me, made several months glide away. Yet, not forgetting the situation of my sisters, who were still very young, I prevailed on my uncle to set[7]tle a thousand pounds on each; and to place them in a school near town, where I could frequently visit, as well as have them at home with me.
"I now tried to improve my husband's taste, but we had few subjects in common; indeed he soon appeared to have little relish for my society, unless he was hinting to me the use he could make of my uncle's wealth. When we had company, I was disgusted by an ostentatious display of riches, and I have often quitted the room, to avoid listening to exaggerated tales of money obtained by lucky hits.
"With all my attention and affectionate interest, I perceived that I could not become the friend or confident of my husband. Every thing I learned relative to his affairs I gathered up by accident; and I vainly endea[8]voured to establish, at our fire-side, that social converse, which often renders people of different characters dear to each other. Returning from the theatre, or any amusing party, I frequently began to relate what I had seen and highly relished; but with sullen taciturnity he soon silenced me. I seemed therefore gradually to lose, in his society, the soul, the energies of which had just been in action. To such a degree, in fact, did his cold, reserved manner affect me, that, after spending some days with him alone, I have imagined myself the most stupid creature in the world, till the abilities of some casual visitor convinced me that I had some dormant animation, and sentiments above the dust in which I had been groveling. The very countenance of my husband changed; his com[9]plexion became sallow, and all the charms of youth were vanishing with its vivacity.
"I give you one view of the subject; but these experiments and alterations took up the space of five years; during which period, I had most reluctantly extorted several sums from my uncle, to save my husband, to use his own words, from destruction. At first it was to prevent bills being noted, to the injury of his credit; then to bail him; and afterwards to prevent an execution from entering the house. I began at last to conclude, that he would have made more exertions of his own to extricate himself, had he not relied on mine, cruel as was the task he imposed on me; and I firmly determined that I would make use of no more pretexts.
"From the moment I pronounced[10] this determination, indifference on his part was changed into rudeness, or something worse.
"He now seldom dined at home, and continually returned at a late hour, drunk, to bed. I retired to another apartment; I was glad, I own, to escape from his; for personal intimacy without affection, seemed, to me the most degrading, as well as the most painful state in which a woman of any taste, not to speak of the peculiar delicacy of fostered sensibility, could be placed. But my husband's fondness for women was of the grossest kind, and imagination was so wholly out of the question, as to render his indulgences of this sort entirely promiscuous, and of the most brutal nature. My health suffered, before my heart was entirely estranged by the loath[11]some information; could I then have returned to his sullied arms, but as a victim to the prejudices of mankind, who have made women the property of their husbands? I discovered even, by his conversation, when intoxicated, that his favourites were wantons of the lowest class, who could by their vulgar, indecent mirth, which he called nature, rouse his sluggish spirits. Meretricious ornaments and manners were necessary to attract his attention. He seldom looked twice at a modest woman, and sat silent in their company; and the charms of youth and beauty had not the slightest effect on his senses, unless the possessors were initiated in vice. His intimacy with profligate women, and his habits of thinking, gave him a contempt for female endowments; and he would repeat, when[12] wine had loosed his tongue, most of the common-place sarcasms levelled at them, by men who do not allow them to have minds, because mind would be an impediment to gross enjoyment. Men who are inferior to their fellow men, are always most anxious to establish their superiority over women. But where are these reflections leading me?
"Women who have lost their husband's affection, are justly reproved for neglecting their persons, and not taking the same pains to keep, as to gain a heart; but who thinks of giving the same advice to men, though women are continually stigmatized for being attached to fops; and from the nature of their education, are more susceptible of disgust? Yet why a woman should be expected to endure a sloven, with[13] more patience than a man, and magnanimously to govern herself, I cannot conceive; unless it be supposed arrogant in her to look for respect as well as a maintenance. It is not easy to be pleased, because, after promising to love, in different circumstances, we are told that it is our duty. I cannot, I am sure (though, when attending the sick, I never felt disgust) forget my own sensations, when rising with health and spirit, and after scenting the sweet morning, I have met my husband at the breakfast table. The active attention I had been giving to domestic regulations, which were generally settled before he rose, or a walk, gave a glow to my countenance, that contrasted with his squallid appearance. The squeamishness of stomach alone, produced by the last night's intemperance, which[14] he took no pains to conceal, destroyed my appetite. I think I now see him lolling in an arm-chair, in a dirty powdering gown, soiled linen, ungartered stockings, and tangled hair, yawning and stretching himself. The newspaper was immediately called for, if not brought in on the tea-board, from which he would scarcely lift his eyes while I poured out the tea, excepting to ask for some brandy to put into it, or to declare that he could not eat. In answer to any question, in his best humour, it was a drawling 'What do you say, child?' But if I demanded money for the house expences, which I put off till the last moment, his customary reply, often prefaced with an oath, was, 'Do you think me, madam, made of money?'—The butcher, the baker, must wait; and, what was[15] worse, I was often obliged to witness his surly dismission of tradesmen, who were in want of their money, and whom I sometimes paid with the presents my uncle gave me for my own use.
"At this juncture my father's mistress, by terrifying his conscience, prevailed on him to marry her; he was already become a methodist; and my brother, who now practised for himself, had discovered a flaw in the settlement made on my mother's children, which set it aside, and he allowed my father, whose distress made him submit to any thing, a tithe of his own, or rather our fortune.
"My sisters had left school, but were unable to endure home, which my father's wife rendered as disagreeable as possible, to get rid of girls whom she[16] regarded as spies on her conduct. They were accomplished, yet you can (may you never be reduced to the same destitute state!) scarcely conceive the trouble I had to place them in the situation of governesses, the only one in which even a well-educated woman, with more than ordinary talents, can struggle for a subsistence; and even this is a dependence next to menial. Is it then surprising, that so many forlorn women, with human passions and feelings, take refuge in infamy? Alone in large mansions, I say alone, because they had no companions with whom they could converse on equal terms, or from whom they could expect the endearments of affection, they grew melancholy, and the sound of joy made them sad; and the youngest, having a more delicate frame, fell into a decline. It was with[17] great difficulty that I, who now almost supported the house by loans from my uncle, could prevail on the master of it, to allow her a room to die in. I watched her sick bed for some months, and then closed her eyes, gentle spirit! for ever. She was pretty, with very engaging manners; yet had never an opportunity to marry, excepting to a very old man. She had abilities sufficient to have shone in any profession, had there been any professions for women, though she shrunk at the name of milliner or mantua-maker as degrading to a gentlewoman. I would not term this feeling false pride to any one but you, my child, whom I fondly hope to see (yes; I will indulge the hope for a moment!) possessed of that energy of character which gives dignity to any station; and with that clear, firm spirit that will en[18]able you to choose a situation for yourself, or submit to be classed in the lowest, if it be the only one in which you can be the mistress of your own actions.
"Soon after the death of my sister, an incident occurred, to prove to me that the heart of a libertine is dead to natural affection; and to convince me, that the being who has appeared all tenderness, to gratify a selfish passion, is as regardless of the innocent fruit of it, as of the object, when the fit is over. I had casually observed an old, mean-looking woman, who called on my husband every two or three months to receive some money. One day entering the passage of his little counting-house, as she was going out, I heard her say, 'The child is very weak; she cannot live long, she will soon die[19] out of your way, so you need not grudge her a little physic.'
"'So much the better,' he replied, 'and pray mind your own business, good woman.'
"I was struck by his unfeeling, inhuman tone of voice, and drew back, determined when the woman came again, to try to speak to her, not out of curiosity, I had heard enough, but with the hope of being useful to a poor, outcast girl.
"A month or two elapsed before I saw this woman again; and then she had a child in her hand that tottered along, scarcely able to sustain her own weight. They were going away, to return at the hour Mr. Venables was expected; he was now from home. I desired the woman to walk into the parlour. She hesitated, yet obeyed.[20] I assured her that I should not mention to my husband (the word seemed to weigh on my respiration), that I had seen her, or his child. The woman stared at me with astonishment; and I turned my eyes on the squalid object [that accompanied her.] She could hardly support herself, her complexion was sallow, and her eyes inflamed, with an indescribable look of cunning, mixed with the wrinkles produced by the peevishness of pain.
"'Poor child!' I exclaimed. 'Ah! you may well say poor child,' replied the woman. 'I brought her here to see whether he would have the heart to look at her, and not get some advice. I do not know what they deserve who nursed her. Why, her legs bent under her like a bow when she came to me, and she has never been well since; but,[21] if they were no better paid than I am, it is not to be wondered at, sure enough.'
"On further enquiry I was informed, that this miserable spectacle was the daughter of a servant, a country girl, who caught Mr. Venables' eye, and whom he seduced. On his marriage he sent her away, her situation being too visible. After her delivery, she was thrown on the town; and died in an hospital within the year. The babe was sent to a parish-nurse, and afterwards to this woman, who did not seem much better; but what was to be expected from such a close bargain? She was only paid three shillings a week for board and washing.
"The woman begged me to give her some old clothes for the child, assuring me, that she was almost afraid to ask[22] master for money to buy even a pair of shoes.
"I grew sick at heart. And, fearing Mr. Venables might enter, and oblige me to express my abhorrence, I hastily enquired where she lived, promised to pay her two shillings a week more, and to call on her in a day or two; putting a trifle into her hand as a proof of my good intention.
"If the state of this child affected me, what were my feelings at a discovery I made respecting Peggy——?[22-A]
[22-A] The manuscript is imperfect here. An episode seems to have been intended, which was never committed to paper.
editor.
[23]
"My father's situation was now so distressing, that I prevailed on my uncle to accompany me to visit him; and to lend me his assistance, to prevent the whole property of the family from becoming the prey of my brother's rapacity; for, to extricate himself out of present difficulties, my father was totally regardless of futurity. I took down with me some presents for my step-mother; it did not require an effort for me to treat her with civility, or to forget the past.
"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[24] 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 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 form of several favourite trees, and the porches of rude cottages, with their smiling hedges, were recognized with the glad[25]some 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 windmill, 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![26] 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 fervour 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 soft, hushing every wayward emotion, as if fearing to sully with a sigh, a contentment so extatic.
"Having settled my father's affairs, and, by my exertions in his favour, made my brother my sworn foe, I returned to London. My husband's conduct[27] was now changed; I had during my absence, received several affectionate, penitential letters from him; and he seemed on my arrival, to wish by his behaviour to prove his sincerity. I could not then conceive why he acted thus; and, when the suspicion darted into my head, that it might arise from observing my increasing influence with my uncle, I almost despised myself for imagining that such a degree of debasing selfishness could exist.
"He became, unaccountable as was the change, tender and attentive; and, attacking my weak side, made a confession of his follies, and lamented the embarrassments in which I, who merited a far different fate, might be involved. He besought me to aid him with my counsel, praised my understanding, and[28] appealed to the tenderness of my heart.
"This conduct only inspired me with compassion. I wished to be his friend; but love had spread his rosy pinions, and fled far, far away; and had not (like some exquisite perfumes, the fine spirit of which is continually mingling with the air) left a fragrance behind, to mark where he had shook his wings. My husband's renewed caresses then became hateful to me; his brutality was tolerable, compared to his distasteful fondness. Still, compassion, and the fear of insulting his supposed feelings, by a want of sympathy, made me dissemble, and do violence to my delicacy. What a task!
"Those who support a system of what I term false refinement, and will[29] not allow great part of love in the female, as well as male breast, to spring in some respects involuntarily, may not admit that charms are as necessary to feed the passion, as virtues to convert the mellowing spirit into friendship. To such observers I have nothing to say, any more than to the moralists, who insist that women ought to, and can love their husbands, because it is their duty. To you, my child, I may add, with a heart tremblingly alive to your future conduct, some observations, dictated by my present feelings, on calmly reviewing this period of my life. When novelists or moralists praise as a virtue, a woman's coldness of constitution, and want of passion; and make her yield to the ardour of her lover out of sheer compassion, or to promote a frigid plan of future comfort, I am disgusted.[30] They may be good women, in the ordinary acceptation of the phrase, and do no harm; but they appear to me not to have those 'finely fashioned nerves,' which render the senses exquisite. They may possess tenderness; but they want that fire of the imagination, which produces active sensibility, and positive virtue. How does the woman deserve to be characterized, who marries one man, with a heart and imagination devoted to another? Is she not an object of pity or contempt, when thus sacrilegiously violating the purity of her own feelings? Nay, it is as indelicate, when she is indifferent, unless she be constitutionally insensible; then indeed it is a mere affair of barter; and I have nothing to do with the secrets of trade. Yes; eagerly as I wish you to possess true rectitude of mind, and purity of[31] affection, I must insist that a heartless conduct is the contrary of virtuous. Truth is the only basis of virtue; and we cannot, without depraving our minds, endeavour to please a lover or husband, but in proportion as he pleases us. Men, more effectually to enslave us, may inculcate this partial morality, and lose sight of virtue in subdividing it into the duties of particular stations; but let us not blush for nature without a cause!
"After these remarks, I am ashamed to own, that I was pregnant. The greatest sacrifice of my principles in my whole life, was the allowing my husband again to be familiar with my person, though to this cruel act of self-denial, when I wished the earth to open and swallow me, you owe your birth; and I the unutterable pleasure[32] of being a mother. There was something of delicacy in my husband's bridal attentions; but now his tainted breath, pimpled face, and blood-shot eyes, were not more repugnant to my senses, than his gross manners, and loveless familiarity to my taste.
"A man would only be expected to maintain; yes, barely grant a subsistence, to a woman rendered odious by habitual intoxication; but who would expect him, or think it possible to love her? And unless 'youth, and genial years were flown,' it would be thought equally unreasonable to insist, [under penalty of] forfeiting almost every thing reckoned valuable in life, that he should not love another: whilst woman, weak in reason, impotent in will, is required to moralize, sentimentalize herself to stone, and pine her life away,[33] labouring to reform her embruted mate. He may even spend in dissipation, and intemperance, the very intemperance which renders him so hateful, her property, and by stinting her expences, not permit her to beguile in society, a wearisome, joyless life; for over their mutual fortune she has no power, it must all pass through his hand. And if she be a mother, and in the present state of women, it is a great misfortune to be prevented from discharging the duties, and cultivating the affections of one, what has she not to endure?—But I have suffered the tenderness of one to lead me into reflections that I did not think of making, to interrupt my narrative—yet the full heart will overflow.
"Mr. Venables' embarrassments did not now endear him to me; still, anxi[34]ous to befriend him, I endeavoured to prevail on him to retrench his expences; but he had always some plausible excuse to give, to justify his not following my advice. Humanity, compassion, and the interest produced by a habit of living together, made me try to relieve, and sympathize with him; but, when I recollected that I was bound to live with such a being for ever—my heart died within me; my desire of improvement became languid, and baleful, corroding melancholy took possession of my soul. Marriage had bastilled me for life. I discovered in myself a capacity for the enjoyment of the various pleasures existence affords; yet, fettered by the partial laws of society, this fair globe was to me an universal blank.
"When I exhorted my husband to[35] economy, I referred to himself. I was obliged to practise the most rigid, or contract debts, which I had too much reason to fear would never be paid. I despised this paltry privilege of a wife, which can only be of use to the vicious or inconsiderate, and determined not to increase the torrent that was bearing him down. I was then ignorant of the extent of his fraudulent speculations, whom I was bound to honour and obey.
"A woman neglected by her husband, or whose manners form a striking contrast with his, will always have men on the watch to soothe and flatter her. Besides, the forlorn state of a neglected woman, not destitute of personal charms, is particularly interesting, and rouses that species of pity, which is so near akin, it easily slides[36] into love. A man of feeling thinks not of seducing, he is himself seduced by all the noblest emotions of his soul. He figures to himself all the sacrifices a woman of sensibility must make, and every situation in which his imagination places her, touches his heart, and fires his passions. Longing to take to his bosom the shorn lamb, and bid the drooping buds of hope revive, benevolence changes into passion: and should he then discover that he is beloved, honour binds him fast, though foreseeing that he may afterwards be obliged to pay severe damages to the man, who never appeared to value his wife's society, till he found that there was a chance of his being indemnified for the loss of it.
"Such are the partial laws enacted by men; for, only to lay a stress on the[37] dependent state of a woman in the grand question of the comforts arising from the possession of property, she is [even in this article] much more injured by the loss of the husband's affection, than he by that of his wife; yet where is she, condemned to the solitude of a deserted home, to look for a compensation from the woman, who seduces him from her? She cannot drive an unfaithful husband from his house, nor separate, or tear, his children from him, however culpable he may be; and he, still the master of his own fate, enjoys the smiles of a world, that would brand her with infamy, did she, seeking consolation, venture to retaliate.
"These remarks are not dictated by experience; but merely by the compassion I feel for many amiable women, the out-laws of the world. For my[38]self, never encouraging any of the advances that were made to me, my lovers dropped off like the untimely shoots of spring. I did not even coquet with them; because I found, on examining myself, I could not coquet with a man without loving him a little; and I perceived that I should not be able to stop at the line of what are termed innocent freedoms, did I suffer any. My reserve was then the consequence of delicacy. Freedom of conduct has emancipated many women's minds; but my conduct has most rigidly been governed by my principles, till the improvement of my understanding has enabled me to discern the fallacy of prejudices at war with nature and reason.
"Shortly after the change I have mentioned in my husband's conduct,[39] my uncle was compelled by his declining health, to seek the succour of a milder climate, and embark for Lisbon. He left his will in the hands of a friend, an eminent solicitor; he had previously questioned me relative to my situation and state of mind, and declared very freely, that he could place no reliance on the stability of my husband's professions. He had been deceived in the unfolding of his character; he now thought it fixed in a train of actions that would inevitably lead to ruin and disgrace.
"The evening before his departure, which we spent alone together, he folded me to his heart, uttering the endearing appellation of 'child.'—My more than father! why was I not permitted to perform the last duties of one, and smooth the pillow of death?[40] He seemed by his manner to be convinced that he should never see me more; yet requested me, most earnestly, to come to him, should I be obliged to leave my husband. He had before expressed his sorrow at hearing of my pregnancy, having determined to prevail on me to accompany him, till I informed him of that circumstance. He expressed himself unfeignedly sorry that any new tie should bind me to a man whom he thought so incapable of estimating my value; such was the kind language of affection.
"I must repeat his own words; they made an indelible impression on my mind:
"'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,[41] 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 house-keeper, 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,[42] 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.
"'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 of 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 wo[43]man, 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.'
"During the remainder of the evening, my uncle's tenderness led him frequently to revert to the subject, and utter, with increasing warmth, sentiments to the same purport. At length it was necessary to say 'Farewell!'—and we parted—gracious God! to meet no more.
[44]
"A gentleman of large fortune and of polished manners, had lately visited very frequently at our house, and treated me, if possible, with more respect than Mr. Venables paid him; my pregnancy was not yet visible, his society was a great relief to me, as I had for some time past, to avoid expence, confined myself very much at home. I ever disdained unnecessary, perhaps even prudent concealments; and my husband, with great ease, discovered the amount of my uncle's parting present. A copy of a writ was the stale pretext to extort it from me; and I had soon reason to believe that it was[45] fabricated for the purpose. I acknowledge my folly in thus suffering myself to be continually imposed on. I had adhered to my resolution not to apply to my uncle, on the part of my husband, any more; yet, when I had received a sum sufficient to supply my own wants, and to enable me to pursue a plan I had in view, to settle my younger brother in a respectable employment, I allowed myself to be duped by Mr. Venables' shallow pretences, and hypocritical professions.
"Thus did he pillage me and my family, thus frustrate all my plans of usefulness. Yet this was the man I was bound to respect and esteem: as if respect and esteem depended on an arbitrary will of our own! But a wife being as much a man's property as his horse, or his ass, she has nothing she[46] can call her own. He may use any means to get at what the law considers as his, the moment his wife is in possession of it, even to the forcing of a lock, as Mr. Venables did, to search for notes in my writing-desk—and all this is done with a show of equity, because, forsooth, he is responsible for her maintenance.
"The tender mother cannot lawfully snatch from the gripe of the gambling spendthrift, or beastly drunkard, unmindful of his offspring, the fortune which falls to her by chance; or (so flagrant is the injustice) what she earns by her own exertions. No; he can rob her with impunity, even to waste publicly on a courtezan; and the laws of her country—if women have a country—afford her no protection or redress from the oppressor, un[47]less she have the plea of bodily fear; yet how many ways are there of goading the soul almost to madness, equally unmanly, though not so mean? When such laws were framed, should not impartial lawgivers have first decreed, in the style of a great assembly, who recognized the existence of an être suprême, to fix the national belief, that the husband should always be wiser and more virtuous than his wife, in order to entitle him, with a show of justice, to keep this idiot, or perpetual minor, for ever in bondage. But I must have done—on this subject, my indignation continually runs away with me.
"The company of the gentleman I have already mentioned, who had a general acquaintance with literature and subjects of taste, was grateful to me; my countenance brightened up as[48] he approached, and I unaffectedly expressed the pleasure I felt. The amusement his conversation afforded me, made it easy to comply with my husband's request, to endeavour to render our house agreeable to him.
"His attentions became more pointed; but, as I was not of the number of women, whose virtue, as it is termed, immediately takes alarm, I endeavoured, rather by raillery than serious expostulation, to give a different turn to his conversation. He assumed a new mode of attack, and I was, for a while, the dupe of his pretended friendship.
"I had, merely in the style of badinage, boasted of my conquest, and repeated his lover-like compliments to my husband. But he begged me, for God's sake, not to affront his friend, or[49] I should destroy all his projects, and be his ruin. Had I had more affection for my husband, I should have expressed my contempt of this time-serving politeness: now I imagined that I only felt pity; yet it would have puzzled a casuist to point out in what the exact difference consisted.
"This friend began now, in confidence, to discover to me the real state of my husband's affairs. 'Necessity,' said Mr. S——; why should I reveal his name? for he affected to palliate the conduct he could not excuse, 'had led him to take such steps, by accommodation bills, buying goods on credit, to sell them for ready money, and similar transactions, that his character in the commercial world was gone. He was considered,' he added, lowering his voice, 'on 'Change as a swindler.'
[50] "I felt at that moment the first maternal pang. Aware of the evils my sex have to struggle with, I still wished, for my own consolation, to be the mother of a daughter; and I could not bear to think, that the sins of her father's entailed disgrace, should be added to the ills to which woman is heir.
"So completely was I deceived by these shows of friendship (nay, I believe, according to his interpretation, Mr. S— really was my friend) that I began to consult him respecting the best mode of retrieving my husband's character: it is the good name of a woman only that sets to rise no more. I knew not that he had been drawn into a whirlpool, out of which he had not the energy to attempt to escape. He seemed indeed destitute of the power of employing his faculties in any regu[51]lar pursuit. His principles of action were so loose, and his mind so uncultivated, that every thing like order appeared to him in the shape of restraint; and, like men in the savage state, he required the strong stimulus of hope or fear, produced by wild speculations, in which the interests of others went for nothing, to keep his spirits awake. He one time possessed patriotism, but he knew not what it was to feel honest indignation; and pretended to be an advocate for liberty, when, with as little affection for the human race as for individuals, he thought of nothing but his own gratification. He was just such a citizen, as a father. The sums he adroitly obtained by a violation of the laws of his country, as well as those of humanity, he would allow a mistress to squander; though she was,[52] with the same sang froid, consigned, as were his children, to poverty, when another proved more attractive.
"On various pretences, his friend continued to visit me; and, observing my want of money, he tried to induce me to accept of pecuniary aid; but this offer I absolutely rejected, though it was made with such delicacy, I could not be displeased.
"One day he came, as I thought accidentally, to dinner. My husband was very much engaged in business, and quitted the room soon after the cloth was removed. We conversed as usual, till confidential advice led again to love. I was extremely mortified. I had a sincere regard for him, and hoped that he had an equal friendship for me. I therefore began mildly to expostulate with him. This gentle[53]ness he mistook for coy encouragement; and he would not be diverted from the subject. Perceiving his mistake, I seriously asked him how, using such language to me, he could profess to be my husband's friend? A significant sneer excited my curiosity, and he, supposing this to be my only scruple, took a letter deliberately out of his pocket, saying, 'Your husband's honour is not inflexible. How could you, with your discernment, think it so? Why, he left the room this very day on purpose to give me an opportunity to explain myself; he thought me too timid—too tardy.'
"I snatched the letter with indescribable emotion. The purport of it was to invite him to dinner, and to ridicule his chivalrous respect for me. He assured him, 'that every woman had[54] her price, and, with gross indecency, hinted, that he should be glad to have the duty of a husband taken off his hands. These he termed liberal sentiments. He advised him not to shock my romantic notions, but to attack my credulous generosity, and weak pity; and concluded with requesting him to lend him five hundred pounds for a month or six weeks.' I read this letter twice over; and the firm purpose it inspired, calmed the rising tumult of my soul. I rose deliberately, requested Mr. S—— to wait a moment, and instantly going into the counting-house, desired Mr. Venables to return with me to the dining-parlour.
"He laid down his pen, and entered with me, without observing any change in my countenance. I shut the door, and, giving him the letter, simply[55] asked, 'whether he wrote it, or was it a forgery?'
"Nothing could equal his confusion. His friend's eye met his, and he muttered something about a joke—But I interrupted him—'It is sufficient—We part for ever.'
"I continued, with solemnity, 'I have borne with your tyranny and infidelities. I disdain to utter what I have borne with. I thought you unprincipled, but not so decidedly vicious. I formed a tie, in the sight of heaven—I have held it sacred; even when men, more conformable to my taste, have made me feel—I despise all subterfuge!—that I was not dead to love. Neglected by you, I have resolutely stifled the enticing emotions, and respected the plighted faith you outraged. And you dare now to insult[56] me, by selling me to prostitution!—Yes—equally lost to delicacy and principle—you dared sacrilegiously to barter the honour of the mother of your child.'
"Then, turning to Mr. S——, I added, 'I call on you, Sir, to witness,' and I lifted my hands and eyes to heaven, 'that, as solemnly as I took his name, I now abjure it,' I pulled off my ring, and put it on the table; 'and that I mean immediately to quit his house, never to enter it more. I will provide for myself and child. I leave him as free as I am determined to be myself—he shall be answerable for no debts of mine.'
"Astonishment closed their lips, till Mr. Venables, gently pushing his friend, with a forced smile, out of the room, nature for a moment prevailed,[57] and, appearing like himself, he turned round, burning with rage, to me: but there was no terror in the frown, excepting when contrasted with the malignant smile which preceded it. He bade me 'leave the house at my peril; told me he despised my threats; I had no resource; I could not swear the peace against him!—I was not afraid of my life!—he had never struck me!'
"He threw the letter in the fire, which I had incautiously left in his hands; and, quitting the room, locked the door on me.
"When left alone, I was a moment or two before I could recollect myself. One scene had succeeded another with such rapidity, I almost doubted whether I was reflecting on a real event. 'Was it possible? Was I, indeed, free?'—Yes; free I termed myself,[58] when I decidedly perceived the conduct I ought to adopt. How had I panted for liberty—liberty, that I would have purchased at any price, but that of my own esteem! I rose, and shook myself; opened the window, and methought the air never smelled so sweet. The face of heaven grew fairer as I viewed it, and the clouds seemed to flit away obedient to my wishes, to give my soul room to expand. I was all soul, and (wild as it may appear) felt as if I could have dissolved in the soft balmy gale that kissed my cheek, or have glided below the horizon on the glowing, descending beams. A seraphic satisfaction animated, without agitating my spirits; and my imagination collected, in visions sublimely terrible, or soothingly beautiful, an immense variety of the endless images, which nature[59] affords, and fancy combines, of the grand and fair. The lustre of these bright picturesque sketches faded with the setting sun; but I was still alive to the calm delight they had diffused through my heart.
"There may be advocates for matrimonial obedience, who, making a distinction between the duty of a wife and of a human being, may blame my conduct.—To them I write not—my feelings are not for them to analyze; and may you, my child, never be able to ascertain, by heart-rending experience, what your mother felt before the present emancipation of her mind!
"I began to write a letter to my father, after closing one to my uncle; not to ask advice, but to signify my determination; when I was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Venables. His[60] manner was changed. His views on my uncle's fortune made him averse to my quitting his house, or he would, I am convinced, have been glad to have shaken off even the slight restraint my presence imposed on him; the restraint of showing me some respect. So far from having an affection for me, he really hated me, because he was convinced that I must despise him.
"He told me, that, 'As I now had had time to cool and reflect, he did not doubt but that my prudence, and nice sense of propriety, would lead me to overlook what was passed.'
"'Reflection,' I replied, 'had only confirmed my purpose, and no power on earth could divert me from it.'
"Endeavouring to assume a soothing voice and look, when he would willingly have tortured me, to force me to[61] feel his power, his countenance had an infernal expression, when he desired me, 'Not to expose myself to the servants, by obliging him to confine me in my apartment; if then I would give my promise not to quit the house precipitately, I should be free—and—.' I declared, interrupting him, 'that I would promise nothing. I had no measures to keep with him—I was resolved, and would not condescend to subterfuge.'
"He muttered, 'that I should soon repent of these preposterous airs;' and, ordering tea to be carried into my little study, which had a communication with my bed-chamber, he once more locked the door upon me, and left me to my own meditations. I had passively followed him up stairs, not wishing to fatigue myself with unavailing exertion.
"Nothing calms the mind like a[62] fixed purpose. I felt as if I had heaved a thousand weight from my heart; the atmosphere seemed lightened; and, if I execrated the institutions of society, which thus enable men to tyrannize over women, it was almost a disinterested sentiment. I disregarded present inconveniences, when my mind had done struggling with itself,—when reason and inclination had shaken hands and were at peace. I had no longer the cruel task before me, in endless perspective, aye, during the tedious for ever of life, of labouring to overcome my repugnance—of labouring to extinguish the hopes, the maybes of a lively imagination. Death I had hailed as my only chance for deliverance; but, while existence had still so many charms, and life promised happiness, I shrunk from the icy arms[63] of an unknown tyrant, though far more inviting than those of the man, to whom I supposed myself bound without any other alternative; and was content to linger a little longer, waiting for I knew not what, rather than leave 'the warm precincts of the cheerful day,' and all the unenjoyed affection of my nature.
"My present situation gave a new turn to my reflection; and I wondered (now the film seemed to be withdrawn, that obscured the piercing sight of reason) how I could, previously to the deciding outrage, have considered myself as everlastingly united to vice and folly? 'Had an evil genius cast a spell at my birth; or a demon stalked out of chaos, to perplex my understanding, and enchain my will, with delusive prejudices?'
"I pursued this train of thinking; it[64] led me out of myself, to expatiate on the misery peculiar to my sex. 'Are not,' I thought, 'the despots for ever stigmatized, who, in the wantonness of power, commanded even the most atrocious criminals to be chained to dead bodies? though surely those laws are much more inhuman, which forge adamantine fetters to bind minds together, that never can mingle in social communion! What indeed can equal the wretchedness of that state, in which there is no alternative, but to extinguish the affections, or encounter infamy?'
[65]
"Towards midnight Mr. Venables entered my chamber; and, with calm audacity preparing to go to bed, he bade me make haste, 'for that was the best place for husbands and wives to end their differences. He had been drinking plentifully to aid his courage.
"I did not at first deign to reply. But perceiving that he affected to take my silence for consent, I told him that, 'If he would not go to another bed, or allow me, I should sit up in my study all night.' He attempted to pull me into the chamber, half joking. But I resisted; and, as he had determined not to give me any reason for saying that he used violence, after a few more ef[66]forts, he retired, cursing my obstinacy, to bed.
"I sat musing some time longer; then, throwing my cloak around me, prepared for sleep on a sopha. And, so fortunate seemed my deliverance, so sacred the pleasure of being thus wrapped up in myself, that I slept profoundly, and woke with a mind composed to encounter the struggles of the day. Mr. Venables did not wake till some hours after; and then he came to me half-dressed, yawning and stretching, with haggard eyes, as if he scarcely recollected what had passed the preceding evening. He fixed his eyes on me for a moment, then, calling me a fool, asked 'How long I intended to continue this pretty farce? For his part, he was devilish sick of it; but this was the plague of marrying women who pretended to know something.'
[67] "I made no other reply to this harangue, than to say, 'That he ought to be glad to get rid of a woman so unfit to be his companion—and that any change in my conduct would be mean dissimulation; for maturer reflection only gave the sacred seal of reason to my first resolution.'
"He looked as if he could have stamped with impatience, at being obliged to stifle his rage; but, conquering his anger (for weak people, whose passions seem the most ungovernable, restrain them with the greatest ease, when they have a sufficient motive), he exclaimed, 'Very pretty, upon my soul! very pretty, theatrical flourishes! Pray, fair Roxana, stoop from your altitudes, and remember that you are acting a part in real life.'
"He uttered this speech with a self-[68]satisfied air, and went down stairs to dress.
"In about an hour he came to me again; and in the same tone said, 'That he came as my gentleman-usher to hand me down to breakfast.
"'Of the black rod?' asked I.
"This question, and the tone in which I asked it, a little disconcerted him. To say the truth, I now felt no resentment; my firm resolution to free myself from my ignoble thraldom, had absorbed the various emotions which, during six years, had racked my soul. The duty pointed out by my principles seemed clear; and not one tender feeling intruded to make me swerve: The dislike which my husband had inspired was strong; but it only led me to wish to avoid, to wish to let him drop out of my memory; there was no misery, no[69] torture that I would not deliberately have chosen, rather than renew my lease of servitude.
"During the breakfast, he attempted to reason with me on the folly of romantic sentiments; for this was the indiscriminate epithet he gave to every mode of conduct or thinking superior to his own. He asserted, 'that all the world were governed by their own interest; those who pretended to be actuated by different motives, were only deeper knaves, or fools crazed by books, who took for gospel all the rodomantade nonsense written by men who knew nothing of the world. For his part, he thanked God, he was no hypocrite; and, if he stretched a point sometimes, it was always with an intention of paying every man his own.'
"He then artfully insinuated, 'that[70] he daily expected a vessel to arrive, a successful speculation, that would make him easy for the present, and that he had several other schemes actually depending, that could not fail. He had no doubt of becoming rich in a few years, though he had been thrown back by some unlucky adventures at the setting out.'
"I mildly replied, 'That I wished he might not involve himself still deeper.'
"He had no notion that I was governed by a decision of judgment, not to be compared with a mere spurt of resentment. He knew not what it was to feel indignation against vice, and often boasted of his placable temper, and readiness to forgive injuries. True; for he only considered the being deceived, as an effort of skill he had not guarded against; and then, with a cant[71] of candour, would observe, 'that he did not know how he might himself have been tempted to act in the same circumstances.' And, as his heart never opened to friendship, it never was wounded by disappointment. Every new acquaintance he protested, it is true, was 'the cleverest fellow in the world;' and he really thought so; till the novelty of his conversation or manners ceased to have any effect on his sluggish spirits. His respect for rank or fortune was more permanent, though he chanced to have no design of availing himself of the influence of either to promote his own views.
"After a prefatory conversation,—my blood (I thought it had been cooler) flushed over my whole countenance as he spoke—he alluded to my situation. He desired me to reflect—'and act like[72] a prudent woman, as the best proof of my superior understanding; for he must own I had sense, did I know how to use it. I was not,' he laid a stress on his words, 'without my passions; and a husband was a convenient cloke.—He was liberal in his way of thinking; and why might not we, like many other married people, who were above vulgar prejudices, tacitly consent to let each other follow their own inclination?—He meant nothing more, in the letter I made the ground of complaint; and the pleasure which I seemed to take in Mr. S.'s company, led him to conclude, that he was not disagreeable to me.'
"A clerk brought in the letters of the day, and I, as I often did, while he was discussing subjects of business, went to the piano forte, and began to[73] play a favourite air to restore myself, as it were, to nature, and drive the sophisticated sentiments I had just been obliged to listen to, out of my soul.
"They had excited sensations similar to those I have felt, in viewing the squalid inhabitants of some of the lanes and back streets of the metropolis, mortified at being compelled to consider them as my fellow-creatures, as if an ape had claimed kindred with me. Or, as when surrounded by a mephitical fog, I have wished to have a volley of cannon fired, to clear the incumbered atmosphere, and give me room to breathe and move.
"My spirits were all in arms, and I played a kind of extemporary prelude. The cadence was probably wild and impassioned, while, lost in thought, I[74] made the sounds a kind of echo to my train of thinking.
"Pausing for a moment, I met Mr. Venables' eyes. He was observing me with an air of conceited satisfaction, as much as to say—'My last insinuation has done the business—she begins to know her own interest.' Then gathering up his letters, he said, 'That he hoped he should hear no more romantic stuff, well enough in a miss just come from boarding school;' and went, as was his custom, to the counting-house. I still continued playing; and, turning to a sprightly lesson, I executed it with uncommon vivacity. I heard footsteps approach the door, and was soon convinced that Mr. Venables was listening; the consciousness only gave more animation to my fingers. He went down into the kit[75]chen, and the cook, probably by his desire, came to me, to know what I would please to order for dinner. Mr. Venables came into the parlour again, with apparent carelessness. I perceived that the cunning man was over-reaching himself; and I gave my directions as usual, and left the room.
"While I was making some alteration in my dress, Mr. Venables peeped in, and, begging my pardon for interrupting me, disappeared. I took up some work (I could not read), and two or three messages were sent to me, probably for no other purpose, but to enable Mr. Venables to ascertain what I was about.
"I listened whenever I heard the street-door open; at last I imagined I could distinguish Mr. Venables' step, going out. I laid aside my work; my[76] heart palpitated; still I was afraid hastily to enquire; and I waited a long half hour, before I ventured to ask the boy whether his master was in the counting-house?
"Being answered in the negative, I bade him call me a coach, and collecting a few necessaries hastily together, with a little parcel of letters and papers which I had collected the preceding evening, I hurried into it, desiring the coachman to drive to a distant part of the town.
"I almost feared that the coach would break down before I got out of the street; and, when I turned the corner, I seemed to breathe a freer air. I was ready to imagine that I was rising above the thick atmosphere of earth; or I felt, as wearied souls might be sup[77]posed to feel on entering another state of existence.
"I stopped at one or two stands of coaches to elude pursuit, and then drove round the skirts of the town to seek for an obscure lodging, where I wished to remain concealed, till I could avail myself of my uncle's protection. I had resolved to assume my own name immediately, and openly to avow my determination, without any formal vindication, the moment I had found a home, in which I could rest free from the daily alarm of expecting to see Mr. Venables enter.
"I looked at several lodgings; but finding that I could not, without a reference to some acquaintance, who might inform my tyrant, get admittance into a decent apartment—men have not all this trouble—I thought of[78] a woman whom I had assisted to furnish a little haberdasher's shop, and who I knew had a first floor to let.
"I went to her, and though I could not persuade her, that the quarrel between me and Mr. Venables would never be made up, still she agreed to conceal me for the present; yet assuring me at the same time, shaking her head, that, when a woman was once married, she must bear every thing. Her pale face, on which appeared a thousand haggard lines and delving wrinkles, produced by what is emphatically termed fretting, inforced her remark; and I had afterwards an opportunity of observing the treatment she had to endure, which grizzled her into patience. She toiled from morning till night; yet her husband would rob the till, and take away the money re[79]served for paying bills; and, returning home drunk, he would beat her if she chanced to offend him, though she had a child at the breast.
"These scenes awoke me at night; and, in the morning, I heard her, as usual, talk to her dear Johnny—he, forsooth, was her master; no slave in the West Indies had one more despotic; but fortunately she was of the true Russian breed of wives.
"My mind, during the few past days, seemed, as it were, disengaged from my body; but, now the struggle was over, I felt very forcibly the effect which perturbation of spirits produces on a woman in my situation.
"The apprehension of a miscarriage, obliged me to confine myself to my apartment near a fortnight; but I wrote to my uncle's friend for money,[80] promising 'to call on him, and explain my situation, when I was well enough to go out; mean time I earnestly intreated him, not to mention my place of abode to any one, lest my husband—such the law considered him—should disturb the mind he could not conquer. I mentioned my intention of setting out for Lisbon, to claim my uncle's protection, the moment my health would permit.'
"The tranquillity however, which I was recovering, was soon interrupted. My landlady came up to me one day, with eyes swollen with weeping, unable to utter what she was commanded to say. She declared, 'That she was never so miserable in her life; that she must appear an ungrateful monster; and that she would readily go down on her knees to me, to intreat[81] me to forgive her, as she had done to her husband to spare her the cruel task.' Sobs prevented her from proceeding, or answering my impatient enquiries, to know what she meant.
"When she became a little more composed, she took a newspaper out of her pocket, declaring, 'that her heart smote her, but what could she do?—she must obey her husband.' I snatched the paper from her. An advertisement quickly met my eye, purporting, that 'Maria Venables had, without any assignable cause, absconded from her husband; and any person harbouring her, was menaced with the utmost severity of the law.'
"Perfectly acquainted with Mr. Venables' meanness of soul, this step did not excite my surprise, and scarcely my contempt. Resentment in my[82] breast, never survived love. I bade the poor woman, in a kind tone, wipe her eyes, and request her husband to come up, and speak to me himself.
"My manner awed him. He respected a lady, though not a woman; and began to mutter out an apology.
"'Mr. Venables was a rich gentleman; he wished to oblige me, but he had suffered enough by the law already, to tremble at the thought; besides, for certain, we should come together again, and then even I should not thank him for being accessary to keeping us asunder.—A husband and wife were, God knows, just as one,—and all would come round at last.' He uttered a drawling 'Hem!' and then with an arch look, added—'Master might have had his little frolics—but[83]—Lord bless your heart!—men would be men while the world stands.'
"To argue with this privileged first-born of reason, I perceived, would be vain. I therefore only requested him to let me remain another day at his house, while I sought for a lodging; and not to inform Mr. Venables that I had ever been sheltered there.
"He consented, because he had not the courage to refuse a person for whom he had an habitual respect; but I heard the pent-up choler burst forth in curses, when he met his wife, who was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs, to know what effect my expostulations would have on him.
"Without wasting any time in the fruitless indulgence of vexation, I once more set out in search of an abode in[84] which I could hide myself for a few weeks.
"Agreeing to pay an exorbitant price, I hired an apartment, without any reference being required relative to my character: indeed, a glance at my shape seemed to say, that my motive for concealment was sufficiently obvious. Thus was I obliged to shroud my head in infamy.
"To avoid all danger of detection—I use the appropriate word, my child, for I was hunted out like a felon—I determined to take possession of my new lodgings that very evening.
"I did not inform my landlady where I was going. I knew that she had a sincere affection for me, and would willingly have run any risk to show her gratitude; yet I was fully convinced, that a few kind words from[85] Johnny would have found the woman in her, and her dear benefactress, as she termed me in an agony of tears, would have been sacrificed, to recompense her tyrant for condescending to treat her like an equal. He could be kind-hearted, as she expressed it, when he pleased. And this thawed sternness, contrasted with his habitual brutality, was the more acceptable, and could not be purchased at too dear a rate.
"The sight of the advertisement made me desirous of taking refuge with my uncle, let what would be the consequence; and I repaired in a hackney coach (afraid of meeting some person who might chance to know me, had I walked) to the chambers of my uncle's friend.
"He received me with great polite[86]ness (my uncle had already prepossessed him in my favour), and listened, with interest, to my explanation of the motives which had induced me to fly from home, and skulk in obscurity, with all the timidity of fear that ought only to be the companion of guilt. He lamented, with rather more gallantry than, in my situation, I thought delicate, that such a woman should be thrown away on a man insensible to the charms of beauty or grace. He seemed at a loss what to advise me to do, to evade my husband's search, without hastening to my uncle, whom, he hesitating said, I might not find alive. He uttered this intelligence with visible regret; requested me, at least, to wait for the arrival of the next packet; offered me what money I wanted, and promised to visit me.
[87] "He kept his word; still no letter arrived to put an end to my painful state of suspense. I procured some books and music, to beguile the tedious solitary days.
I sung—and sung till, saddened by the strain of joy, I bitterly lamented the fate that deprived me of all social pleasure. Comparative liberty indeed I had possessed myself of; but the jocund train lagged far behind!
[88]
"By watching my only visitor, my uncle's friend, or by some other means, Mr. Venables discovered my residence, and came to enquire for me. The maid-servant assured him there was no such person in the house. A bustle ensued—I caught the alarm—listened—distinguished his voice, and immediately locked the door. They suddenly grew still; and I waited near a quarter of an hour, before I heard him open the parlour door, and mount the stairs with the mistress of the house, who obsequiously declared that she knew nothing of me.
"Finding my door locked, she requested me to 'open it, and prepare to[89] go home with my husband, poor gentleman! to whom I had already occasioned sufficient vexation.' I made no reply. Mr. Venables then, in an assumed tone of softness, intreated me, 'to consider what he suffered, and my own reputation, and get the better of childish resentment.' He ran on in the same strain, pretending to address me, but evidently adapting his discourse to the capacity of the landlady; who, at every pause, uttered an exclamation of pity; or 'Yes, to be sure—Very true, sir.'
"Sick of the farce, and perceiving that I could not avoid the hated interview, I opened the door, and he entered. Advancing with easy assurance to take my hand, I shrunk from his touch, with an involuntary start, as I should have done from a noisome reptile,[90] with more disgust than terror. His conductress was retiring, to give us, as she said, an opportunity to accommodate matters. But I bade her come in, or I would go out; and curiosity impelled her to obey me.
"Mr. Venables began to expostulate; and this woman, proud of his confidence, to second him. But I calmly silenced her, in the midst of a vulgar harangue, and turning to him, asked, 'Why he vainly tormented me? declaring that no power on earth should force me back to his house.'
"After a long altercation, the particulars of which, it would be to no purpose to repeat, he left the room. Some time was spent in loud conversation in the parlour below, and I discovered that he had brought his friend, an attorney, with him.
[91]
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * The tumult on the landing place, brought out a gentleman, who had recently taken apartments in the house; he enquired why I was thus assailed[91-A]? The voluble attorney instantly repeated the trite tale. The stranger turned to me, observing,[92] with the most soothing politeness and manly interest, that 'my countenance told a very different story.' He added, 'that I should not be insulted, or forced out of the house, by any body.'
"'Not by her husband?' asked the attorney.
"'No, sir, not by her husband.' Mr. Venables advanced towards him—But there was a decision in his attitude, that so well seconded that of his voice,
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * They left the house: at the same time protesting, that any one that should dare to protect me, should be prosecuted with the utmost rigour.
"They were scarcely out of the house, when my landlady came up to me again, and begged my pardon, in a very different tone. For, though[93] Mr. Venables had bid her, at her peril, harbour me, he had not attended, I found, to her broad hints, to discharge the lodging. I instantly promised to pay her, and make her a present to compensate for my abrupt departure, if she would procure me another lodging, at a sufficient distance; and she, in return, repeating Mr. Venables' plausible tale, I raised her indignation, and excited her sympathy, by telling her briefly the truth.
"She expressed her commiseration with such honest warmth, that I felt soothed; for I have none of that fastidious sensitiveness, which a vulgar accent or gesture can alarm to the disregard of real kindness. I was ever glad to perceive in others the humane feelings I delighted to exercise; and the recollection of some ridiculous charac[94]teristic circumstances, which have occurred in a moment of emotion, has convulsed me with laughter, though at the instant I should have thought it sacrilegious to have smiled. Your improvement, my dearest girl, being ever present to me while I write, I note these feelings, because women, more accustomed to observe manners than actions, are too much alive to ridicule. So much so, that their boasted sensibility is often stifled by false delicacy. True sensibility, the sensibility which is the auxiliary of virtue, and the soul of genius, is in society so occupied with the feelings of others, as scarcely to regard its own sensations. With what reverence have I looked up at my uncle, the dear parent of my mind! when I have seen the sense of his own sufferings, of mind and body, absorbed[95] in a desire to comfort those, whose misfortunes were comparatively trivial. He would have been ashamed of being as indulgent to himself, as he was to others. 'Genuine fortitude,' he would assert, 'consisted in governing our own emotions, and making allowance for the weaknesses in our friends, that we would not tolerate in ourselves.' But where is my fond regret leading me!
"'Women must be submissive,' said my landlady. 'Indeed what could most women do? Who had they to maintain them, but their husbands? Every woman, and especially a lady, could not go through rough and smooth, as she had done, to earn a little bread.'
"She was in a talking mood, and proceeded to inform me how she had been used in the world. 'She knew[96] what it was to have a bad husband, or she did not know who should.' I perceived that she would be very much mortified, were I not to attend to her tale, and I did not attempt to interrupt her, though I wished her, as soon as possible, to go out in search of a new abode for me, where I could once more hide my head.
"She began by telling me, 'That she had saved a little money in service; and was over-persuaded (we must all be in love once in our lives) to marry a likely man, a footman in the family, not worth a groat. My plan,' she continued, 'was to take a house, and let out lodgings; and all went on well, till my husband got acquainted with an impudent slut, who chose to live on other people's means—and then all went to rack and ruin. He ran in[97] debt to buy her fine clothes, such clothes as I never thought of wearing myself, and—would you believe it?—he signed an execution on my very goods, bought with the money I worked so hard to get; and they came and took my bed from under me, before I heard a word of the matter. Aye, madam, these are misfortunes that you gentlefolks know nothing of,—but sorrow is sorrow, let it come which way it will.
"'I sought for a service again—very hard, after having a house of my own!—but he used to follow me, and kick up such a riot when he was drunk, that I could not keep a place; nay, he even stole my clothes, and pawned them; and when I went to the pawnbroker's, and offered to take my oath that they were not bought with a farthing of his[98] money, they said, 'It was all as one, my husband had a right to whatever I had.'
"'At last he listed for a soldier, and I took a house, making an agreement to pay for the furniture by degrees; and I almost starved myself, till I once more got before-hand in the world.
"'After an absence of six years (God forgive me! I thought he was dead) my husband returned; found me out, and came with such a penitent face, I forgave him, and clothed him from head to foot. But he had not been a week in the house, before some of his creditors arrested him; and, he selling my goods, I found myself once more reduced to beggary; for I was not as well able to work, go to bed late, and rise early, as when I quitted service; and then I thought it hard[99] enough. He was soon tired of me, when there was nothing more to be had, and left me again.
"'I will not tell you how I was buffeted about, till, hearing for certain that he had died in an hospital abroad, I once more returned to my old occupation; but have not yet been able to get my head above water: so, madam, you must not be angry if I am afraid to run any risk, when I know so well, that women have always the worst of it, when law is to decide.'
"After uttering a few more complaints, I prevailed on my landlady to go out in quest of a lodging; and, to be more secure, I condescended to the mean shift of changing my name.
"But why should I dwell on similar incidents!—I was hunted, like an infected beast, from three different apartments, and should not have been al[100]lowed to rest in any, had not Mr. Venables, informed of my uncle's dangerous state of health, been inspired with the fear of hurrying me out of the world as I advanced in my pregnancy, by thus tormenting and obliging me to take sudden journeys to avoid him; and then his speculations on my uncle's fortune must prove abortive.
"One day, when he had pursued me to an inn, I fainted, hurrying from him; and, falling down, the sight of my blood alarmed him, and obtained a respite for me. It is strange that he should have retained any hope, after observing my unwavering determination; but, from the mildness of my behaviour, when I found all my endeavours to change his disposition unavailing, he formed an erroneous opinion of my character, imagining that, were we once more together, I should part with the money he[101] could not legally force from me, with the same facility as formerly. My forbearance and occasional sympathy he had mistaken for weakness of character; and, because he perceived that I disliked resistance, he thought my indulgence and compassion mere selfishness, and never discovered that the fear of being unjust, or of unnecessarily wounding the feelings of another, was much more painful to me, than any thing I could have to endure myself. Perhaps it was pride which made me imagine, that I could bear what I dreaded to inflict; and that it was often easier to suffer, than to see the sufferings of others.
"I forgot to mention that, during this persecution, I received a letter from my uncle, informing me, 'that he only found relief from continual change of air; and that he intended to[102] return when the spring was a little more advanced (it was now the middle of February), and then we would plan a journey to Italy, leaving the fogs and cares of England far behind.' He approved of my conduct, promised to adopt my child, and seemed to have no doubt of obliging Mr. Venables to hear reason. He wrote to his friend, by the same post, desiring him to call on Mr. Venables in his name; and, in consequence of the remonstrances he dictated, I was permitted to lie-in tranquilly.
"The two or three weeks previous, I had been allowed to rest in peace; but, so accustomed was I to pursuit and alarm, that I seldom closed my eyes without being haunted by Mr. Venables' image, who seemed to assume terrific or hateful forms to torment me, wherever[103] I turned.—Sometimes a wild cat, a roaring bull, or hideous assassin, whom I vainly attempted to fly; at others he was a demon, hurrying me to the brink of a precipice, plunging me into dark waves, or horrid gulfs; and I woke, in violent fits of trembling anxiety, to assure myself that it was all a dream, and to endeavour to lure my waking thoughts to wander to the delightful Italian vales, I hoped soon to visit; or to picture some august ruins, where I reclined in fancy on a mouldering column, and escaped, in the contemplation of the heart-enlarging virtues of antiquity, from the turmoil of cares that had depressed all the daring purposes of my soul. But I was not long allowed to calm my mind by the exercise of my imagination; for the third day after your birth, my child, I was[104] surprised by a visit from my elder brother; who came in the most abrupt manner, to inform me of the death of my uncle. He had left the greater part of his fortune to my child, appointing me its guardian; in short, every step was taken to enable me to be mistress of his fortune, without putting any part of it in Mr. Venables' power. My brother came to vent his rage on me, for having, as he expressed himself, 'deprived him, my uncle's eldest nephew, of his inheritance;' though my uncle's property, the fruit of his own exertion, being all in the funds, or on landed securities, there was not a shadow of justice in the charge.
"As I sincerely loved my uncle, this intelligence brought on a fever, which I struggled to conquer with all the[105] energy of my mind; for, in my desolate state, I had it very much at heart to suckle you, my poor babe. You seemed my only tie to life, a cherub, to whom I wished to be a father, as well as a mother; and the double duty appeared to me to produce a proportionate increase of affection. But the pleasure I felt, while sustaining you, snatched from the wreck of hope, was cruelly damped by melancholy reflections on my widowed state—widowed by the death of my uncle. Of Mr. Venables I thought not, even when I thought of the felicity of loving your father, and how a mother's pleasure might be exalted, and her care softened by a husband's tenderness.—'Ought to be!' I exclaimed; and I endeavoured to drive away the tenderness that suffo[106]cated me; but my spirits were weak, and the unbidden tears would flow. 'Why was I,' I would ask thee, but thou didst not heed me,—'cut off from the participation of the sweetest pleasure of life?' I imagined with what extacy, after the pains of child-bed, I should have presented my little stranger, whom I had so long wished to view, to a respectable father, and with what maternal fondness I should have pressed them both to my heart!—Now I kissed her with less delight, though with the most endearing compassion, poor helpless one! when I perceived a slight resemblance of him, to whom she owed her existence; or, if any gesture reminded me of him, even in his best days, my heart heaved, and I pressed the innocent to my bosom, as if to[107] purify it—yes, I blushed to think that its purity had been sullied, by allowing such a man to be its father.
"After my recovery, I began to think of taking a house in the country, or of making an excursion on the continent, to avoid Mr. Venables; and to open my heart to new pleasures and affection. The spring was melting into summer, and you, my little companion, began to smile—that smile made hope bud out afresh, assuring me the world was not a desert. Your gestures were ever present to my fancy; and I dwelt on the joy I should feel when you would begin to walk and lisp. Watching your wakening mind, and shielding from every rude blast my tender blossom, I recovered my spirits—I dreamed not of the frost[108]—'the killing frost,' to which you were destined to be exposed.—But I lose all patience—and execrate the injustice of the world—folly! ignorance!—I should rather call it; but, shut up from a free circulation of thought, and always pondering on the same griefs, I writhe under the torturing apprehensions, which ought to excite only honest indignation, or active compassion; and would, could I view them as the natural consequence of things. But, born a woman—and born to suffer, in endeavouring to repress my own emotions, I feel more acutely the various ills my sex are fated to bear—I feel that the evils they are subject to endure, degrade them so far below their oppressors, as almost to justify their tyranny; leading at the same[109] time superficial reasoners to term that weakness the cause, which is only the consequence of short-sighted despotism.
[91-A] The introduction of Darnford as the deliverer of Maria, in an early stage of the history, is already stated (Chap. III.) to have been an after-thought of the author. This has probably caused the imperfectness of the manuscript in the above passage; though, at the same time, it must be acknowledged to be somewhat uncertain, whether Darnford is the stranger intended in this place. It appears from Chap. XVII. that an interference of a more decisive nature was designed to be attributed to him.
editor.
[110]
"As my mind grew calmer, the visions of Italy again returned with their former glow of colouring; and I resolved on quitting the kingdom for a time, in search of the cheerfulness, that naturally results from a change of scene, unless we carry the barbed arrow with us, and only see what we feel.
"During the period necessary to prepare for a long absence, I sent a supply to pay my father's debts, and settled my brothers in eligible situations; but my attention was not wholly engrossed by my family, though I do not think it necessary to enumerate the common exertions of huma[111]nity. The manner in which my uncle's property was settled, prevented me from making the addition to the fortune of my surviving sister, that I could have wished; but I had prevailed on him to bequeath her two thousand pounds, and she determined to marry a lover, to whom she had been some time attached. Had it not been for this engagement, I should have invited her to accompany me in my tour; and I might have escaped the pit, so artfully dug in my path, when I was the least aware of danger.
"I had thought of remaining in England, till I weaned my child; but this state of freedom was too peaceful to last, and I had soon reason to wish to hasten my departure. A friend of Mr. Venables, the same attorney who had accompanied him in several excur[112]sions to hunt me from my hiding places, waited on me to propose a reconciliation. On my refusal, he indirectly advised me to make over to my husband—for husband he would term him—the greater part of the property I had at command, menacing me with continual persecution unless I complied, and that, as a last resort, he would claim the child. I did not, though intimidated by the last insinuation, scruple to declare, that I would not allow him to squander the money left to me for far different purposes, but offered him five hundred pounds, if he would sign a bond not to torment me any more. My maternal anxiety made me thus appear to waver from my first determination, and probably suggested to him, or his diabolical[113] agent, the infernal plot, which has succeeded but too well.
"The bond was executed; still I was impatient to leave England. Mischief hung in the air when we breathed the same; I wanted seas to divide us, and waters to roll between, till he had forgotten that I had the means of helping him through a new scheme. Disturbed by the late occurrences, I instantly prepared for my departure. My only delay was waiting for a maid-servant, who spoke French fluently, and had been warmly recommended to me. A valet I was advised to hire, when I fixed on my place of residence for any time.
"My God, with what a light heart did I set out for Dover!—It was not my country, but my cares, that I was leaving behind. My heart seemed to[114] bound with the wheels, or rather appeared the centre on which they twirled. I clasped you to my bosom, exclaiming 'And you will be safe—quite safe—when—we are once on board the packet.—Would we were there!' I smiled at my idle fears, as the natural effect of continual alarm; and I scarcely owned to myself that I dreaded Mr. Venables's cunning, or was conscious of the horrid delight he would feel, at forming stratagem after stratagem to circumvent me. I was already in the snare—I never reached the packet—I never saw thee more.—I grow breathless. I have scarcely patience to write down the details. The maid—the plausible woman I had hired—put, doubtless, some stupifying potion in what I ate or drank, the morning I left town. All I know is,[115] that she must have quitted the chaise, shameless wretch! and taken (from my breast) my babe with her. How could a creature in a female form see me caress thee, and steal thee from my arms! I must stop, stop to repress a mother's anguish; left, in bitterness of soul, I imprecate the wrath of heaven on this tiger, who tore my only comfort from me.
"How long I slept I know not; certainly many hours, for I woke at the close of day, in a strange confusion of thought. I was probably roused to recollection by some one thundering at a huge, unwieldy gate. Attempting to ask where I was, my voice died away, and I tried to raise it in vain, as I have done in a dream. I looked for my babe with affright; feared that it had fallen out of my lap, while I had so strange[116]ly forgotten her; and, such was the vague intoxication, I can give it no other name, in which I was plunged, I could not recollect when or where I last saw you; but I sighed, as if my heart wanted room to clear my head.
"The gates opened heavily, and the sullen sound of many locks and bolts drawn back, grated on my very soul, before I was appalled by the creeking of the dismal hinges, as they closed after me. The gloomy pile was before me, half in ruins; some of the aged trees of the avenue were cut down, and left to rot where they fell; and as we approached some mouldering steps, a monstrous dog darted forwards to the length of his chain, and barked and growled infernally.
"The door was opened slowly, and[117] a murderous visage peeped out, with a lantern. 'Hush!' he uttered, in a threatning tone, and the affrighted animal stole back to his kennel. The door of the chaise flew back, the stranger put down the lantern, and clasped his dreadful arms around me. It was certainly the effect of the soporific draught, for, instead of exerting my strength, I sunk without motion, though not without sense, on his shoulder, my limbs refusing to obey my will. I was carried up the steps into a close-shut hall. A candle flaring in the socket, scarcely dispersed the darkness, though it displayed to me the ferocious countenance of the wretch who held me.
"He mounted a wide staircase. Large figures painted on the walls seemed to start on me, and glaring[118] eyes to meet me at every turn. Entering a long gallery, a dismal shriek made me spring out of my conductor's arms, with I know not what mysterious emotion of terror; but I fell on the floor, unable to sustain myself.
"A strange-looking female started out of one of the recesses, and observed me with more curiosity than interest; till, sternly bid retire, she flitted back like a shadow. Other faces, strongly marked, or distorted, peeped through the half-opened doors, and I heard some incoherent sounds. I had no distinct idea where I could be—I looked on all sides, and almost doubted whether I was alive or dead.
"Thrown on a bed, I immediately sunk into insensibility again; and next day, gradually recovering the use of reason, I began, starting affrighted[119] from the conviction, to discover where I was confined—I insisted on seeing the master of the mansion—I saw him—and perceived that I was buried alive.—
"Such, my child, are the events of thy mother's life to this dreadful moment—Should she ever escape from the fangs of her enemies, she will add the secrets of her prison-house—and—"
Some lines were here crossed out, and the memoirs broke off abruptly with the names of Jemima and Darnford.
[120]
The performance, with a fragment of which the reader has now been presented, was designed to consist of three parts. The preceding sheets were considered as constituting one of those parts. Those persons who in the perusal of the chapters, already written and in some degree finished by the au[121]thor, have felt their hearts awakened, and their curiosity excited as to the sequel of the story, will, of course, gladly accept even of the broken paragraphs and half-finished sentences, which have been found committed to paper, as materials for the remainder. The fastidious and cold-hearted critic may perhaps feel himself repelled by the incoherent form in which they are presented. But an inquisitive temper willingly accepts the most imperfect and mutilated information, where better is not to be had: and readers, who in any degree resemble the author in her quick apprehension of sentiment, and of the[122] pleasures and pains of imagination, will, I believe, find gratification, in contemplating sketches, which were designed in a short time to have received the finishing touches of her genius; but which must now for ever remain a mark to record the triumphs of mortality, over schemes of usefulness, and projects of public interest.]
[123]
Darnford returned the memoirs to Maria, with a most affectionate letter, in which he reasoned on "the absurdity of the laws respecting matrimony, which, till divorces could be more easily obtained, was," he declared, "the most insufferable bondage. Ties of this nature could not bind minds governed by superior principles; and such beings were privileged to act above the dictates of laws they had no voice in framing, if they had sufficient strength of mind to endure the natural consequence. In her case, to talk of duty, was a farce, excepting what was due to herself. Delicacy, as well as reason, forbade her ever to think of returning[124] to her husband: was she then to restrain her charming sensibility through mere prejudice? These arguments were not absolutely impartial, for he disdained to conceal, that, when he appealed to her reason, he felt that he had some interest in her heart.—The conviction was not more transporting, than sacred—a thousand times a day, he asked himself how he had merited such happiness?—and as often he determined to purify the heart she deigned to inhabit—He intreated to be again admitted to her presence."
He was; and the tear which glistened in his eye, when he respectfully pressed her to his bosom, rendered him peculiarly dear to the unfortunate mother. Grief had stilled the transports of love, only to render their mutual tenderness more touching. In former[125] interviews, Darnford had contrived, by a hundred little pretexts, to sit near her, to take her hand, or to meet her eyes—now it was all soothing affection, and esteem seemed to have rivalled love. He adverted to her narrative, and spoke with warmth of the oppression she had endured.—His eyes, glowing with a lambent flame, told her how much he wished to restore her to liberty and love; but he kissed her hand, as if it had been that of a saint; and spoke of the loss of her child, as if it had been his own.—What could have been more flattering to Maria?—Every instance of self-denial was registered in her heart, and she loved him, for loving her too well to give way to the transports of passion.
They met again and again; and Darnford declared, while passion suf[126]fused his cheeks, that he never before knew what it was to love.—
One morning Jemima informed Maria, that her master intended to wait on her, and speak to her without witnesses. He came, and brought a letter with him, pretending that he was ignorant of its contents, though he insisted on having it returned to him. It was from the attorney already mentioned, who informed her of the death of her child, and hinted, "that she could not now have a legitimate heir, and that, would she make over the half of her fortune during life, she should be conveyed to Dover, and permitted to pursue her plan of travelling."
Maria answered with warmth, "That she had no terms to make with the murderer of her babe, nor would[127] she purchase liberty at the price of her own respect."
She began to expostulate with her jailor; but he sternly bade her "Be silent—he had not gone so far, not to go further."
Darnford came in the evening. Jemima was obliged to be absent, and she, as usual, locked the door on them, to prevent interruption or discovery.—The lovers were, at first, embarrassed; but fell insensibly into confidential discourse. Darnford represented, "that they might soon be parted," and wished her "to put it out of the power of fate to separate them."
As her husband she now received him, and he solemnly pledged himself as her protector—and eternal friend.—
There was one peculiarity in Maria's mind: she was more anxious not to deceive, than to guard against de[128]ception; and had rather trust without sufficient reason, than be for ever the prey of doubt. Besides, what are we, when the mind has, from reflection, a certain kind of elevation, which exalts the contemplation above the little concerns of prudence! We see what we wish, and make a world of our own—and, though reality may sometimes open a door to misery, yet the moments of happiness procured by the imagination, may, without a paradox, be reckoned among the solid comforts of life. Maria now, imagining that she had found a being of celestial mould—was happy,—nor was she deceived.—He was then plastic in her impassioned hand—and reflected all the sentiments which animated and warmed her. — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
[129]
One morning confusion seemed to reign in the house, and Jemima came in terror, to inform Maria, "that her master had left it, with a determination, she was assured (and too many circumstances corroborated the opinion, to leave a doubt of its truth) of never returning. I am prepared then," said Jemima, "to accompany you in your flight."
Maria started up, her eyes darting towards the door, as if afraid that some one should fasten it on her for ever.
Jemima continued, "I have perhaps no right now to expect the performance of your promise; but on you[130] it depends to reconcile me with the human race."
"But Darnford!"—exclaimed Maria, mournfully—sitting down again, and crossing her arms—"I have no child to go to, and liberty has lost its sweets."
"I am much mistaken, if Darnford is not the cause of my master's flight—his keepers assure me, that they have promised to confine him two days longer, and then he will be free—you cannot see him; but they will give a letter to him the moment he is free.—In that inform him where he may find you in London; fix on some hotel. Give me your clothes; I will send them out of the house with mine, and we will slip out at the garden-gate. Write your letter while I make these arrangements, but lose no time!"
[131] In an agitation of spirit, not to be calmed, Maria began to write to Darnford. She called him by the sacred name of "husband," and bade him "hasten to her, to share her fortune, or she would return to him."—An hotel in the Adelphi was the place of rendezvous.
The letter was sealed and given in charge; and with light footsteps, yet terrified at the sound of them, she descended, scarcely breathing, and with an indistinct fear that she should never get out at the garden gate. Jemima went first.
A being, with a visage that would have suited one possessed by a devil, crossed the path, and seized Maria by the arm. Maria had no fear but of being detained—"Who are you? what are you?" for the form was scarcely human. "If you are made of flesh and[132] blood," his ghastly eyes glared on her, "do not stop me!"
"Woman," interrupted a sepulchral voice, "what have I to do with thee?"—Still he grasped her hand, muttering a curse.
"No, no; you have nothing to do with me," she exclaimed, "this is a moment of life and death!"—
With supernatural force she broke from him, and, throwing her arms round Jemima, cried, "Save me!" The being, from whose grasp she had loosed herself, took up a stone as they opened the door, and with a kind of hellish sport threw it after them. They were out of his reach.
When Maria arrived in town, she drove to the hotel already fixed on. But she could not sit still—her child was ever before her; and all that had passed dur[133]ing her confinement, appeared to be a dream. She went to the house in the suburbs, where, as she now discovered, her babe had been sent. The moment she entered, her heart grew sick; but she wondered not that it had proved its grave. She made the necessary enquiries, and the church-yard was pointed out, in which it rested under a turf. A little frock which the nurse's child wore (Maria had made it herself) caught her eye. The nurse was glad to sell it for half-a-guinea, and Maria hastened away with the relic, and, re-entering the hackney-coach which waited for her, gazed on it, till she reached her hotel.
She then waited on the attorney who had made her uncle's will, and explained to him her situation. He readily advanced her some of the money[134] which still remained in his hands, and promised to take the whole of the case into consideration. Maria only wished to be permitted to remain in quiet—She found that several bills, apparently with her signature, had been presented to her agent, nor was she for a moment at a loss to guess by whom they had been forged; yet, equally averse to threaten or intreat, she requested her friend [the solicitor] to call on Mr. Venables. He was not to be found at home; but at length his agent, the attorney, offered a conditional promise to Maria, to leave her in peace, as long as she behaved with propriety, if she would give up the notes. Maria inconsiderately consented—Darnford was arrived, and she wished to be only alive to love; she wished to forget the anguish she felt whenever she thought of her child.
[135] They took a ready furnished lodging together, for she was above disguise; Jemima insisting on being considered as her house-keeper, and to receive the customary stipend. On no other terms would she remain with her friend.
Darnford was indefatigable in tracing the mysterious circumstances of his confinement. The cause was simply, that a relation, a very distant one, to whom he was heir, had died intestate, leaving a considerable fortune. On the news of Darnford's arrival [in England, a person, intrusted with the management of the property, and who had the writings in his possession, determining, by one bold stroke, to strip Darnford of the succession,] had planned his confinement; and [as soon as he had taken the measures he[136] judged most conducive to his object, this ruffian, together with his instrument,] the keeper of the private mad-house, left the kingdom. Darnford, who still pursued his enquiries, at last discovered that they had fixed their place of refuge at Paris.
Maria and he determined therefore, with the faithful Jemima, to visit that metropolis, and accordingly were preparing for the journey, when they were informed that Mr. Venables had commenced an action against Darnford for seduction and adultery. The indignation Maria felt cannot be explained; she repented of the forbearance she had exercised in giving up the notes. Darnford could not put off his journey, without risking the loss of his property: Maria therefore furnished him with money for his expedition; and determined[137] to remain in London till the termination of this affair.
She visited some ladies with whom she had formerly been intimate, but was refused admittance; and at the opera, or Ranelagh, they could not recollect her. Among these ladies there were some, not her most intimate acquaintance, who were generally supposed to avail themselves of the cloke of marriage, to conceal a mode of conduct, that would for ever have damned their fame, had they been innocent, seduced girls. These particularly stood aloof.—Had she remained with her husband, practising insincerity, and neglecting her child to manage an intrigue, she would still have been visited and respected. If, instead of openly living with her lover, she could have condescended to call into play a[138] thousand arts, which, degrading her own mind, might have allowed the people who were not deceived, to pretend to be so, she would have been caressed and treated like an honourable woman. "And Brutus[138-A] is an honourable man!" said Mark-Antony with equal sincerity.
With Darnford she did not taste uninterrupted felicity; there was a volatility in his manner which often distressed her; but love gladdened the scene; besides, he was the most tender, sympathizing creature in the world. A fondness for the sex often gives an appearance of humanity to the behaviour of men, who have small pretensions to the reality; and they seem to[139] love others, when they are only pursuing their own gratification. Darnford appeared ever willing to avail himself of her taste and acquirements, while she endeavoured to profit by his decision of character, and to eradicate some of the romantic notions, which had taken root in her mind, while in adversity she had brooded over visions of unattainable bliss.
The real affections of life, when they are allowed to burst forth, are buds pregnant with joy and all the sweet emotions of the soul; yet they branch out with wild ease, unlike the artificial forms of felicity, sketched by an imagination painful alive. The substantial happiness, which enlarges and civilizes the mind, may be compared to the pleasure experienced in roving through nature at large, inhaling the[140] sweet gale natural to the clime; while the reveries of a feverish imagination continually sport themselves in gardens full of aromatic shrubs, which cloy while they delight, and weaken the sense of pleasure they gratify. The heaven of fancy, below or beyond the stars, in this life, or in those ever-smiling regions surrounded by the unmarked ocean of futurity, have an insipid uniformity which palls. Poets have imagined scenes of bliss; but, fencing out sorrow, all the extatic emotions of the soul, and even its grandeur, seem to be equally excluded. We dose over the unruffled lake, and long to scale the rocks which fence the happy valley of contentment, though serpents hiss in the pathless desert, and danger lurks in the unexplored wiles. Maria found herself more indulgent as she was hap[141]pier, and discovered virtues, in characters she had before disregarded, while chasing the phantoms of elegance and excellence, which sported in the meteors that exhale in the marshes of misfortune. The heart is often shut by romance against social pleasure; and, fostering a sickly sensibility, grows callous to the soft touches of humanity.
To part with Darnford was indeed cruel.—It was to feel most painfully alone; but she rejoiced to think, that she should spare him the care and perplexity of the suit, and meet him again, all his own. Marriage, as at present constituted, she considered as leading to immorality—yet, as the odium of society impedes usefulness, she wished to avow her affection to Darnford, by becoming his wife according to established rules; not to be confounded[142] with women who act from very different motives, though her conduct would be just the same without the ceremony as with it, and her expectations from him not less firm. The being summoned to defend herself from a charge which she was determined to plead guilty to, was still galling, as it roused bitter reflections on the situation of women in society.
[138-A] The name in the manuscript is by mistake written Cæsar.
editor.
[143]
Such was her state of mind when the dogs of law were let loose on her. Maria took the task of conducting Darnford's defence upon herself. She instructed his counsel to plead guilty to the charge of adultery; but to deny that of seduction.
The counsel for the plaintiff opened the cause, by observing, "that his client had ever been an indulgent husband, and had borne with several defects of temper, while he had nothing criminal to lay to the charge of his wife. But that she left his house without assigning any cause. He could not assert that she was then acquainted with the defendant; yet, when he was[144] once endeavouring to bring her back to her home, this man put the peace-officers to flight, and took her he knew not whither. After the birth of her child, her conduct was so strange, and a melancholy malady having afflicted one of the family, which delicacy forbade the dwelling on, it was necessary to confine her. By some means the defendant enabled her to make her escape, and they had lived together, in despite of all sense of order and decorum. The adultery was allowed, it was not necessary to bring any witnesses to prove it; but the seduction, though highly probable from the circumstances which he had the honour to state, could not be so clearly proved.—It was of the most atrocious kind, as decency was set at defiance, and respect for reputa[145]tion, which shows internal compunction, utterly disregarded."
A strong sense of injustice had silenced every emotion, which a mixture of true and false delicacy might otherwise have excited in Maria's bosom. She only felt in earnest to insist on the privilege of her nature. 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. [She therefore eagerly put herself forward, instead of desiring to be absent, on this memorable occasion.]
Convinced that the subterfuges of the law were disgraceful, she wrote a paper, which she expressly desired might be read in court:
"Married when scarcely able to dis[146]tinguish the nature of the engagement, I yet submitted to the rigid laws which enslave women, and obeyed the man whom I could no longer love. Whether the duties of the state are reciprocal, I mean not to discuss; but I can prove repeated infidelities which I overlooked or pardoned. Witnesses are not wanting to establish these facts. I at present maintain the child of a maid servant, sworn to him, and born after our marriage. I am ready to allow, that education and circumstances lead men to think and act with less delicacy, than the preservation of order in society demands from women; but surely I may without assumption declare, that, though I could excuse the birth, I could not the desertion of this unfortunate babe:—and, while I despised the man, it was not easy to ve[147]nerate the husband. With proper restrictions however, I revere the institution which fraternizes the world. I exclaim against the laws which throw the whole weight of the yoke on the weaker shoulders, and force women, when they claim protectorship as mothers, to sign a contract, which renders them dependent on the caprice of the tyrant, whom choice or necessity has appointed to reign over them. Various are the cases, in which a woman ought to separate herself from her husband; and mine, I may be allowed emphatically to insist, comes under the description of the most aggravated.
"I will not enlarge on those provocations which only the individual can estimate; but will bring forward such charges only, the truth of which is an insult upon humanity. In order to[148] promote certain destructive speculations, Mr. Venables prevailed on me to borrow certain sums of a wealthy relation; and, when I refused further compliance, he thought of bartering my person; and not only allowed opportunities to, but urged, a friend from whom he borrowed money, to seduce me. On the discovery of this act of atrocity, I determined to leave him, and in the most decided manner, for ever. I consider all obligation as made void by his conduct; and hold, that schisms which proceed from want of principles, can never be healed.
"He received a fortune with me to the amount of five thousand pounds. On the death of my uncle, convinced that I could provide for my child, I destroyed the settlement of that fortune. I required none of my property to be[149] returned to me, nor shall enumerate the sums extorted from me during six years that we lived together.
"After leaving, what the law considers as my home, I was hunted like a criminal from place to place, though I contracted no debts, and demanded no maintenance—yet, as the laws sanction such proceeding, and make women the property of their husbands, I forbear to animadvert. After the birth of my daughter, and the death of my uncle, who left a very considerable property to myself and child, I was exposed to new persecution; and, because I had, before arriving at what is termed years of discretion, pledged my faith, I was treated by the world, as bound for ever to a man whose vices were notorious. Yet what are the vices generally known, to the various miseries that a[150] woman may be subject to, which, though deeply felt, eating into the soul, elude description, and may be glossed over! A false morality is even established, which makes all the virtue of women consist in chastity, submission, and the forgiveness of injuries.
"I pardon my oppressor—bitterly as I lament the loss of my child, torn from me in the most violent manner. But nature revolts, and my soul sickens at the bare supposition, that it could ever be a duty to pretend affection, when a separation is necessary to prevent my feeling hourly aversion.
"To force me to give my fortune, I was imprisoned—yes; in a private mad-house.—There, in the heart of misery, I met the man charged with seducing me. We became attached—I deemed, and ever shall deem, myself free. The[151] death of my babe dissolved the only tie which subsisted between me and my, what is termed, lawful husband.
"To this person, thus encountered, I voluntarily gave myself, never considering myself as any more bound to transgress the laws of moral purity, because the will of my husband might be pleaded in my excuse, than to transgress those laws to which [the policy of artificial society has] annexed [positive] punishments.——While no command of a husband can prevent a woman from suffering for certain crimes, she must be allowed to consult her conscience, and regulate her conduct, in some degree, by her own sense of right. The respect I owe to myself, demanded my strict adherence to my determination of never viewing Mr. Venables in the light of a husband, nor could it forbid me from[152] encouraging another. If I am unfortunately united to an unprincipled man, am I for ever to be shut out from fulfilling the duties of a wife and mother?—I wish my country to approve of my conduct; but, if laws exist, made by the strong to oppress the weak, I appeal to my own sense of justice, and declare that I will not live with the individual, who has violated every moral obligation which binds man to man.
"I protest equally against any charge being brought to criminate the man, whom I consider as my husband. I was six-and-twenty when I left Mr. Venables' roof; if ever I am to be supposed to arrive at an age to direct my own actions, I must by that time have arrived at it.—I acted with deliberation.—Mr. Darnford found me a forlorn and oppressed woman, and promised[153] the protection women in the present state of society want.—But the man who now claims me—was he deprived of my society by this conduct? The question is an insult to common sense, considering where Mr. Darnford met me.—Mr. Venables' door was indeed open to me—nay, threats and intreaties were used to induce me to return; but why? Was affection or honour the motive?—I cannot, it is true, dive into the recesses of the human heart—yet I presume to assert, [borne out as I am by a variety of circumstances,] that he was merely influenced by the most rapacious avarice.
"I claim then a divorce, and the liberty of enjoying, free from molestation, the fortune left to me by a relation, who was well aware of the character of the man with whom I had to[154] contend.—I appeal to the justice and humanity of the jury—a body of men, whose private judgment must be allowed to modify laws, that must be unjust, because definite rules can never apply to indefinite circumstances—and I deprecate punishment upon the man of my choice, freeing him, as I solemnly do, from the charge of seduction.]
"I did not put myself into a situation to justify a charge of adultery, till I had, from conviction, shaken off the fetters which bound me to Mr. Venables.—While I lived with him, I defy the voice of calumny to sully what is termed the fair fame of woman.—Neglected by my husband, I never encouraged a lover; and preserved with scrupulous care, what is termed my honour, at the expence of my peace, till he, who should have been its guar[155]dian, laid traps to ensnare me. From that moment I believed myself, in the sight of heaven, free—and no power on earth shall force me to renounce my resolution."
The judge, in summing up the evidence, alluded to "the fallacy of letting women plead their feelings, as an excuse for the violation of the marriage-vow. For his part, he had always determined to oppose all innovation, and the new-fangled notions which incroached on the good old rules of conduct. We did not want French principles in public or private life—and, if women were allowed to plead their feelings, as an excuse or palliation of infidelity, it was opening a flood-gate for immorality. What virtuous woman thought of her feelings?—It was her duty to love and obey the man[156] chosen by her parents and relations, who were qualified by their experience to judge better for her, than she could for herself. As to the charges brought against the husband, they were vague, supported by no witnesses, excepting that of imprisonment in a private mad-house. The proofs of an insanity in the family, might render that however a prudent measure; and indeed the conduct of the lady did not appear that of a person of sane mind. Still such a mode of proceeding could not be justified, and might perhaps entitle the lady [in another court] to a sentence of separation from bed and board, during the joint lives of the parties; but he hoped that no Englishman would legalize adultery, by enabling the adulteress to enrich her seducer. Too many restrictions could not be thrown in the[157] way of divorces, if we wished to maintain the sanctity of marriage; and, though they might bear a little hard on a few, very few individuals, it was evidently for the good of the whole."
[158]
Very few hints exist respecting the plan of the remainder of the work. I find only two detached sentences, and some scattered heads for the continuation of the story. I transcribe the whole.
I.
"Darnford's letters were affectionate; but circumstances occasioned delays,[159] and the miscarriage of some letters rendered the reception of wished-for answers doubtful: his return was necessary to calm Maria's mind."
II.
"As Darnford had informed her that his business was settled, his delaying to return seemed extraordinary; but love to excess, excludes fear or suspicion."
The scattered heads for the continuation of the story, are as follow[159-A].
I.
"Trial for adultery—Maria defends herself—A separation from bed and[160] board is the consequence—Her fortune is thrown into chancery—Darnford obtains a part of his property—Maria goes into the country."
II.
"A prosecution for adultery commenced—Trial—Darnford sets out for France—Letters—Once more pregnant—He returns—Mysterious behaviour—Visit—Expectation—Discovery—Interview—Consequence."
III.
"Sued by her husband—Damages awarded to him—Separation from bed and board—Darnford goes abroad—Maria into the country—Provides for her father—Is shunned—Returns to London—Expects to see her lover[161]—The rack of expectation—Finds herself again with child—Delighted—A discovery—A visit—A miscarriage—Conclusion."
IV.
"Divorced by her husband—Her lover unfaithful—Pregnancy—Miscarriage—Suicide."
[The following passage appears in some respects to deviate from the preceding hints. It is superscribed]
"She swallowed the laudanum; her soul was calm—the tempest had sub[162]sided—and nothing remained but an eager longing to forget herself—to fly from the anguish she endured to escape from thought—from this hell of disappointment.
"Still her eyes closed not—one remembrance with frightful velocity followed another—All the incidents of her life were in arms, embodied to assail her, and prevent her sinking into the sleep of death.—Her murdered child again appeared to her, mourning for the babe of which she was the tomb.—'And could it have a nobler?—Surely it is better to die with me, than to enter on life without a mother's care!—I cannot live!—but could I have deserted my child the moment it was born?—thrown it on the troubled wave of life, without a hand to support it?'—She looked[163] up: 'What have I not suffered!—may I find a father where I am going!'—Her head turned; a stupor ensued; a faintness—'Have a little patience,' said Maria, holding her swimming head (she thought of her mother), 'this cannot last long; and what is a little bodily pain to the pangs I have endured?'
"A new vision swam before her. Jemima seemed to enter—leading a little creature, that, with tottering footsteps, approached the bed. The voice of Jemima sounding as at a distance, called her—she tried to listen, to speak, to look!
"'Behold your child!' exclaimed Jemima. Maria started off the bed, and fainted.—Violent vomiting followed.
"When she was restored to life, Je[164]mima addressed her with great solemnity: '——— led me to suspect, that your husband and brother had deceived you, and secreted the child. I would not torment you with doubtful hopes, and I left you (at a fatal moment) to search for the child!—I snatched her from misery—and (now she is alive again) would you leave her alone in the world, to endure what I have endured?'
"Maria gazed wildly at her, her whole frame was convulsed with emotion; when the child, whom Jemima had been tutoring all the journey, uttered the word 'Mamma!' She caught her to her bosom, and burst into a passion of tears—then, resting the child gently on the bed, as if afraid of killing it,—she put her hand to her eyes, to conceal as it were the[165] agonizing struggle of her soul. She remained silent for five minutes, crossing her arms over her bosom, and reclining her head,—then exclaimed: 'The conflict is over!—I will live for my child!'"
A few readers perhaps, in looking over these hints, will wonder how it could have been practicable, without tediousness, or remitting in any degree the interest of the story, to have filled, from these slight sketches, a number of pages, more considerable than those which have been already presented. But, in reality, these hints, simple as they are, are pregnant with passion and distress. It is the refuge of barren au[166]thors only, to crowd their fictions with so great a number of events, as to suffer no one of them to sink into the reader's mind. It is the province of true genius to develop events, to discover their capabilities, to ascertain the different passions and sentiments with which they are fraught, and to diversify them with incidents, that give reality to the picture, and take a hold upon the mind of a reader of taste, from which they can never be loosened. It was particularly the design of the author, in the present instance, to make her story subordinate to a great moral purpose, that "of exhibiting the misery and oppression, peculiar to women, that arise out of the partial laws and customs of society.—This view restrained her fancy[166-A]." It[167] was necessary for her, to place in a striking point of view, evils that are too frequently overlooked, and to drag into light those details of oppression, of which the grosser and more insensible part of mankind make little account.
[159-A] To understand these minutes, it is necessary the reader should consider each of them as setting out from the same point in the story, viz. the point to which it is brought down in the preceding chapter.
[166-A] See author's preface.
[168]
[169]
[170]
[171]
The following pages will, I believe, be judged by every reader of taste to have been worth preserving, among the other testimonies the author left behind her, of her genius and the soundness of her understanding. To[172] such readers I leave the task of comparing these lessons, with other works of the same nature previously published. It is obvious that the author has struck out a path of her own, and by no means intrenched upon the plans of her predecessors.
It may however excite surprise in some persons to find these papers annexed to the conclusion of a novel. All I have to offer on this subject, consists in the following considerations:
First, something is to be allowed for the difficulty of arranging the miscellaneous papers upon very different sub[173]jects, which will frequently constitute an author's posthumous works.
Secondly, the small portion they occupy in the present volume, will perhaps be accepted as an apology, by such good-natured readers (if any such there are), to whom the perusal of them shall be a matter of perfect indifference.
Thirdly, the circumstance which determined me in annexing them to the present work, was the slight association (in default of a strong one) between the affectionate and pathetic manner in which Maria Venables ad[174]dresses her infant, in the Wrongs of Woman; and the agonising and painful sentiment with which the author originally bequeathed these papers, as a legacy for the benefit of her child.
[175]
The first book of a series which I intended to have written for my unfortunate girl[175-A].
LESSON I.
Cat. Dog. Cow. Horse. Sheep. Pig. Bird. Fly.
Man. Boy. Girl. Child.
[176] Head. Hair. Face. Nose. Mouth. Chin. Neck. Arms. Hand. Leg. Foot. Back. Breast.
House. Wall. Field. Street. Stone. Grass.
Bed. Chair. Door. Pot. Spoon. Knife. Fork. Plate. Cup. Box. Boy. Bell.
Tree. Leaf. Stick. Whip. Cart. Coach.
Frock. Hat. Coat. Shoes. Shift. Cap.
Bread. Milk. Tea. Meat. Drink. Cake.
LESSON II.
Come. Walk. Run. Go. Jump. Dance. Ride. Sit. Stand. Play.[177] Hold. Shake. Speak. Sing. Cry. Laugh. Call. Fall.
Day. Night. Sun. Moon. Light. Dark. Sleep. Wake.
Wash. Dress. Kiss. Comb.
Fire. Hot. Burn. Wind. Rain. Cold.
Hurt. Tear. Break. Spill.
Book. See. Look.
Sweet. Good. Clean.
Gone. Lost. Hide. Keep. Give. Take.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
White. Black. Red. Blue. Green. Brown.
[178]
LESSON III.
STROKE the cat. Play with the Dog. Eat the bread. Drink the milk. Hold the cup. Lay down the knife.
Look at the fly. See the horse. Shut the door. Bring the chair. Ring the bell. Get your book.
Hide your face. Wipe your nose. Wash your hands. Dirty hands. Why do you cry? A clean mouth. Shake hands. I love you. Kiss me now. Good girl.
The bird sings. The fire burns. The cat jumps. The dog runs. The bird flies. The cow lies down. The man laughs. The child cries.
[179]
LESSON IV.
LET me comb your head. Ask Betty to wash your face. Go and see for some bread. Drink milk, if you are dry. Play on the floor with the ball. Do not touch the ink; you will black your hands.
What do you want to say to me? Speak slow, not so fast. Did you fall? You will not cry, not you; the baby cries. Will you walk in the fields?
LESSON V.
COME to me, my little girl. Are you tired of playing? Yes. Sit down and rest yourself, while I talk to you.
[180] Have you seen the baby? Poor little thing. O here it comes. Look at him. How helpless he is. Four years ago you were as feeble as this very little boy.
See, he cannot hold up his head. He is forced to lie on his back, if his mamma do not turn him to the right or left side, he will soon begin to cry. He cries to tell her, that he is tired with lying on his back.
LESSON VI.
PERHAPS he is hungry. What shall we give him to eat? Poor fellow, he cannot eat. Look in his mouth, he has no teeth.
How did you do when you were a baby like him? You cannot tell. Do you want to know? Look then at the dog,[181] with her pretty puppy. You could not help yourself as well as the puppy. You could only open your mouth, when you were lying, like William, on my knee. So I put you to my breast, and you sucked, as the puppy sucks now, for there was milk enough for you.
LESSON VII.
WHEN you were hungry, you began to cry, because you could not speak. You were seven months without teeth, always sucking. But after you got one, you began to gnaw a crust of bread. It was not long before another came pop. At ten months you had four pretty white teeth, and you used to bite me. Poor mamma! Still I did not cry, because I am not a child, but[182] you hurt me very much. So I said to papa, it is time the little girl should eat. She is not naughty, yet she hurts me. I have given her a crust of bread, and I must look for some other milk.
The cow has got plenty, and her jumping calf eats grass very well. He has got more teeth than my little girl. Yes, says papa, and he tapped you on the cheek, you are old enough to learn to eat? Come to me, and I will teach you, my little dear, for you must not hurt poor mamma, who has given you her milk, when you could not take any thing else.
LESSON VIII.
YOU were then on the carpet, for you could not walk well. So when you were in a hurry, you used to run[183] quick, quick, quick, on your hands and feet, like the dog.
Away you ran to papa, and putting both your arms round his leg, for your hands were not big enough, you looked up at him, and laughed. What did this laugh say, when you could not speak? Cannot you guess by what you now say to papa?—Ah! it was, Play with me, papa!—play with me!
Papa began to smile, and you knew that the smile was always—Yes. So you got a ball, and papa threw it along the floor—Roll—roll—roll; and you ran after it again—and again. How pleased you were. Look at William, he smiles; but you could laugh loud—Ha! ha! ha!—Papa laughed louder than the little girl, and rolled the ball still faster.
Then he put the ball on a chair, and[184] you were forced to take hold of the back, and stand up to reach it. At last you reached too far, and down you fell: not indeed on your face, because you put out your hands. You were not much hurt; but the palms of your hands smarted with the pain, and you began to cry, like a little child.
It is only very little children who cry when they are hurt; and it is to tell their mamma, that something is the matter with them. Now you can come to me, and say, Mamma, I have hurt myself. Pray rub my hand: it smarts. Put something on it, to make it well. A piece of rag, to stop the blood. You are not afraid of a little blood—not you. You scratched your arm with a pin: it bled a little; but it did you no harm. See, the skin is grown over it again.
[185]
LESSON IX.
TAKE care not to put pins in your mouth, because they will stick in your throat, and give you pain. Oh! you cannot think what pain a pin would give you in your throat, should it remain there: but, if you by chance swallow it, I should be obliged to give you, every morning, something bitter to drink. You never tasted any thing so bitter! and you would grow very sick. I never put pins in my mouth; but I am older than you, and know how to take care of myself.
My mamma took care of me, when I was a little girl, like you. She bade me never put any thing in my mouth, without asking her what it was.
When you were a baby, with no more[186] sense than William, you put every thing in your mouth to gnaw, to help your teeth to cut through the skin. Look at the puppy, how he bites that piece of wood. William presses his gums against my finger. Poor boy! he is so young, he does not know what he is doing. When you bite any thing, it is because you are hungry.
LESSON X.
SEE how much taller you are than William. In four years you have learned to eat, to walk, to talk. Why do you smile? You can do much more, you think: you can wash your hands and face. Very well. I should never kiss a dirty face. And you can comb your head with the pretty comb you always[187] put by in your own drawer. To be sure, you do all this to be ready to take a walk with me. You would be obliged to stay at home, if you could not comb your own hair. Betty is busy getting the dinner ready, and only brushes William's hair, because he cannot do it for himself.
Betty is making an apple-pye. You love an apple-pye; but I do not bid you make one. Your hands are not strong enough to mix the butter and flour together; and you must not try to pare the apples, because you cannot manage a great knife.
Never touch the large knives: they are very sharp, and you might cut your finger to the bone. You are a little girl, and ought to have a little knife. When you are as tall as I am, you shall have a knife as large as mine; and[188] when you are as strong as I am, and have learned to manage it, you will not hurt yourself.
You can trundle a hoop, you say; and jump over a stick. O, I forgot!—and march like the men in the red coats, when papa plays a pretty tune on the fiddle.
LESSON XI.
WHAT, you think that you shall soon be able to dress yourself entirely? I am glad of it: I have something else to do. You may go, and look for your frock in the drawer; but I will tie it, till you are stronger. Betty will tie it, when I am busy.
I button my gown myself: I do not want a maid to assist me, when I am[189] dressing. But you have not yet got sense enough to do it properly, and must beg somebody to help you, till you are older.
Children grow older and wiser at the same time. William is not able to take a piece of meat, because he has not got the sense which would make him think that, without teeth, meat would do him harm. He cannot tell what is good for him.
The sense of children grows with them. You know much more than William, now you walk alone, and talk; but you do not know as much as the boys and girls you see playing yonder, who are half as tall again as you; and they do not know half as much as their fathers and mothers, who are men and women grown. Papa and I were children, like you; and men and women[190] took care of us. I carry William, because he is too weak to walk. I lift you over a stile, and over the gutter, when you cannot jump over it.
You know already, that potatoes will not do you any harm: but I must pluck the fruit for you, till you are wise enough to know the ripe apples and pears. The hard ones would make you sick, and then you must take physic. You do not love physic: I do not love it any more than you. But I have more sense than you; therefore I take care not to eat unripe fruit, or any thing else that would make my stomach ache, or bring out ugly red spots on my face.
When I was a child, my mamma chose the fruit for me, to prevent my making myself sick. I was just like you; I used to ask for what I saw, without knowing whether it was good or[191] bad. Now I have lived a long time, I know what is good; I do not want any body to tell me.
LESSON XII.
LOOK at those two dogs. The old one brings the ball to me in a moment; the young one does not know how. He must be taught.
I can cut your shift in a proper shape. You would not know how to begin. You would spoil it; but you will learn.
John digs in the garden, and knows when to put the seed in the ground. You cannot tell whether it should be in the winter or summer. Try to find it out. When do the trees put out their leaves? In the spring, you say, after the[192] cold weather. Fruit would not grow ripe without very warm weather. Now I am sure you can guess why the summer is the season for fruit.
Papa knows that peas and beans are good for us to eat with our meat. You are glad when you see them; but if he did not think for you, and have the seed put in the ground, we should have no peas or beans.
LESSON XIII.
POOR child, she cannot do much for herself. When I let her do any thing for me, it is to please her: for I could do it better myself.
Oh! the poor puppy has tumbled off the stool. Run and stroak him. Put[193] a little milk in a saucer to comfort him. You have more sense than he. You can pour the milk into the saucer without spilling it. He would cry for a day with hunger, without being able to get it. You are wiser than the dog, you must help him. The dog will love you for it, and run after you. I feed you and take care of you: you love me and follow me for it.
When the book fell down on your foot, it gave you great pain. The poor dog felt the same pain just now.
Take care not to hurt him when you play with him. And every morning leave a little milk in your bason for him. Do not forget to put the bason in a corner, lest somebody should fall over it.
When the snow covers the ground, save the crumbs of bread for the birds. In the summer they find feed enough,[194] and do not want you to think about them.
I make broth for the poor man who is sick. A sick man is like a child, he cannot help himself.
LESSON X.
WHEN I caught cold some time ago, I had such a pain in my head, I could scarcely hold it up. Papa opened the door very softly, because he loves me. You love me, yet you made a noise. You had not the sense to know that it made my head worse, till papa told you.
Papa had a pain in the stomach, and he would not eat the fine cherries or grapes on the table. When I brought him a cup of camomile tea, he drank it without saying a word, or making[195] an ugly face. He knows that I love him, and that I would not give him any thing to drink that has a bad taste, if it were not to do him good.
You asked me for some apples when your stomach ached; but I was not angry with you. If you had been as wise as papa, you would have said, I will not eat the apples to-day, I must take some camomile tea.
You say that you do not know how to think. Yes; you do a little. The other day papa was tired; he had been walking about all the morning. After dinner he fell asleep on the sopha. I did not bid you be quiet; but you thought of what papa said to you, when my head ached. This made you think that you ought not to make a noise, when papa was resting himself. So you came to me, and said to me, very softly, Pray reach me my ball, and[196] I will go and play in the garden, till papa wakes.
You were going out; but thinking again, you came back to me on your tip-toes. Whisper——whisper. Pray mama, call me, when papa wakes; for I shall be afraid to open the door to see, lest I should disturb him.
Away you went.—Creep—creep—and shut the door as softly as I could have done myself.
That was thinking. When a child does wrong at first, she does not know any better. But, after she has been told that she must not disturb mama, when poor mama is unwell, she thinks herself, that she must not wake papa when he is tired.
Another day we will see if you can think about any thing else.
[175-A] This title which is indorsed on the back of the manuscript, I conclude to have been written in a period of desperation, in the month of October, 1795.
editor.
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[1]
"I Reſume my pen to fly from thought. I was married; and we haſtened to London. I had purpoſed taking one of my ſiſters with me; for a ſtrong motive for marrying, was the deſire of having a home at which I could receive them, now their own grew ſo uncomfortable, as not to deſerve the cheering appellation. An objection was made to her[2] accompanying me, that appeared plauſible; and I reluctantly acquieſced. I was however willingly allowed to take with me Molly, poor Peggy's daughter. London and preferment, are ideas commonly aſſociated in the country; and, as blooming as May, ſhe bade adieu to Peggy with weeping eyes. I did not even feel hurt at the refuſal in relation to my ſiſter, till hearing what my uncle had done for me, I had the ſimplicity to requeſt, ſpeaking with warmth of their ſituation, that he would give them a thouſand pounds a-piece, which ſeemed to me but juſtice. He aſked me, giving me a kiſs, 'If I had loſt my ſenſes?' I ſtarted back, as if I had found a waſp in a roſe-buſh. I expoſtulated. He ſneered; and the demon of diſcord entered our paradiſe, to[3] poiſon with his peſtiferous breath every opening joy.
"I had ſometimes obſerved defects in my huſband's underſtanding; but, led aſtray by a prevailing opinion, that goodneſs of diſpoſition is of the firſt importance in the relative ſituations of life, in proportion as I perceived the narrowneſs of his underſtanding, fancy enlarged the boundary of his heart. Fatal error! How quickly is the ſo much vaunted milkineſs of nature turned into gall, by an intercourſe with the world, if more generous juices do not ſuſtain the vital ſource of virtue!
"One trait in my character was extreme credulity; but, when my eyes were once opened, I ſaw but too clearly all I had before overlooked. My huſband was ſunk in my eſteem; ſtill there are youthful emotions, which, for a while,[4] fill up the chaſm of love and friendſhip. Beſides, it required ſome time to enable me to ſee his whole character in a juſt light, or rather to allow it to become fixed. While circumſtances were ripening my faculties, and cultivating my taſte, commerce and groſs relaxations were ſhutting his againſt any poſſibility of improvement, till, by ſtifling every ſpark of virtue in himſelf, he began to imagine that it no where exiſted.
"Do not let me lead you aſtray, my child, I do not mean to aſſert, that any human being is entirely incapable of feeling the generous emotions, which are the foundation of every true principle of virtue; but they are frequently, I fear, ſo feeble, that, like the inflammable quality which more or leſs lurks in all bodies, they often lie for[5] ever dormant; the circumſtances never occurring, neceſſary to call them into action.
"I diſcovered however by chance, that, in conſequence of ſome loſſes in trade, the natural effect of his gambling deſire to ſtart ſuddenly into riches, the five thouſand pounds given me by my uncle, had been paid very opportunely. This diſcovery, ſtrange as you may think the aſſertion, gave me pleaſure; my huſband's embarraſſments endeared him to me. I was glad to find an excuſe for his conduct to my ſiſters, and my mind became calmer.
"My uncle introduced me to ſome literary ſociety; and the theatres were a never-failing ſource of amuſement to me. My delighted eye followed Mrs. Siddons, when, with dignified delicacy, ſhe played Caliſta; and I involuntarily[6] repeated after her, in the ſame tone, and with a long-drawn ſigh,
"Theſe were, at firſt, ſpontaneous emotions, though, becoming acquainted with men of wit and poliſhed manners, I could not ſometimes help regretting my early marriage; and that, in my haſte to eſcape from a temporary dependence, and expand my newly fledged wings, in an unknown ſky, I had been caught in a trap, and caged for life. Still the novelty of London, and the attentive fondneſs of my huſband, for he had ſome perſonal regard for me, made ſeveral months glide away. Yet, not forgetting the ſituation of my ſiſters, who were ſtill very young, I prevailed on my uncle to ſet[7]tle a thouſand pounds on each; and to place them in a ſchool near town, where I could frequently viſit, as well as have them at home with me.
"I now tried to improve my huſband's taſte, but we had few ſubjects in common; indeed he ſoon appeared to have little reliſh for my ſociety, unleſs he was hinting to me the uſe he could make of my uncle's wealth. When we had company, I was diſguſted by an oſtentatious diſplay of riches, and I have often quitted the room, to avoid liſtening to exaggerated tales of money obtained by lucky hits.
"With all my attention and affectionate intereſt, I perceived that I could not become the friend or confident of my huſband. Every thing I learned relative to his affairs I gathered up by accident; and I vainly endea[8]voured to eſtabliſh, at our fire-ſide, that ſocial converſe, which often renders people of different characters dear to each other. Returning from the theatre, or any amuſing party, I frequently began to relate what I had ſeen and highly reliſhed; but with ſullen taciturnity he ſoon ſilenced me. I ſeemed therefore gradually to loſe, in his ſociety, the ſoul, the energies of which had juſt been in action. To ſuch a degree, in fact, did his cold, reſerved manner affect me, that, after ſpending ſome days with him alone, I have imagined myſelf the moſt ſtupid creature in the world, till the abilities of ſome caſual viſitor convinced me that I had ſome dormant animation, and ſentiments above the duſt in which I had been groveling. The very countenance of my huſband changed; his com[9]plexion became ſallow, and all the charms of youth were vaniſhing with its vivacity.
"I give you one view of the ſubject; but theſe experiments and alterations took up the ſpace of five years; during which period, I had moſt reluctantly extorted ſeveral ſums from my uncle, to ſave my huſband, to uſe his own words, from deſtruction. At firſt it was to prevent bills being noted, to the injury of his credit; then to bail him; and afterwards to prevent an execution from entering the houſe. I began at laſt to conclude, that he would have made more exertions of his own to extricate himſelf, had he not relied on mine, cruel as was the taſk he impoſed on me; and I firmly determined that I would make uſe of no more pretexts.
"From the moment I pronounced[10] this determination, indifference on his part was changed into rudeneſs, or ſomething worſe.
"He now ſeldom dined at home, and continually returned at a late hour, drunk, to bed. I retired to another apartment; I was glad, I own, to eſcape from his; for perſonal intimacy without affection, ſeemed, to me the moſt degrading, as well as the moſt painful ſtate in which a woman of any taſte, not to ſpeak of the peculiar delicacy of foſtered ſenſibility, could be placed. But my huſband's fondneſs for women was of the groſſeſt kind, and imagination was ſo wholly out of the queſtion, as to render his indulgences of this ſort entirely promiſcuous, and of the moſt brutal nature. My health ſuffered, before my heart was entirely eſtranged by the loath[11]ſome information; could I then have returned to his ſullied arms, but as a victim to the prejudices of mankind, who have made women the property of their huſbands? I diſcovered even, by his converſation, when intoxicated, that his favourites were wantons of the loweſt claſs, who could by their vulgar, indecent mirth, which he called nature, rouſe his ſluggiſh ſpirits. Meretricious ornaments and manners were neceſſary to attract his attention. He ſeldom looked twice at a modeſt woman, and ſat ſilent in their company; and the charms of youth and beauty had not the ſlighteſt effect on his ſenſes, unleſs the poſſeſſors were initiated in vice. His intimacy with profligate women, and his habits of thinking, gave him a contempt for female endowments; and he would repeat, when[12] wine had looſed his tongue, moſt of the common-place ſarcaſms levelled at them, by men who do not allow them to have minds, becauſe mind would be an impediment to groſs enjoyment. Men who are inferior to their fellow men, are always moſt anxious to eſtabliſh their ſuperiority over women. But where are theſe reflections leading me?
"Women who have loſt their huſband's affection, are juſtly reproved for neglecting their perſons, and not taking the ſame pains to keep, as to gain a heart; but who thinks of giving the ſame advice to men, though women are continually ſtigmatized for being attached to fops; and from the nature of their education, are more ſuſceptible of diſguſt? Yet why a woman ſhould be expected to endure a ſloven, with[13] more patience than a man, and magnanimouſly to govern herſelf, I cannot conceive; unleſs it be ſuppoſed arrogant in her to look for reſpect as well as a maintenance. It is not eaſy to be pleaſed, becauſe, after promiſing to love, in different circumſtances, we are told that it is our duty. I cannot, I am ſure (though, when attending the ſick, I never felt diſguſt) forget my own ſenſations, when riſing with health and ſpirit, and after ſcenting the ſweet morning, I have met my huſband at the breakfaſt table. The active attention I had been giving to domeſtic regulations, which were generally ſettled before he roſe, or a walk, gave a glow to my countenance, that contraſted with his ſquallid appearance. The ſqueamiſhneſs of ſtomach alone, produced by the laſt night's intemperance, which[14] he took no pains to conceal, deſtroyed my appetite. I think I now ſee him lolling in an arm-chair, in a dirty powdering gown, ſoiled linen, ungartered ſtockings, and tangled hair, yawning and ſtretching himſelf. The newſpaper was immediately called for, if not brought in on the tea-board, from which he would ſcarcely lift his eyes while I poured out the tea, excepting to aſk for ſome brandy to put into it, or to declare that he could not eat. In anſwer to any queſtion, in his beſt humour, it was a drawling 'What do you ſay, child?' But if I demanded money for the houſe expences, which I put off till the laſt moment, his cuſtomary reply, often prefaced with an oath, was, 'Do you think me, madam, made of money?'—The butcher, the baker, muſt wait; and, what was[15] worſe, I was often obliged to witneſs his ſurly diſmiſſion of tradeſmen, who were in want of their money, and whom I ſometimes paid with the preſents my uncle gave me for my own uſe.
"At this juncture my father's miſtreſs, by terrifying his conſcience, prevailed on him to marry her; he was already become a methodiſt; and my brother, who now practiſed for himſelf, had diſcovered a flaw in the ſettlement made on my mother's children, which ſet it aſide, and he allowed my father, whoſe diſtreſs made him ſubmit to any thing, a tithe of his own, or rather our fortune.
"My ſiſters had left ſchool, but were unable to endure home, which my father's wife rendered as diſagreeable as poſſible, to get rid of girls whom ſhe[16] regarded as ſpies on her conduct. They were accompliſhed, yet you can (may you never be reduced to the ſame deſtitute ſtate!) ſcarcely conceive the trouble I had to place them in the ſituation of governeſſes, the only one in which even a well-educated woman, with more than ordinary talents, can ſtruggle for a ſubſiſtence; and even this is a dependence next to menial. Is it then ſurpriſing, that ſo many forlorn women, with human paſſions and feelings, take refuge in infamy? Alone in large manſions, I ſay alone, becauſe they had no companions with whom they could converſe on equal terms, or from whom they could expect the endearments of affection, they grew melancholy, and the ſound of joy made them ſad; and the youngeſt, having a more delicate frame, fell into a decline. It was with[17] great difficulty that I, who now almoſt ſupported the houſe by loans from my uncle, could prevail on the maſter of it, to allow her a room to die in. I watched her ſick bed for ſome months, and then cloſed her eyes, gentle ſpirit! for ever. She was pretty, with very engaging manners; yet had never an opportunity to marry, excepting to a very old man. She had abilities ſufficient to have ſhone in any profeſſion, had there been any profeſſions for women, though ſhe ſhrunk at the name of milliner or mantua-maker as degrading to a gentlewoman. I would not term this feeling falſe pride to any one but you, my child, whom I fondly hope to ſee (yes; I will indulge the hope for a moment!) poſſeſſed of that energy of character which gives dignity to any ſtation; and with that clear, firm ſpirit that will en[18]able you to chooſe a ſituation for yourſelf, or ſubmit to be claſſed in the loweſt, if it be the only one in which you can be the miſtreſs of your own actions.
"Soon after the death of my ſiſter, an incident occurred, to prove to me that the heart of a libertine is dead to natural affection; and to convince me, that the being who has appeared all tenderneſs, to gratify a ſelfiſh paſſion, is as regardleſs of the innocent fruit of it, as of the object, when the fit is over. I had caſually obſerved an old, mean-looking woman, who called on my huſband every two or three months to receive ſome money. One day entering the paſſage of his little counting-houſe, as ſhe was going out, I heard her ſay, 'The child is very weak; ſhe cannot live long, ſhe will ſoon die[19] out of your way, ſo you need not grudge her a little phyſic.'
"'So much the better,' he replied, 'and pray mind your own buſineſs, good woman.'
"I was ſtruck by his unfeeling, inhuman tone of voice, and drew back, determined when the woman came again, to try to ſpeak to her, not out of curioſity, I had heard enough, but with the hope of being uſeful to a poor, outcaſt girl.
"A month or two elapſed before I ſaw this woman again; and then ſhe had a child in her hand that tottered along, ſcarcely able to ſuſtain her own weight. They were going away, to return at the hour Mr. Venables was expected; he was now from home. I deſired the woman to walk into the parlour. She heſitated, yet obeyed.[20] I aſſured her that I ſhould not mention to my huſband (the word ſeemed to weigh on my reſpiration), that I had ſeen her, or his child. The woman ſtared at me with aſtoniſhment; and I turned my eyes on the ſqualid object [that accompanied her.] She could hardly ſupport herſelf, her complexion was ſallow, and her eyes inflamed, with an indeſcribable look of cunning, mixed with the wrinkles produced by the peeviſhneſs of pain.
"'Poor child!' I exclaimed. 'Ah! you may well ſay poor child,' replied the woman. 'I brought her here to ſee whether he would have the heart to look at her, and not get ſome advice. I do not know what they deſerve who nurſed her. Why, her legs bent under her like a bow when ſhe came to me, and ſhe has never been well ſince; but,[21] if they were no better paid than I am, it is not to be wondered at, ſure enough.'
"On further enquiry I was informed, that this miſerable ſpectacle was the daughter of a ſervant, a country girl, who caught Mr. Venables' eye, and whom he ſeduced. On his marriage he ſent her away, her ſituation being too viſible. After her delivery, ſhe was thrown on the town; and died in an hoſpital within the year. The babe was ſent to a pariſh-nurſe, and afterwards to this woman, who did not ſeem much better; but what was to be expected from ſuch a cloſe bargain? She was only paid three ſhillings a week for board and waſhing.
"The woman begged me to give her ſome old clothes for the child, aſſuring me, that ſhe was almoſt afraid to aſk[22] maſter for money to buy even a pair of ſhoes.
"I grew ſick at heart. And, fearing Mr. Venables might enter, and oblige me to expreſs my abhorrence, I haſtily enquired where ſhe lived, promiſed to pay her two ſhillings a week more, and to call on her in a day or two; putting a trifle into her hand as a proof of my good intention.
"If the ſtate of this child affected me, what were my feelings at a diſcovery I made reſpecting Peggy——?[22-A]
[22-A] The manuſcript is imperfect here. An epiſode ſeems to have been intended, which was never committed to paper.
editor.
[23]
"My father's ſituation was now ſo diſtreſſing, that I prevailed on my uncle to accompany me to viſit him; and to lend me his aſſiſtance, to prevent the whole property of the family from becoming the prey of my brother's rapacity; for, to extricate himſelf out of preſent difficulties, my father was totally regardleſs of futurity. I took down with me ſome preſents for my ſtep-mother; it did not require an effort for me to treat her with civility, or to forget the paſt.
"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[24] 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 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 form of ſeveral favourite trees, and the porches of rude cottages, with their ſmiling hedges, were recognized with the glad[25]ſome 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 windmill, 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![26] 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 fervour 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 ſoft, huſhing every wayward emotion, as if fearing to ſully with a ſigh, a contentment ſo extatic.
"Having ſettled my father's affairs, and, by my exertions in his favour, made my brother my ſworn foe, I returned to London. My huſband's conduct[27] was now changed; I had during my abſence, received ſeveral affectionate, penitential letters from him; and he ſeemed on my arrival, to wiſh by his behaviour to prove his ſincerity. I could not then conceive why he acted thus; and, when the ſuſpicion darted into my head, that it might ariſe from obſerving my increaſing influence with my uncle, I almoſt deſpiſed myſelf for imagining that ſuch a degree of debaſing ſelfiſhneſs could exiſt.
"He became, unaccountable as was the change, tender and attentive; and, attacking my weak ſide, made a confeſſion of his follies, and lamented the embarraſſments in which I, who merited a far different fate, might be involved. He beſought me to aid him with my counſel, praiſed my underſtanding, and[28] appealed to the tenderneſs of my heart.
"This conduct only inſpired me with compaſſion. I wiſhed to be his friend; but love had ſpread his roſy pinions, and fled far, far away; and had not (like ſome exquiſite perfumes, the fine ſpirit of which is continually mingling with the air) left a fragrance behind, to mark where he had ſhook his wings. My huſband's renewed careſſes then became hateful to me; his brutality was tolerable, compared to his diſtaſteful fondneſs. Still, compaſſion, and the fear of inſulting his ſuppoſed feelings, by a want of ſympathy, made me diſſemble, and do violence to my delicacy. What a taſk!
"Thoſe who ſupport a ſyſtem of what I term falſe refinement, and will[29] not allow great part of love in the female, as well as male breaſt, to ſpring in ſome reſpects involuntarily, may not admit that charms are as neceſſary to feed the paſſion, as virtues to convert the mellowing ſpirit into friendſhip. To ſuch obſervers I have nothing to ſay, any more than to the moraliſts, who inſiſt that women ought to, and can love their huſbands, becauſe it is their duty. To you, my child, I may add, with a heart tremblingly alive to your future conduct, ſome obſervations, dictated by my preſent feelings, on calmly reviewing this period of my life. When noveliſts or moraliſts praiſe as a virtue, a woman's coldneſs of conſtitution, and want of paſſion; and make her yield to the ardour of her lover out of ſheer compaſſion, or to promote a frigid plan of future comfort, I am diſguſted.[30] They may be good women, in the ordinary acceptation of the phraſe, and do no harm; but they appear to me not to have thoſe 'finely faſhioned nerves,' which render the ſenſes exquiſite. They may poſſeſs tenderneſs; but they want that fire of the imagination, which produces active ſenſibility, and poſitive virtue. How does the woman deſerve to be characterized, who marries one man, with a heart and imagination devoted to another? Is ſhe not an object of pity or contempt, when thus ſacrilegiouſly violating the purity of her own feelings? Nay, it is as indelicate, when ſhe is indifferent, unleſs ſhe be conſtitutionally inſenſible; then indeed it is a mere affair of barter; and I have nothing to do with the ſecrets of trade. Yes; eagerly as I wiſh you to poſſeſs true rectitude of mind, and purity of[31] affection, I muſt inſiſt that a heartleſs conduct is the contrary of virtuous. Truth is the only baſis of virtue; and we cannot, without depraving our minds, endeavour to pleaſe a lover or huſband, but in proportion as he pleaſes us. Men, more effectually to enſlave us, may inculcate this partial morality, and loſe ſight of virtue in ſubdividing it into the duties of particular ſtations; but let us not bluſh for nature without a cauſe!
"After theſe remarks, I am aſhamed to own, that I was pregnant. The greateſt ſacrifice of my principles in my whole life, was the allowing my huſband again to be familiar with my perſon, though to this cruel act of ſelf-denial, when I wiſhed the earth to open and ſwallow me, you owe your birth; and I the unutterable pleaſure[32] of being a mother. There was ſomething of delicacy in my huſband's bridal attentions; but now his tainted breath, pimpled face, and blood-ſhot eyes, were not more repugnant to my ſenſes, than his groſs manners, and loveleſs familiarity to my taſte.
"A man would only be expected to maintain; yes, barely grant a ſubſiſtence, to a woman rendered odious by habitual intoxication; but who would expect him, or think it poſſible to love her? And unleſs 'youth, and genial years were flown,' it would be thought equally unreaſonable to inſiſt, [under penalty of] forfeiting almoſt every thing reckoned valuable in life, that he ſhould not love another: whilſt woman, weak in reaſon, impotent in will, is required to moralize, ſentimentalize herſelf to ſtone, and pine her life away,[33] labouring to reform her embruted mate. He may even ſpend in diſſipation, and intemperance, the very intemperance which renders him ſo hateful, her property, and by ſtinting her expences, not permit her to beguile in ſociety, a weariſome, joyleſs life; for over their mutual fortune ſhe has no power, it muſt all paſs through his hand. And if ſhe be a mother, and in the preſent ſtate of women, it is a great miſfortune to be prevented from diſcharging the duties, and cultivating the affections of one, what has ſhe not to endure?—But I have ſuffered the tenderneſs of one to lead me into reflections that I did not think of making, to interrupt my narrative—yet the full heart will overflow.
"Mr. Venables' embarraſſments did not now endear him to me; ſtill, anxi[34]ous to befriend him, I endeavoured to prevail on him to retrench his expences; but he had always ſome plauſible excuſe to give, to juſtify his not following my advice. Humanity, compaſſion, and the intereſt produced by a habit of living together, made me try to relieve, and ſympathize with him; but, when I recollected that I was bound to live with ſuch a being for ever—my heart died within me; my deſire of improvement became languid, and baleful, corroding melancholy took poſſeſſion of my ſoul. Marriage had baſtilled me for life. I diſcovered in myſelf a capacity for the enjoyment of the various pleaſures exiſtence affords; yet, fettered by the partial laws of ſociety, this fair globe was to me an univerſal blank.
"When I exhorted my huſband to[35] economy, I referred to himſelf. I was obliged to practiſe the moſt rigid, or contract debts, which I had too much reaſon to fear would never be paid. I deſpiſed this paltry privilege of a wife, which can only be of uſe to the vicious or inconſiderate, and determined not to increaſe the torrent that was bearing him down. I was then ignorant of the extent of his fraudulent ſpeculations, whom I was bound to honour and obey.
"A woman neglected by her huſband, or whoſe manners form a ſtriking contraſt with his, will always have men on the watch to ſoothe and flatter her. Beſides, the forlorn ſtate of a neglected woman, not deſtitute of perſonal charms, is particularly intereſting, and rouſes that ſpecies of pity, which is ſo near akin, it eaſily ſlides[36] into love. A man of feeling thinks not of ſeducing, he is himſelf ſeduced by all the nobleſt emotions of his ſoul. He figures to himſelf all the ſacrifices a woman of ſenſibility muſt make, and every ſituation in which his imagination places her, touches his heart, and fires his paſſions. Longing to take to his boſom the ſhorn lamb, and bid the drooping buds of hope revive, benevolence changes into paſſion: and ſhould he then diſcover that he is beloved, honour binds him faſt, though foreſeeing that he may afterwards be obliged to pay ſevere damages to the man, who never appeared to value his wife's ſociety, till he found that there was a chance of his being indemnified for the loſs of it.
"Such are the partial laws enacted by men; for, only to lay a ſtreſs on the[37] dependent ſtate of a woman in the grand queſtion of the comforts ariſing from the poſſeſſion of property, ſhe is [even in this article] much more injured by the loſs of the huſband's affection, than he by that of his wife; yet where is ſhe, condemned to the ſolitude of a deſerted home, to look for a compenſation from the woman, who ſeduces him from her? She cannot drive an unfaithful huſband from his houſe, nor ſeparate, or tear, his children from him, however culpable he may be; and he, ſtill the maſter of his own fate, enjoys the ſmiles of a world, that would brand her with infamy, did ſhe, ſeeking conſolation, venture to retaliate.
"Theſe remarks are not dictated by experience; but merely by the compaſſion I feel for many amiable women, the out-laws of the world. For my[38]ſelf, never encouraging any of the advances that were made to me, my lovers dropped off like the untimely ſhoots of ſpring. I did not even coquet with them; becauſe I found, on examining myſelf, I could not coquet with a man without loving him a little; and I perceived that I ſhould not be able to ſtop at the line of what are termed innocent freedoms, did I ſuffer any. My reſerve was then the conſequence of delicacy. Freedom of conduct has emancipated many women's minds; but my conduct has moſt rigidly been governed by my principles, till the improvement of my underſtanding has enabled me to diſcern the fallacy of prejudices at war with nature and reaſon.
"Shortly after the change I have mentioned in my huſband's conduct,[39] my uncle was compelled by his declining health, to ſeek the ſuccour of a milder climate, and embark for Liſbon. He left his will in the hands of a friend, an eminent ſolicitor; he had previouſly queſtioned me relative to my ſituation and ſtate of mind, and declared very freely, that he could place no reliance on the ſtability of my huſband's profeſſions. He had been deceived in the unfolding of his character; he now thought it fixed in a train of actions that would inevitably lead to ruin and diſgrace.
"The evening before his departure, which we ſpent alone together, he folded me to his heart, uttering the endearing appellation of 'child.'—My more than father! why was I not permitted to perform the laſt duties of one, and ſmooth the pillow of death?[40] He ſeemed by his manner to be convinced that he ſhould never ſee me more; yet requeſted me, moſt earneſtly, to come to him, ſhould I be obliged to leave my huſband. He had before expreſſed his ſorrow at hearing of my pregnancy, having determined to prevail on me to accompany him, till I informed him of that circumſtance. He expreſſed himſelf unfeignedly ſorry that any new tie ſhould bind me to a man whom he thought ſo incapable of eſtimating my value; ſuch was the kind language of affection.
"I muſt repeat his own words; they made an indelible impreſſion on my mind:
"'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,[41] 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 houſe-keeper, 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,[42] 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.
"'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 of 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 wo[43]man, 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.'
"During the remainder of the evening, my uncle's tenderneſs led him frequently to revert to the ſubject, and utter, with increaſing warmth, ſentiments to the ſame purport. At length it was neceſſary to ſay 'Farewell!'—and we parted—gracious God! to meet no more.
[44]
"A gentleman of large fortune and of poliſhed manners, had lately viſited very frequently at our houſe, and treated me, if poſſible, with more reſpect than Mr. Venables paid him; my pregnancy was not yet viſible, his ſociety was a great relief to me, as I had for ſome time paſt, to avoid expence, confined myſelf very much at home. I ever diſdained unneceſſary, perhaps even prudent concealments; and my huſband, with great eaſe, diſcovered the amount of my uncle's parting preſent. A copy of a writ was the ſtale pretext to extort it from me; and I had ſoon reaſon to believe that it was[45] fabricated for the purpoſe. I acknowledge my folly in thus ſuffering myſelf to be continually impoſed on. I had adhered to my reſolution not to apply to my uncle, on the part of my huſband, any more; yet, when I had received a ſum ſufficient to ſupply my own wants, and to enable me to purſue a plan I had in view, to ſettle my younger brother in a reſpectable employment, I allowed myſelf to be duped by Mr. Venables' ſhallow pretences, and hypocritical profeſſions.
"Thus did he pillage me and my family, thus fruſtrate all my plans of uſefulneſs. Yet this was the man I was bound to reſpect and eſteem: as if reſpect and eſteem depended on an arbitrary will of our own! But a wife being as much a man's property as his horſe, or his aſs, ſhe has nothing ſhe[46] can call her own. He may uſe any means to get at what the law conſiders as his, the moment his wife is in poſſeſſion of it, even to the forcing of a lock, as Mr. Venables did, to ſearch for notes in my writing-deſk—and all this is done with a ſhow of equity, becauſe, forſooth, he is reſponſible for her maintenance.
"The tender mother cannot lawfully ſnatch from the gripe of the gambling ſpendthrift, or beaſtly drunkard, unmindful of his offſpring, the fortune which falls to her by chance; or (ſo flagrant is the injuſtice) what ſhe earns by her own exertions. No; he can rob her with impunity, even to waſte publicly on a courtezan; and the laws of her country—if women have a country—afford her no protection or redreſs from the oppreſſor, un[47]leſs ſhe have the plea of bodily fear; yet how many ways are there of goading the ſoul almoſt to madneſs, equally unmanly, though not ſo mean? When ſuch laws were framed, ſhould not impartial lawgivers have firſt decreed, in the ſtyle of a great aſſembly, who recognized the exiſtence of an être ſuprême, to fix the national belief, that the huſband ſhould always be wiſer and more virtuous than his wife, in order to entitle him, with a ſhow of juſtice, to keep this idiot, or perpetual minor, for ever in bondage. But I muſt have done—on this ſubject, my indignation continually runs away with me.
"The company of the gentleman I have already mentioned, who had a general acquaintance with literature and ſubjects of taſte, was grateful to me; my countenance brightened up as[48] he approached, and I unaffectedly expreſſed the pleaſure I felt. The amuſement his converſation afforded me, made it eaſy to comply with my huſband's requeſt, to endeavour to render our houſe agreeable to him.
"His attentions became more pointed; but, as I was not of the number of women, whoſe virtue, as it is termed, immediately takes alarm, I endeavoured, rather by raillery than ſerious expoſtulation, to give a different turn to his converſation. He aſſumed a new mode of attack, and I was, for a while, the dupe of his pretended friendſhip.
"I had, merely in the ſtyle of badinage, boaſted of my conqueſt, and repeated his lover-like compliments to my huſband. But he begged me, for God's ſake, not to affront his friend, or[49] I ſhould deſtroy all his projects, and be his ruin. Had I had more affection for my huſband, I ſhould have expreſſed my contempt of this time-ſerving politeneſs: now I imagined that I only felt pity; yet it would have puzzled a caſuiſt to point out in what the exact difference conſiſted.
"This friend began now, in confidence, to diſcover to me the real ſtate of my huſband's affairs. 'Neceſſity,' ſaid Mr. S——; why ſhould I reveal his name? for he affected to palliate the conduct he could not excuſe, 'had led him to take ſuch ſteps, by accommodation bills, buying goods on credit, to ſell them for ready money, and ſimilar tranſactions, that his character in the commercial world was gone. He was conſidered,' he added, lowering his voice, 'on 'Change as a ſwindler.'
[50] "I felt at that moment the firſt maternal pang. Aware of the evils my ſex have to ſtruggle with, I ſtill wiſhed, for my own conſolation, to be the mother of a daughter; and I could not bear to think, that the ſins of her father's entailed diſgrace, ſhould be added to the ills to which woman is heir.
"So completely was I deceived by theſe ſhows of friendſhip (nay, I believe, according to his interpretation, Mr. S— really was my friend) that I began to conſult him reſpecting the beſt mode of retrieving my huſband's character: it is the good name of a woman only that ſets to riſe no more. I knew not that he had been drawn into a whirlpool, out of which he had not the energy to attempt to eſcape. He ſeemed indeed deſtitute of the power of employing his faculties in any regu[51]lar purſuit. His principles of action were ſo looſe, and his mind ſo uncultivated, that every thing like order appeared to him in the ſhape of reſtraint; and, like men in the ſavage ſtate, he required the ſtrong ſtimulus of hope or fear, produced by wild ſpeculations, in which the intereſts of others went for nothing, to keep his ſpirits awake. He one time poſſeſſed patriotiſm, but he knew not what it was to feel honeſt indignation; and pretended to be an advocate for liberty, when, with as little affection for the human race as for individuals, he thought of nothing but his own gratification. He was juſt ſuch a citizen, as a father. The ſums he adroitly obtained by a violation of the laws of his country, as well as thoſe of humanity, he would allow a miſtreſs to ſquander; though ſhe was,[52] with the ſame ſang froid, conſigned, as were his children, to poverty, when another proved more attractive.
"On various pretences, his friend continued to viſit me; and, obſerving my want of money, he tried to induce me to accept of pecuniary aid; but this offer I abſolutely rejected, though it was made with ſuch delicacy, I could not be diſpleaſed.
"One day he came, as I thought accidentally, to dinner. My huſband was very much engaged in buſineſs, and quitted the room ſoon after the cloth was removed. We converſed as uſual, till confidential advice led again to love. I was extremely mortified. I had a ſincere regard for him, and hoped that he had an equal friendſhip for me. I therefore began mildly to expoſtulate with him. This gentle[53]neſs he miſtook for coy encouragement; and he would not be diverted from the ſubject. Perceiving his miſtake, I ſeriouſly aſked him how, uſing ſuch language to me, he could profeſs to be my huſband's friend? A ſignificant ſneer excited my curioſity, and he, ſuppoſing this to be my only ſcruple, took a letter deliberately out of his pocket, ſaying, 'Your huſband's honour is not inflexible. How could you, with your diſcernment, think it ſo? Why, he left the room this very day on purpoſe to give me an opportunity to explain myſelf; he thought me too timid—too tardy.'
"I ſnatched the letter with indeſcribable emotion. The purport of it was to invite him to dinner, and to ridicule his chivalrous reſpect for me. He aſſured him, 'that every woman had[54] her price, and, with groſs indecency, hinted, that he ſhould be glad to have the duty of a huſband taken off his hands. Theſe he termed liberal ſentiments. He adviſed him not to ſhock my romantic notions, but to attack my credulous generoſity, and weak pity; and concluded with requeſting him to lend him five hundred pounds for a month or ſix weeks.' I read this letter twice over; and the firm purpoſe it inſpired, calmed the riſing tumult of my ſoul. I roſe deliberately, requeſted Mr. S—— to wait a moment, and inſtantly going into the counting-houſe, deſired Mr. Venables to return with me to the dining-parlour.
"He laid down his pen, and entered with me, without obſerving any change in my countenance. I ſhut the door, and, giving him the letter, ſimply[55] aſked, 'whether he wrote it, or was it a forgery?'
"Nothing could equal his confuſion. His friend's eye met his, and he muttered ſomething about a joke—But I interrupted him—'It is ſufficient—We part for ever.'
"I continued, with ſolemnity, 'I have borne with your tyranny and infidelities. I diſdain to utter what I have borne with. I thought you unprincipled, but not ſo decidedly vicious. I formed a tie, in the ſight of heaven—I have held it ſacred; even when men, more conformable to my taſte, have made me feel—I deſpiſe all ſubterfuge!—that I was not dead to love. Neglected by you, I have reſolutely ſtifled the enticing emotions, and reſpected the plighted faith you outraged. And you dare now to inſult[56] me, by ſelling me to proſtitution!—Yes—equally loſt to delicacy and principle—you dared ſacrilegiouſly to barter the honour of the mother of your child.'
"Then, turning to Mr. S——, I added, 'I call on you, Sir, to witneſs,' and I lifted my hands and eyes to heaven, 'that, as ſolemnly as I took his name, I now abjure it,' I pulled off my ring, and put it on the table; 'and that I mean immediately to quit his houſe, never to enter it more. I will provide for myſelf and child. I leave him as free as I am determined to be myſelf—he ſhall be anſwerable for no debts of mine.'
"Aſtoniſhment cloſed their lips, till Mr. Venables, gently puſhing his friend, with a forced ſmile, out of the room, nature for a moment prevailed,[57] and, appearing like himſelf, he turned round, burning with rage, to me: but there was no terror in the frown, excepting when contraſted with the malignant ſmile which preceded it. He bade me 'leave the houſe at my peril; told me he deſpiſed my threats; I had no reſource; I could not ſwear the peace againſt him!—I was not afraid of my life!—he had never ſtruck me!'
"He threw the letter in the fire, which I had incautiouſly left in his hands; and, quitting the room, locked the door on me.
"When left alone, I was a moment or two before I could recollect myſelf. One ſcene had ſucceeded another with ſuch rapidity, I almoſt doubted whether I was reflecting on a real event. 'Was it poſſible? Was I, indeed, free?'—Yes; free I termed myſelf,[58] when I decidedly perceived the conduct I ought to adopt. How had I panted for liberty—liberty, that I would have purchaſed at any price, but that of my own eſteem! I roſe, and ſhook myſelf; opened the window, and methought the air never ſmelled ſo ſweet. The face of heaven grew fairer as I viewed it, and the clouds ſeemed to flit away obedient to my wiſhes, to give my ſoul room to expand. I was all ſoul, and (wild as it may appear) felt as if I could have diſſolved in the ſoft balmy gale that kiſſed my cheek, or have glided below the horizon on the glowing, deſcending beams. A ſeraphic ſatiſfaction animated, without agitating my ſpirits; and my imagination collected, in viſions ſublimely terrible, or ſoothingly beautiful, an immenſe variety of the endleſs images, which nature[59] affords, and fancy combines, of the grand and fair. The luſtre of theſe bright pictureſque ſketches faded with the ſetting ſun; but I was ſtill alive to the calm delight they had diffuſed through my heart.
"There may be advocates for matrimonial obedience, who, making a diſtinction between the duty of a wife and of a human being, may blame my conduct.—To them I write not—my feelings are not for them to analyze; and may you, my child, never be able to aſcertain, by heart-rending experience, what your mother felt before the preſent emancipation of her mind!
"I began to write a letter to my father, after cloſing one to my uncle; not to aſk advice, but to ſignify my determination; when I was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Venables. His[60] manner was changed. His views on my uncle's fortune made him averſe to my quitting his houſe, or he would, I am convinced, have been glad to have ſhaken off even the ſlight reſtraint my preſence impoſed on him; the reſtraint of ſhowing me ſome reſpect. So far from having an affection for me, he really hated me, becauſe he was convinced that I muſt deſpiſe him.
"He told me, that, 'As I now had had time to cool and reflect, he did not doubt but that my prudence, and nice ſenſe of propriety, would lead me to overlook what was paſſed.'
"'Reflection,' I replied, 'had only confirmed my purpoſe, and no power on earth could divert me from it.'
"Endeavouring to aſſume a ſoothing voice and look, when he would willingly have tortured me, to force me to[61] feel his power, his countenance had an infernal expreſſion, when he deſired me, 'Not to expoſe myſelf to the ſervants, by obliging him to confine me in my apartment; if then I would give my promiſe not to quit the houſe precipitately, I ſhould be free—and—.' I declared, interrupting him, 'that I would promiſe nothing. I had no meaſures to keep with him—I was reſolved, and would not condeſcend to ſubterfuge.'
"He muttered, 'that I ſhould ſoon repent of theſe prepoſterous airs;' and, ordering tea to be carried into my little ſtudy, which had a communication with my bed-chamber, he once more locked the door upon me, and left me to my own meditations. I had paſſively followed him up ſtairs, not wiſhing to fatigue myſelf with unavailing exertion.
"Nothing calms the mind like a[62] fixed purpoſe. I felt as if I had heaved a thouſand weight from my heart; the atmoſphere ſeemed lightened; and, if I execrated the inſtitutions of ſociety, which thus enable men to tyrannize over women, it was almoſt a diſintereſted ſentiment. I diſregarded preſent inconveniences, when my mind had done ſtruggling with itſelf,—when reaſon and inclination had ſhaken hands and were at peace. I had no longer the cruel taſk before me, in endleſs perſpective, aye, during the tedious for ever of life, of labouring to overcome my repugnance—of labouring to extinguiſh the hopes, the maybes of a lively imagination. Death I had hailed as my only chance for deliverance; but, while exiſtence had ſtill ſo many charms, and life promiſed happineſs, I ſhrunk from the icy arms[63] of an unknown tyrant, though far more inviting than thoſe of the man, to whom I ſuppoſed myſelf bound without any other alternative; and was content to linger a little longer, waiting for I knew not what, rather than leave 'the warm precincts of the cheerful day,' and all the unenjoyed affection of my nature.
"My preſent ſituation gave a new turn to my reflection; and I wondered (now the film ſeemed to be withdrawn, that obſcured the piercing ſight of reaſon) how I could, previouſly to the deciding outrage, have conſidered myſelf as everlaſtingly united to vice and folly? 'Had an evil genius caſt a ſpell at my birth; or a demon ſtalked out of chaos, to perplex my underſtanding, and enchain my will, with deluſive prejudices?'
"I purſued this train of thinking; it[64] led me out of myſelf, to expatiate on the miſery peculiar to my ſex. 'Are not,' I thought, 'the deſpots for ever ſtigmatized, who, in the wantonneſs of power, commanded even the moſt atrocious criminals to be chained to dead bodies? though ſurely thoſe laws are much more inhuman, which forge adamantine fetters to bind minds together, that never can mingle in ſocial communion! What indeed can equal the wretchedneſs of that ſtate, in which there is no alternative, but to extinguiſh the affections, or encounter infamy?'
[65]
"Towards midnight Mr. Venables entered my chamber; and, with calm audacity preparing to go to bed, he bade me make haſte, 'for that was the beſt place for huſbands and wives to end their differences. He had been drinking plentifully to aid his courage.
"I did not at firſt deign to reply. But perceiving that he affected to take my ſilence for conſent, I told him that, 'If he would not go to another bed, or allow me, I ſhould ſit up in my ſtudy all night.' He attempted to pull me into the chamber, half joking. But I reſiſted; and, as he had determined not to give me any reaſon for ſaying that he uſed violence, after a few more ef[66]forts, he retired, curſing my obſtinacy, to bed.
"I ſat muſing ſome time longer; then, throwing my cloak around me, prepared for ſleep on a ſopha. And, ſo fortunate ſeemed my deliverance, ſo ſacred the pleaſure of being thus wrapped up in myſelf, that I ſlept profoundly, and woke with a mind compoſed to encounter the ſtruggles of the day. Mr. Venables did not wake till ſome hours after; and then he came to me half-dreſſed, yawning and ſtretching, with haggard eyes, as if he ſcarcely recollected what had paſſed the preceding evening. He fixed his eyes on me for a moment, then, calling me a fool, aſked 'How long I intended to continue this pretty farce? For his part, he was deviliſh ſick of it; but this was the plague of marrying women who pretended to know ſomething.'
[67] "I made no other reply to this harangue, than to ſay, 'That he ought to be glad to get rid of a woman ſo unfit to be his companion—and that any change in my conduct would be mean diſſimulation; for maturer reflection only gave the ſacred ſeal of reaſon to my firſt reſolution.'
"He looked as if he could have ſtamped with impatience, at being obliged to ſtifle his rage; but, conquering his anger (for weak people, whoſe paſſions ſeem the moſt ungovernable, reſtrain them with the greateſt eaſe, when they have a ſufficient motive), he exclaimed, 'Very pretty, upon my ſoul! very pretty, theatrical flouriſhes! Pray, fair Roxana, ſtoop from your altitudes, and remember that you are acting a part in real life.'
"He uttered this ſpeech with a ſelf-[68]ſatiſfied air, and went down ſtairs to dreſs.
"In about an hour he came to me again; and in the ſame tone ſaid, 'That he came as my gentleman-uſher to hand me down to breakfaſt.
"'Of the black rod?' aſked I.
"This queſtion, and the tone in which I aſked it, a little diſconcerted him. To ſay the truth, I now felt no reſentment; my firm reſolution to free myſelf from my ignoble thraldom, had abſorbed the various emotions which, during ſix years, had racked my ſoul. The duty pointed out by my principles ſeemed clear; and not one tender feeling intruded to make me ſwerve: The diſlike which my huſband had inſpired was ſtrong; but it only led me to wiſh to avoid, to wiſh to let him drop out of my memory; there was no miſery, no[69] torture that I would not deliberately have choſen, rather than renew my leaſe of ſervitude.
"During the breakfaſt, he attempted to reaſon with me on the folly of romantic ſentiments; for this was the indiſcriminate epithet he gave to every mode of conduct or thinking ſuperior to his own. He aſſerted, 'that all the world were governed by their own intereſt; thoſe who pretended to be actuated by different motives, were only deeper knaves, or fools crazed by books, who took for goſpel all the rodomantade nonſenſe written by men who knew nothing of the world. For his part, he thanked God, he was no hypocrite; and, if he ſtretched a point ſometimes, it was always with an intention of paying every man his own.'
"He then artfully inſinuated, 'that[70] he daily expected a veſſel to arrive, a ſucceſſful ſpeculation, that would make him eaſy for the preſent, and that he had ſeveral other ſchemes actually depending, that could not fail. He had no doubt of becoming rich in a few years, though he had been thrown back by ſome unlucky adventures at the ſetting out.'
"I mildly replied, 'That I wiſhed he might not involve himſelf ſtill deeper.'
"He had no notion that I was governed by a deciſion of judgment, not to be compared with a mere ſpurt of reſentment. He knew not what it was to feel indignation againſt vice, and often boaſted of his placable temper, and readineſs to forgive injuries. True; for he only conſidered the being deceived, as an effort of ſkill he had not guarded againſt; and then, with a cant[71] of candour, would obſerve, 'that he did not know how he might himſelf have been tempted to act in the ſame circumſtances.' And, as his heart never opened to friendſhip, it never was wounded by diſappointment. Every new acquaintance he proteſted, it is true, was 'the clevereſt fellow in the world;' and he really thought ſo; till the novelty of his converſation or manners ceaſed to have any effect on his ſluggiſh ſpirits. His reſpect for rank or fortune was more permanent, though he chanced to have no deſign of availing himſelf of the influence of either to promote his own views.
"After a prefatory converſation,—my blood (I thought it had been cooler) fluſhed over my whole countenance as he ſpoke—he alluded to my ſituation. He deſired me to reflect—'and act like[72] a prudent woman, as the beſt proof of my ſuperior underſtanding; for he muſt own I had ſenſe, did I know how to uſe it. I was not,' he laid a ſtreſs on his words, 'without my paſſions; and a huſband was a convenient cloke.—He was liberal in his way of thinking; and why might not we, like many other married people, who were above vulgar prejudices, tacitly conſent to let each other follow their own inclination?—He meant nothing more, in the letter I made the ground of complaint; and the pleaſure which I ſeemed to take in Mr. S.'s company, led him to conclude, that he was not diſagreeable to me.'
"A clerk brought in the letters of the day, and I, as I often did, while he was diſcuſſing ſubjects of buſineſs, went to the piano forte, and began to[73] play a favourite air to reſtore myſelf, as it were, to nature, and drive the ſophiſticated ſentiments I had juſt been obliged to liſten to, out of my ſoul.
"They had excited ſenſations ſimilar to thoſe I have felt, in viewing the ſqualid inhabitants of ſome of the lanes and back ſtreets of the metropolis, mortified at being compelled to conſider them as my fellow-creatures, as if an ape had claimed kindred with me. Or, as when ſurrounded by a mephitical fog, I have wiſhed to have a volley of cannon fired, to clear the incumbered atmoſphere, and give me room to breathe and move.
"My ſpirits were all in arms, and I played a kind of extemporary prelude. The cadence was probably wild and impaſſioned, while, loſt in thought, I[74] made the ſounds a kind of echo to my train of thinking.
"Pauſing for a moment, I met Mr. Venables' eyes. He was obſerving me with an air of conceited ſatiſfaction, as much as to ſay—'My laſt inſinuation has done the buſineſs—ſhe begins to know her own intereſt.' Then gathering up his letters, he ſaid, 'That he hoped he ſhould hear no more romantic ſtuff, well enough in a miſs juſt come from boarding ſchool;' and went, as was his cuſtom, to the counting-houſe. I ſtill continued playing; and, turning to a ſprightly leſſon, I executed it with uncommon vivacity. I heard footſteps approach the door, and was ſoon convinced that Mr. Venables was liſtening; the conſciouſneſs only gave more animation to my fingers. He went down into the kit[75]chen, and the cook, probably by his deſire, came to me, to know what I would pleaſe to order for dinner. Mr. Venables came into the parlour again, with apparent careleſſneſs. I perceived that the cunning man was over-reaching himſelf; and I gave my directions as uſual, and left the room.
"While I was making ſome alteration in my dreſs, Mr. Venables peeped in, and, begging my pardon for interrupting me, diſappeared. I took up ſome work (I could not read), and two or three meſſages were ſent to me, probably for no other purpoſe, but to enable Mr. Venables to aſcertain what I was about.
"I liſtened whenever I heard the ſtreet-door open; at laſt I imagined I could diſtinguiſh Mr. Venables' ſtep, going out. I laid aſide my work; my[76] heart palpitated; ſtill I was afraid haſtily to enquire; and I waited a long half hour, before I ventured to aſk the boy whether his maſter was in the counting-houſe?
"Being anſwered in the negative, I bade him call me a coach, and collecting a few neceſſaries haſtily together, with a little parcel of letters and papers which I had collected the preceding evening, I hurried into it, deſiring the coachman to drive to a diſtant part of the town.
"I almoſt feared that the coach would break down before I got out of the ſtreet; and, when I turned the corner, I ſeemed to breathe a freer air. I was ready to imagine that I was riſing above the thick atmoſphere of earth; or I felt, as wearied ſouls might be ſup[77]poſed to feel on entering another ſtate of exiſtence.
"I ſtopped at one or two ſtands of coaches to elude purſuit, and then drove round the ſkirts of the town to ſeek for an obſcure lodging, where I wiſhed to remain concealed, till I could avail myſelf of my uncle's protection. I had reſolved to aſſume my own name immediately, and openly to avow my determination, without any formal vindication, the moment I had found a home, in which I could reſt free from the daily alarm of expecting to ſee Mr. Venables enter.
"I looked at ſeveral lodgings; but finding that I could not, without a reference to ſome acquaintance, who might inform my tyrant, get admittance into a decent apartment—men have not all this trouble—I thought of[78] a woman whom I had aſſiſted to furniſh a little haberdaſher's ſhop, and who I knew had a firſt floor to let.
"I went to her, and though I could not perſuade her, that the quarrel between me and Mr. Venables would never be made up, ſtill ſhe agreed to conceal me for the preſent; yet aſſuring me at the ſame time, ſhaking her head, that, when a woman was once married, ſhe muſt bear every thing. Her pale face, on which appeared a thouſand haggard lines and delving wrinkles, produced by what is emphatically termed fretting, inforced her remark; and I had afterwards an opportunity of obſerving the treatment ſhe had to endure, which grizzled her into patience. She toiled from morning till night; yet her huſband would rob the till, and take away the money re[79]ſerved for paying bills; and, returning home drunk, he would beat her if ſhe chanced to offend him, though ſhe had a child at the breaſt.
"Theſe ſcenes awoke me at night; and, in the morning, I heard her, as uſual, talk to her dear Johnny—he, forſooth, was her maſter; no ſlave in the Weſt Indies had one more deſpotic; but fortunately ſhe was of the true Ruſſian breed of wives.
"My mind, during the few paſt days, ſeemed, as it were, diſengaged from my body; but, now the ſtruggle was over, I felt very forcibly the effect which perturbation of ſpirits produces on a woman in my ſituation.
"The apprehenſion of a miſcarriage, obliged me to confine myſelf to my apartment near a fortnight; but I wrote to my uncle's friend for money,[80] promiſing 'to call on him, and explain my ſituation, when I was well enough to go out; mean time I earneſtly intreated him, not to mention my place of abode to any one, leſt my huſband—ſuch the law conſidered him—ſhould diſturb the mind he could not conquer. I mentioned my intention of ſetting out for Liſbon, to claim my uncle's protection, the moment my health would permit.'
"The tranquillity however, which I was recovering, was ſoon interrupted. My landlady came up to me one day, with eyes ſwollen with weeping, unable to utter what ſhe was commanded to ſay. She declared, 'That ſhe was never ſo miſerable in her life; that ſhe muſt appear an ungrateful monſter; and that ſhe would readily go down on her knees to me, to intreat[81] me to forgive her, as ſhe had done to her huſband to ſpare her the cruel taſk.' Sobs prevented her from proceeding, or anſwering my impatient enquiries, to know what ſhe meant.
"When ſhe became a little more compoſed, ſhe took a newſpaper out of her pocket, declaring, 'that her heart ſmote her, but what could ſhe do?—ſhe muſt obey her huſband.' I ſnatched the paper from her. An advertiſement quickly met my eye, purporting, that 'Maria Venables had, without any aſſignable cauſe, abſconded from her huſband; and any perſon harbouring her, was menaced with the utmoſt ſeverity of the law.'
"Perfectly acquainted with Mr. Venables' meanneſs of ſoul, this ſtep did not excite my ſurpriſe, and ſcarcely my contempt. Reſentment in my[82] breaſt, never ſurvived love. I bade the poor woman, in a kind tone, wipe her eyes, and requeſt her huſband to come up, and ſpeak to me himſelf.
"My manner awed him. He reſpected a lady, though not a woman; and began to mutter out an apology.
"'Mr. Venables was a rich gentleman; he wiſhed to oblige me, but he had ſuffered enough by the law already, to tremble at the thought; beſides, for certain, we ſhould come together again, and then even I ſhould not thank him for being acceſſary to keeping us aſunder.—A huſband and wife were, God knows, juſt as one,—and all would come round at laſt.' He uttered a drawling 'Hem!' and then with an arch look, added—'Maſter might have had his little frolics—but[83]—Lord bleſs your heart!—men would be men while the world ſtands.'
"To argue with this privileged firſt-born of reaſon, I perceived, would be vain. I therefore only requeſted him to let me remain another day at his houſe, while I ſought for a lodging; and not to inform Mr. Venables that I had ever been ſheltered there.
"He conſented, becauſe he had not the courage to refuſe a perſon for whom he had an habitual reſpect; but I heard the pent-up choler burſt forth in curſes, when he met his wife, who was waiting impatiently at the foot of the ſtairs, to know what effect my expoſtulations would have on him.
"Without waſting any time in the fruitleſs indulgence of vexation, I once more ſet out in ſearch of an abode in[84] which I could hide myſelf for a few weeks.
"Agreeing to pay an exorbitant price, I hired an apartment, without any reference being required relative to my character: indeed, a glance at my ſhape ſeemed to ſay, that my motive for concealment was ſufficiently obvious. Thus was I obliged to ſhroud my head in infamy.
"To avoid all danger of detection—I uſe the appropriate word, my child, for I was hunted out like a felon—I determined to take poſſeſſion of my new lodgings that very evening.
"I did not inform my landlady where I was going. I knew that ſhe had a ſincere affection for me, and would willingly have run any riſk to ſhow her gratitude; yet I was fully convinced, that a few kind words from[85] Johnny would have found the woman in her, and her dear benefactreſs, as ſhe termed me in an agony of tears, would have been ſacrificed, to recompenſe her tyrant for condeſcending to treat her like an equal. He could be kind-hearted, as ſhe expreſſed it, when he pleaſed. And this thawed ſternneſs, contraſted with his habitual brutality, was the more acceptable, and could not be purchaſed at too dear a rate.
"The ſight of the advertiſement made me deſirous of taking refuge with my uncle, let what would be the conſequence; and I repaired in a hackney coach (afraid of meeting ſome perſon who might chance to know me, had I walked) to the chambers of my uncle's friend.
"He received me with great polite[86]neſs (my uncle had already prepoſſeſſed him in my favour), and liſtened, with intereſt, to my explanation of the motives which had induced me to fly from home, and ſkulk in obſcurity, with all the timidity of fear that ought only to be the companion of guilt. He lamented, with rather more gallantry than, in my ſituation, I thought delicate, that ſuch a woman ſhould be thrown away on a man inſenſible to the charms of beauty or grace. He ſeemed at a loſs what to adviſe me to do, to evade my huſband's ſearch, without haſtening to my uncle, whom, he heſitating ſaid, I might not find alive. He uttered this intelligence with viſible regret; requeſted me, at leaſt, to wait for the arrival of the next packet; offered me what money I wanted, and promiſed to viſit me.
[87] "He kept his word; ſtill no letter arrived to put an end to my painful ſtate of ſuſpenſe. I procured ſome books and muſic, to beguile the tedious ſolitary days.
I ſung—and ſung till, ſaddened by the ſtrain of joy, I bitterly lamented the fate that deprived me of all ſocial pleaſure. Comparative liberty indeed I had poſſeſſed myſelf of; but the jocund train lagged far behind!
[88]
"By watching my only viſitor, my uncle's friend, or by ſome other means, Mr. Venables diſcovered my reſidence, and came to enquire for me. The maid-ſervant aſſured him there was no ſuch perſon in the houſe. A buſtle enſued—I caught the alarm—liſtened—diſtinguiſhed his voice, and immediately locked the door. They ſuddenly grew ſtill; and I waited near a quarter of an hour, before I heard him open the parlour door, and mount the ſtairs with the miſtreſs of the houſe, who obſequiouſly declared that ſhe knew nothing of me.
"Finding my door locked, ſhe requeſted me to 'open it, and prepare to[89] go home with my huſband, poor gentleman! to whom I had already occaſioned ſufficient vexation.' I made no reply. Mr. Venables then, in an aſſumed tone of ſoftneſs, intreated me, 'to conſider what he ſuffered, and my own reputation, and get the better of childiſh reſentment.' He ran on in the ſame ſtrain, pretending to addreſs me, but evidently adapting his diſcourſe to the capacity of the landlady; who, at every pauſe, uttered an exclamation of pity; or 'Yes, to be ſure—Very true, ſir.'
"Sick of the farce, and perceiving that I could not avoid the hated interview, I opened the door, and he entered. Advancing with eaſy aſſurance to take my hand, I ſhrunk from his touch, with an involuntary ſtart, as I ſhould have done from a noiſome reptile,[90] with more diſguſt than terror. His conductreſs was retiring, to give us, as ſhe ſaid, an opportunity to accommodate matters. But I bade her come in, or I would go out; and curioſity impelled her to obey me.
"Mr. Venables began to expoſtulate; and this woman, proud of his confidence, to ſecond him. But I calmly ſilenced her, in the midſt of a vulgar harangue, and turning to him, aſked, 'Why he vainly tormented me? declaring that no power on earth ſhould force me back to his houſe.'
"After a long altercation, the particulars of which, it would be to no purpoſe to repeat, he left the room. Some time was ſpent in loud converſation in the parlour below, and I diſcovered that he had brought his friend, an attorney, with him.
[91]
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * The tumult on the landing place, brought out a gentleman, who had recently taken apartments in the houſe; he enquired why I was thus aſſailed[91-A]? The voluble attorney inſtantly repeated the trite tale. The ſtranger turned to me, obſerving,[92] with the moſt ſoothing politeneſs and manly intereſt, that 'my countenance told a very different ſtory.' He added, 'that I ſhould not be inſulted, or forced out of the houſe, by any body.'
"'Not by her huſband?' aſked the attorney.
"'No, ſir, not by her huſband.' Mr. Venables advanced towards him—But there was a deciſion in his attitude, that ſo well ſeconded that of his voice,
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * They left the houſe: at the ſame time proteſting, that any one that ſhould dare to protect me, ſhould be proſecuted with the utmoſt rigour.
"They were ſcarcely out of the houſe, when my landlady came up to me again, and begged my pardon, in a very different tone. For, though[93] Mr. Venables had bid her, at her peril, harbour me, he had not attended, I found, to her broad hints, to diſcharge the lodging. I inſtantly promiſed to pay her, and make her a preſent to compenſate for my abrupt departure, if ſhe would procure me another lodging, at a ſufficient diſtance; and ſhe, in return, repeating Mr. Venables' plauſible tale, I raiſed her indignation, and excited her ſympathy, by telling her briefly the truth.
"She expreſſed her commiſeration with ſuch honeſt warmth, that I felt ſoothed; for I have none of that faſtidious ſenſitiveneſs, which a vulgar accent or geſture can alarm to the diſregard of real kindneſs. I was ever glad to perceive in others the humane feelings I delighted to exerciſe; and the recollection of ſome ridiculous charac[94]teriſtic circumſtances, which have occurred in a moment of emotion, has convulſed me with laughter, though at the inſtant I ſhould have thought it ſacrilegious to have ſmiled. Your improvement, my deareſt girl, being ever preſent to me while I write, I note theſe feelings, becauſe women, more accuſtomed to obſerve manners than actions, are too much alive to ridicule. So much ſo, that their boaſted ſenſibility is often ſtifled by falſe delicacy. True ſenſibility, the ſenſibility which is the auxiliary of virtue, and the ſoul of genius, is in ſociety ſo occupied with the feelings of others, as ſcarcely to regard its own ſenſations. With what reverence have I looked up at my uncle, the dear parent of my mind! when I have ſeen the ſenſe of his own ſufferings, of mind and body, abſorbed[95] in a deſire to comfort thoſe, whoſe miſfortunes were comparatively trivial. He would have been aſhamed of being as indulgent to himſelf, as he was to others. 'Genuine fortitude,' he would aſſert, 'conſiſted in governing our own emotions, and making allowance for the weakneſſes in our friends, that we would not tolerate in ourſelves.' But where is my fond regret leading me!
"'Women muſt be ſubmiſſive,' ſaid my landlady. 'Indeed what could moſt women do? Who had they to maintain them, but their huſbands? Every woman, and eſpecially a lady, could not go through rough and ſmooth, as ſhe had done, to earn a little bread.'
"She was in a talking mood, and proceeded to inform me how ſhe had been uſed in the world. 'She knew[96] what it was to have a bad huſband, or ſhe did not know who ſhould.' I perceived that ſhe would be very much mortified, were I not to attend to her tale, and I did not attempt to interrupt her, though I wiſhed her, as ſoon as poſſible, to go out in ſearch of a new abode for me, where I could once more hide my head.
"She began by telling me, 'That ſhe had ſaved a little money in ſervice; and was over-perſuaded (we muſt all be in love once in our lives) to marry a likely man, a footman in the family, not worth a groat. My plan,' ſhe continued, 'was to take a houſe, and let out lodgings; and all went on well, till my huſband got acquainted with an impudent ſlut, who choſe to live on other people's means—and then all went to rack and ruin. He ran in[97] debt to buy her fine clothes, ſuch clothes as I never thought of wearing myſelf, and—would you believe it?—he ſigned an execution on my very goods, bought with the money I worked ſo hard to get; and they came and took my bed from under me, before I heard a word of the matter. Aye, madam, theſe are miſfortunes that you gentlefolks know nothing of,—but ſorrow is ſorrow, let it come which way it will.
"'I ſought for a ſervice again—very hard, after having a houſe of my own!—but he uſed to follow me, and kick up ſuch a riot when he was drunk, that I could not keep a place; nay, he even ſtole my clothes, and pawned them; and when I went to the pawnbroker's, and offered to take my oath that they were not bought with a farthing of his[98] money, they ſaid, 'It was all as one, my huſband had a right to whatever I had.'
"'At laſt he liſted for a ſoldier, and I took a houſe, making an agreement to pay for the furniture by degrees; and I almoſt ſtarved myſelf, till I once more got before-hand in the world.
"'After an abſence of ſix years (God forgive me! I thought he was dead) my huſband returned; found me out, and came with ſuch a penitent face, I forgave him, and clothed him from head to foot. But he had not been a week in the houſe, before ſome of his creditors arreſted him; and, he ſelling my goods, I found myſelf once more reduced to beggary; for I was not as well able to work, go to bed late, and riſe early, as when I quitted ſervice; and then I thought it hard[99] enough. He was ſoon tired of me, when there was nothing more to be had, and left me again.
"'I will not tell you how I was buffeted about, till, hearing for certain that he had died in an hoſpital abroad, I once more returned to my old occupation; but have not yet been able to get my head above water: ſo, madam, you muſt not be angry if I am afraid to run any riſk, when I know ſo well, that women have always the worſt of it, when law is to decide.'
"After uttering a few more complaints, I prevailed on my landlady to go out in queſt of a lodging; and, to be more ſecure, I condeſcended to the mean ſhift of changing my name.
"But why ſhould I dwell on ſimilar incidents!—I was hunted, like an infected beaſt, from three different apartments, and ſhould not have been al[100]lowed to reſt in any, had not Mr. Venables, informed of my uncle's dangerous ſtate of health, been inſpired with the fear of hurrying me out of the world as I advanced in my pregnancy, by thus tormenting and obliging me to take ſudden journeys to avoid him; and then his ſpeculations on my uncle's fortune muſt prove abortive.
"One day, when he had purſued me to an inn, I fainted, hurrying from him; and, falling down, the ſight of my blood alarmed him, and obtained a reſpite for me. It is ſtrange that he ſhould have retained any hope, after obſerving my unwavering determination; but, from the mildneſs of my behaviour, when I found all my endeavours to change his diſpoſition unavailing, he formed an erroneous opinion of my character, imagining that, were we once more together, I ſhould part with the money he[101] could not legally force from me, with the ſame facility as formerly. My forbearance and occaſional ſympathy he had miſtaken for weakneſs of character; and, becauſe he perceived that I diſliked reſiſtance, he thought my indulgence and compaſſion mere ſelfiſhneſs, and never diſcovered that the fear of being unjuſt, or of unneceſſarily wounding the feelings of another, was much more painful to me, than any thing I could have to endure myſelf. Perhaps it was pride which made me imagine, that I could bear what I dreaded to inflict; and that it was often eaſier to ſuffer, than to ſee the ſufferings of others.
"I forgot to mention that, during this perſecution, I received a letter from my uncle, informing me, 'that he only found relief from continual change of air; and that he intended to[102] return when the ſpring was a little more advanced (it was now the middle of February), and then we would plan a journey to Italy, leaving the fogs and cares of England far behind.' He approved of my conduct, promiſed to adopt my child, and ſeemed to have no doubt of obliging Mr. Venables to hear reaſon. He wrote to his friend, by the ſame poſt, deſiring him to call on Mr. Venables in his name; and, in conſequence of the remonſtrances he dictated, I was permitted to lie-in tranquilly.
"The two or three weeks previous, I had been allowed to reſt in peace; but, ſo accuſtomed was I to purſuit and alarm, that I ſeldom cloſed my eyes without being haunted by Mr. Venables' image, who ſeemed to aſſume terrific or hateful forms to torment me, wherever[103] I turned.—Sometimes a wild cat, a roaring bull, or hideous aſſaſſin, whom I vainly attempted to fly; at others he was a demon, hurrying me to the brink of a precipice, plunging me into dark waves, or horrid gulfs; and I woke, in violent fits of trembling anxiety, to aſſure myſelf that it was all a dream, and to endeavour to lure my waking thoughts to wander to the delightful Italian vales, I hoped ſoon to viſit; or to picture ſome auguſt ruins, where I reclined in fancy on a mouldering column, and eſcaped, in the contemplation of the heart-enlarging virtues of antiquity, from the turmoil of cares that had depreſſed all the daring purpoſes of my ſoul. But I was not long allowed to calm my mind by the exerciſe of my imagination; for the third day after your birth, my child, I was[104] ſurpriſed by a viſit from my elder brother; who came in the moſt abrupt manner, to inform me of the death of my uncle. He had left the greater part of his fortune to my child, appointing me its guardian; in ſhort, every ſtep was taken to enable me to be miſtreſs of his fortune, without putting any part of it in Mr. Venables' power. My brother came to vent his rage on me, for having, as he expreſſed himſelf, 'deprived him, my uncle's eldeſt nephew, of his inheritance;' though my uncle's property, the fruit of his own exertion, being all in the funds, or on landed ſecurities, there was not a ſhadow of juſtice in the charge.
"As I ſincerely loved my uncle, this intelligence brought on a fever, which I ſtruggled to conquer with all the[105] energy of my mind; for, in my deſolate ſtate, I had it very much at heart to ſuckle you, my poor babe. You ſeemed my only tie to life, a cherub, to whom I wiſhed to be a father, as well as a mother; and the double duty appeared to me to produce a proportionate increaſe of affection. But the pleaſure I felt, while ſuſtaining you, ſnatched from the wreck of hope, was cruelly damped by melancholy reflections on my widowed ſtate—widowed by the death of my uncle. Of Mr. Venables I thought not, even when I thought of the felicity of loving your father, and how a mother's pleaſure might be exalted, and her care ſoftened by a huſband's tenderneſs.—'Ought to be!' I exclaimed; and I endeavoured to drive away the tenderneſs that ſuffo[106]cated me; but my ſpirits were weak, and the unbidden tears would flow. 'Why was I,' I would aſk thee, but thou didſt not heed me,—'cut off from the participation of the ſweeteſt pleaſure of life?' I imagined with what extacy, after the pains of child-bed, I ſhould have preſented my little ſtranger, whom I had ſo long wiſhed to view, to a reſpectable father, and with what maternal fondneſs I ſhould have preſſed them both to my heart!—Now I kiſſed her with leſs delight, though with the moſt endearing compaſſion, poor helpleſs one! when I perceived a ſlight reſemblance of him, to whom ſhe owed her exiſtence; or, if any geſture reminded me of him, even in his beſt days, my heart heaved, and I preſſed the innocent to my boſom, as if to[107] purify it—yes, I bluſhed to think that its purity had been ſullied, by allowing ſuch a man to be its father.
"After my recovery, I began to think of taking a houſe in the country, or of making an excurſion on the continent, to avoid Mr. Venables; and to open my heart to new pleaſures and affection. The ſpring was melting into ſummer, and you, my little companion, began to ſmile—that ſmile made hope bud out afreſh, aſſuring me the world was not a deſert. Your geſtures were ever preſent to my fancy; and I dwelt on the joy I ſhould feel when you would begin to walk and liſp. Watching your wakening mind, and ſhielding from every rude blaſt my tender bloſſom, I recovered my ſpirits—I dreamed not of the froſt[108]—'the killing froſt,' to which you were deſtined to be expoſed.—But I loſe all patience—and execrate the injuſtice of the world—folly! ignorance!—I ſhould rather call it; but, ſhut up from a free circulation of thought, and always pondering on the ſame griefs, I writhe under the torturing apprehenſions, which ought to excite only honeſt indignation, or active compaſſion; and would, could I view them as the natural conſequence of things. But, born a woman—and born to ſuffer, in endeavouring to repreſs my own emotions, I feel more acutely the various ills my ſex are fated to bear—I feel that the evils they are ſubject to endure, degrade them ſo far below their oppreſſors, as almoſt to juſtify their tyranny; leading at the ſame[109] time ſuperficial reaſoners to term that weakneſs the cauſe, which is only the conſequence of ſhort-ſighted deſpotiſm.
[91-A] The introduction of Darnford as the deliverer of Maria, in an early ſtage of the hiſtory, is already ſtated (Chap. III.) to have been an after-thought of the author. This has probably cauſed the imperfectneſs of the manuſcript in the above paſſage; though, at the ſame time, it muſt be acknowledged to be ſomewhat uncertain, whether Darnford is the ſtranger intended in this place. It appears from Chap. XVII. that an interference of a more deciſive nature was deſigned to be attributed to him.
editor.
[110]
"As my mind grew calmer, the viſions of Italy again returned with their former glow of colouring; and I reſolved on quitting the kingdom for a time, in ſearch of the cheerfulneſs, that naturally reſults from a change of ſcene, unleſs we carry the barbed arrow with us, and only ſee what we feel.
"During the period neceſſary to prepare for a long abſence, I ſent a ſupply to pay my father's debts, and ſettled my brothers in eligible ſituations; but my attention was not wholly engroſſed by my family, though I do not think it neceſſary to enumerate the common exertions of huma[111]nity. The manner in which my uncle's property was ſettled, prevented me from making the addition to the fortune of my ſurviving ſiſter, that I could have wiſhed; but I had prevailed on him to bequeath her two thouſand pounds, and ſhe determined to marry a lover, to whom ſhe had been ſome time attached. Had it not been for this engagement, I ſhould have invited her to accompany me in my tour; and I might have eſcaped the pit, ſo artfully dug in my path, when I was the leaſt aware of danger.
"I had thought of remaining in England, till I weaned my child; but this ſtate of freedom was too peaceful to laſt, and I had ſoon reaſon to wiſh to haſten my departure. A friend of Mr. Venables, the ſame attorney who had accompanied him in ſeveral excur[112]ſions to hunt me from my hiding places, waited on me to propoſe a reconciliation. On my refuſal, he indirectly adviſed me to make over to my huſband—for huſband he would term him—the greater part of the property I had at command, menacing me with continual perſecution unleſs I complied, and that, as a laſt reſort, he would claim the child. I did not, though intimidated by the laſt inſinuation, ſcruple to declare, that I would not allow him to ſquander the money left to me for far different purpoſes, but offered him five hundred pounds, if he would ſign a bond not to torment me any more. My maternal anxiety made me thus appear to waver from my firſt determination, and probably ſuggeſted to him, or his diabolical[113] agent, the infernal plot, which has ſucceeded but too well.
"The bond was executed; ſtill I was impatient to leave England. Miſchief hung in the air when we breathed the ſame; I wanted ſeas to divide us, and waters to roll between, till he had forgotten that I had the means of helping him through a new ſcheme. Diſturbed by the late occurrences, I inſtantly prepared for my departure. My only delay was waiting for a maid-ſervant, who ſpoke French fluently, and had been warmly recommended to me. A valet I was adviſed to hire, when I fixed on my place of reſidence for any time.
"My God, with what a light heart did I ſet out for Dover!—It was not my country, but my cares, that I was leaving behind. My heart ſeemed to[114] bound with the wheels, or rather appeared the centre on which they twirled. I claſped you to my boſom, exclaiming 'And you will be ſafe—quite ſafe—when—we are once on board the packet.—Would we were there!' I ſmiled at my idle fears, as the natural effect of continual alarm; and I ſcarcely owned to myſelf that I dreaded Mr. Venables's cunning, or was conſcious of the horrid delight he would feel, at forming ſtratagem after ſtratagem to circumvent me. I was already in the ſnare—I never reached the packet—I never ſaw thee more.—I grow breathleſs. I have ſcarcely patience to write down the details. The maid—the plauſible woman I had hired—put, doubtleſs, ſome ſtupifying potion in what I ate or drank, the morning I left town. All I know is,[115] that ſhe muſt have quitted the chaiſe, ſhameleſs wretch! and taken (from my breaſt) my babe with her. How could a creature in a female form ſee me careſs thee, and ſteal thee from my arms! I muſt ſtop, ſtop to repreſs a mother's anguiſh; left, in bitterneſs of ſoul, I imprecate the wrath of heaven on this tiger, who tore my only comfort from me.
"How long I ſlept I know not; certainly many hours, for I woke at the cloſe of day, in a ſtrange confuſion of thought. I was probably rouſed to recollection by ſome one thundering at a huge, unwieldy gate. Attempting to aſk where I was, my voice died away, and I tried to raiſe it in vain, as I have done in a dream. I looked for my babe with affright; feared that it had fallen out of my lap, while I had ſo ſtrange[116]ly forgotten her; and, ſuch was the vague intoxication, I can give it no other name, in which I was plunged, I could not recollect when or where I laſt ſaw you; but I ſighed, as if my heart wanted room to clear my head.
"The gates opened heavily, and the ſullen ſound of many locks and bolts drawn back, grated on my very ſoul, before I was appalled by the creeking of the diſmal hinges, as they cloſed after me. The gloomy pile was before me, half in ruins; ſome of the aged trees of the avenue were cut down, and left to rot where they fell; and as we approached ſome mouldering ſteps, a monſtrous dog darted forwards to the length of his chain, and barked and growled infernally.
"The door was opened ſlowly, and[117] a murderous viſage peeped out, with a lantern. 'Huſh!' he uttered, in a threatning tone, and the affrighted animal ſtole back to his kennel. The door of the chaiſe flew back, the ſtranger put down the lantern, and claſped his dreadful arms around me. It was certainly the effect of the ſoporific draught, for, inſtead of exerting my ſtrength, I ſunk without motion, though not without ſenſe, on his ſhoulder, my limbs refuſing to obey my will. I was carried up the ſteps into a cloſe-ſhut hall. A candle flaring in the ſocket, ſcarcely diſperſed the darkneſs, though it diſplayed to me the ferocious countenance of the wretch who held me.
"He mounted a wide ſtaircaſe. Large figures painted on the walls ſeemed to ſtart on me, and glaring[118] eyes to meet me at every turn. Entering a long gallery, a diſmal ſhriek made me ſpring out of my conductor's arms, with I know not what myſterious emotion of terror; but I fell on the floor, unable to ſuſtain myſelf.
"A ſtrange-looking female ſtarted out of one of the receſſes, and obſerved me with more curioſity than intereſt; till, ſternly bid retire, ſhe flitted back like a ſhadow. Other faces, ſtrongly marked, or diſtorted, peeped through the half-opened doors, and I heard ſome incoherent ſounds. I had no diſtinct idea where I could be—I looked on all ſides, and almoſt doubted whether I was alive or dead.
"Thrown on a bed, I immediately ſunk into inſenſibility again; and next day, gradually recovering the uſe of reaſon, I began, ſtarting affrighted[119] from the conviction, to diſcover where I was confined—I inſiſted on ſeeing the maſter of the manſion—I ſaw him—and perceived that I was buried alive.—
"Such, my child, are the events of thy mother's life to this dreadful moment—Should ſhe ever eſcape from the fangs of her enemies, ſhe will add the ſecrets of her priſon-houſe—and—"
Some lines were here croſſed out, and the memoirs broke off abruptly with the names of Jemima and Darnford.
[120]
The performance, with a fragment of which the reader has now been preſented, was deſigned to conſiſt of three parts. The preceding ſheets were conſidered as conſtituting one of thoſe parts. Thoſe perſons who in the peruſal of the chapters, already written and in ſome degree finiſhed by the au[121]thor, have felt their hearts awakened, and their curioſity excited as to the ſequel of the ſtory, will, of courſe, gladly accept even of the broken paragraphs and half-finiſhed ſentences, which have been found committed to paper, as materials for the remainder. The faſtidious and cold-hearted critic may perhaps feel himſelf repelled by the incoherent form in which they are preſented. But an inquiſitive temper willingly accepts the moſt imperfect and mutilated information, where better is not to be had: and readers, who in any degree reſemble the author in her quick apprehenſion of ſentiment, and of the[122] pleaſures and pains of imagination, will, I believe, find gratification, in contemplating ſketches, which were deſigned in a ſhort time to have received the finiſhing touches of her genius; but which muſt now for ever remain a mark to record the triumphs of mortality, over ſchemes of uſefulneſs, and projects of public intereſt.]
[123]
Darnford returned the memoirs to Maria, with a moſt affectionate letter, in which he reaſoned on "the abſurdity of the laws reſpecting matrimony, which, till divorces could be more eaſily obtained, was," he declared, "the moſt inſufferable bondage. Ties of this nature could not bind minds governed by ſuperior principles; and ſuch beings were privileged to act above the dictates of laws they had no voice in framing, if they had ſufficient ſtrength of mind to endure the natural conſequence. In her caſe, to talk of duty, was a farce, excepting what was due to herſelf. Delicacy, as well as reaſon, forbade her ever to think of returning[124] to her huſband: was ſhe then to reſtrain her charming ſenſibility through mere prejudice? Theſe arguments were not abſolutely impartial, for he diſdained to conceal, that, when he appealed to her reaſon, he felt that he had ſome intereſt in her heart.—The conviction was not more tranſporting, than ſacred—a thouſand times a day, he aſked himſelf how he had merited ſuch happineſs?—and as often he determined to purify the heart ſhe deigned to inhabit—He intreated to be again admitted to her preſence."
He was; and the tear which gliſtened in his eye, when he reſpectfully preſſed her to his boſom, rendered him peculiarly dear to the unfortunate mother. Grief had ſtilled the tranſports of love, only to render their mutual tenderneſs more touching. In former[125] interviews, Darnford had contrived, by a hundred little pretexts, to ſit near her, to take her hand, or to meet her eyes—now it was all ſoothing affection, and eſteem ſeemed to have rivalled love. He adverted to her narrative, and ſpoke with warmth of the oppreſſion ſhe had endured.—His eyes, glowing with a lambent flame, told her how much he wiſhed to reſtore her to liberty and love; but he kiſſed her hand, as if it had been that of a ſaint; and ſpoke of the loſs of her child, as if it had been his own.—What could have been more flattering to Maria?—Every inſtance of ſelf-denial was regiſtered in her heart, and ſhe loved him, for loving her too well to give way to the tranſports of paſſion.
They met again and again; and Darnford declared, while paſſion ſuf[126]fuſed his cheeks, that he never before knew what it was to love.—
One morning Jemima informed Maria, that her maſter intended to wait on her, and ſpeak to her without witneſſes. He came, and brought a letter with him, pretending that he was ignorant of its contents, though he inſiſted on having it returned to him. It was from the attorney already mentioned, who informed her of the death of her child, and hinted, "that ſhe could not now have a legitimate heir, and that, would ſhe make over the half of her fortune during life, ſhe ſhould be conveyed to Dover, and permitted to purſue her plan of travelling."
Maria anſwered with warmth, "That ſhe had no terms to make with the murderer of her babe, nor would[127] ſhe purchaſe liberty at the price of her own reſpect."
She began to expoſtulate with her jailor; but he ſternly bade her "Be ſilent—he had not gone ſo far, not to go further."
Darnford came in the evening. Jemima was obliged to be abſent, and ſhe, as uſual, locked the door on them, to prevent interruption or diſcovery.—The lovers were, at firſt, embarraſſed; but fell inſenſibly into confidential diſcourſe. Darnford repreſented, "that they might ſoon be parted," and wiſhed her "to put it out of the power of fate to ſeparate them."
As her huſband ſhe now received him, and he ſolemnly pledged himſelf as her protector—and eternal friend.—
There was one peculiarity in Maria's mind: ſhe was more anxious not to deceive, than to guard againſt de[128]ception; and had rather truſt without ſufficient reaſon, than be for ever the prey of doubt. Beſides, what are we, when the mind has, from reflection, a certain kind of elevation, which exalts the contemplation above the little concerns of prudence! We ſee what we wiſh, and make a world of our own—and, though reality may ſometimes open a door to miſery, yet the moments of happineſs procured by the imagination, may, without a paradox, be reckoned among the ſolid comforts of life. Maria now, imagining that ſhe had found a being of celeſtial mould—was happy,—nor was ſhe deceived.—He was then plaſtic in her impaſſioned hand—and reflected all the ſentiments which animated and warmed her. — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
[129]
One morning confuſion ſeemed to reign in the houſe, and Jemima came in terror, to inform Maria, "that her maſter had left it, with a determination, ſhe was aſſured (and too many circumſtances corroborated the opinion, to leave a doubt of its truth) of never returning. I am prepared then," ſaid Jemima, "to accompany you in your flight."
Maria ſtarted up, her eyes darting towards the door, as if afraid that ſome one ſhould faſten it on her for ever.
Jemima continued, "I have perhaps no right now to expect the performance of your promiſe; but on you[130] it depends to reconcile me with the human race."
"But Darnford!"—exclaimed Maria, mournfully—ſitting down again, and croſſing her arms—"I have no child to go to, and liberty has loſt its ſweets."
"I am much miſtaken, if Darnford is not the cauſe of my maſter's flight—his keepers aſſure me, that they have promiſed to confine him two days longer, and then he will be free—you cannot ſee him; but they will give a letter to him the moment he is free.—In that inform him where he may find you in London; fix on ſome hotel. Give me your clothes; I will ſend them out of the houſe with mine, and we will ſlip out at the garden-gate. Write your letter while I make theſe arrangements, but loſe no time!"
[131] In an agitation of ſpirit, not to be calmed, Maria began to write to Darnford. She called him by the ſacred name of "huſband," and bade him "haſten to her, to ſhare her fortune, or ſhe would return to him."—An hotel in the Adelphi was the place of rendezvous.
The letter was ſealed and given in charge; and with light footſteps, yet terrified at the ſound of them, ſhe deſcended, ſcarcely breathing, and with an indiſtinct fear that ſhe ſhould never get out at the garden gate. Jemima went firſt.
A being, with a viſage that would have ſuited one poſſeſſed by a devil, croſſed the path, and ſeized Maria by the arm. Maria had no fear but of being detained—"Who are you? what are you?" for the form was ſcarcely human. "If you are made of fleſh and[132] blood," his ghaſtly eyes glared on her, "do not ſtop me!"
"Woman," interrupted a ſepulchral voice, "what have I to do with thee?"—Still he graſped her hand, muttering a curſe.
"No, no; you have nothing to do with me," ſhe exclaimed, "this is a moment of life and death!"—
With ſupernatural force ſhe broke from him, and, throwing her arms round Jemima, cried, "Save me!" The being, from whoſe graſp ſhe had looſed herſelf, took up a ſtone as they opened the door, and with a kind of helliſh ſport threw it after them. They were out of his reach.
When Maria arrived in town, ſhe drove to the hotel already fixed on. But ſhe could not ſit ſtill—her child was ever before her; and all that had paſſed dur[133]ing her confinement, appeared to be a dream. She went to the houſe in the ſuburbs, where, as ſhe now diſcovered, her babe had been ſent. The moment ſhe entered, her heart grew ſick; but ſhe wondered not that it had proved its grave. She made the neceſſary enquiries, and the church-yard was pointed out, in which it reſted under a turf. A little frock which the nurſe's child wore (Maria had made it herſelf) caught her eye. The nurſe was glad to ſell it for half-a-guinea, and Maria haſtened away with the relic, and, re-entering the hackney-coach which waited for her, gazed on it, till ſhe reached her hotel.
She then waited on the attorney who had made her uncle's will, and explained to him her ſituation. He readily advanced her ſome of the money[134] which ſtill remained in his hands, and promiſed to take the whole of the caſe into conſideration. Maria only wiſhed to be permitted to remain in quiet—She found that ſeveral bills, apparently with her ſignature, had been preſented to her agent, nor was ſhe for a moment at a loſs to gueſs by whom they had been forged; yet, equally averſe to threaten or intreat, ſhe requeſted her friend [the ſolicitor] to call on Mr. Venables. He was not to be found at home; but at length his agent, the attorney, offered a conditional promiſe to Maria, to leave her in peace, as long as ſhe behaved with propriety, if ſhe would give up the notes. Maria inconſiderately conſented—Darnford was arrived, and ſhe wiſhed to be only alive to love; ſhe wiſhed to forget the anguiſh ſhe felt whenever ſhe thought of her child.
[135] They took a ready furniſhed lodging together, for ſhe was above diſguiſe; Jemima inſiſting on being conſidered as her houſe-keeper, and to receive the cuſtomary ſtipend. On no other terms would ſhe remain with her friend.
Darnford was indefatigable in tracing the myſterious circumſtances of his confinement. The cauſe was ſimply, that a relation, a very diſtant one, to whom he was heir, had died inteſtate, leaving a conſiderable fortune. On the news of Darnford's arrival [in England, a perſon, intruſted with the management of the property, and who had the writings in his poſſeſſion, determining, by one bold ſtroke, to ſtrip Darnford of the ſucceſſion,] had planned his confinement; and [as ſoon as he had taken the meaſures he[136] judged moſt conducive to his object, this ruffian, together with his inſtrument,] the keeper of the private mad-houſe, left the kingdom. Darnford, who ſtill purſued his enquiries, at laſt diſcovered that they had fixed their place of refuge at Paris.
Maria and he determined therefore, with the faithful Jemima, to viſit that metropolis, and accordingly were preparing for the journey, when they were informed that Mr. Venables had commenced an action againſt Darnford for ſeduction and adultery. The indignation Maria felt cannot be explained; ſhe repented of the forbearance ſhe had exerciſed in giving up the notes. Darnford could not put off his journey, without riſking the loſs of his property: Maria therefore furniſhed him with money for his expedition; and determined[137] to remain in London till the termination of this affair.
She viſited ſome ladies with whom ſhe had formerly been intimate, but was refuſed admittance; and at the opera, or Ranelagh, they could not recollect her. Among theſe ladies there were ſome, not her moſt intimate acquaintance, who were generally ſuppoſed to avail themſelves of the cloke of marriage, to conceal a mode of conduct, that would for ever have damned their fame, had they been innocent, ſeduced girls. Theſe particularly ſtood aloof.—Had ſhe remained with her huſband, practiſing inſincerity, and neglecting her child to manage an intrigue, ſhe would ſtill have been viſited and reſpected. If, inſtead of openly living with her lover, ſhe could have condeſcended to call into play a[138] thouſand arts, which, degrading her own mind, might have allowed the people who were not deceived, to pretend to be ſo, ſhe would have been careſſed and treated like an honourable woman. "And Brutus[138-A] is an honourable man!" ſaid Mark-Antony with equal ſincerity.
With Darnford ſhe did not taſte uninterrupted felicity; there was a volatility in his manner which often diſtreſſed her; but love gladdened the ſcene; beſides, he was the moſt tender, ſympathizing creature in the world. A fondneſs for the ſex often gives an appearance of humanity to the behaviour of men, who have ſmall pretenſions to the reality; and they ſeem to[139] love others, when they are only purſuing their own gratification. Darnford appeared ever willing to avail himſelf of her taſte and acquirements, while ſhe endeavoured to profit by his deciſion of character, and to eradicate ſome of the romantic notions, which had taken root in her mind, while in adverſity ſhe had brooded over viſions of unattainable bliſs.
The real affections of life, when they are allowed to burſt forth, are buds pregnant with joy and all the ſweet emotions of the ſoul; yet they branch out with wild eaſe, unlike the artificial forms of felicity, ſketched by an imagination painful alive. The ſubſtantial happineſs, which enlarges and civilizes the mind, may be compared to the pleaſure experienced in roving through nature at large, inhaling the[140] ſweet gale natural to the clime; while the reveries of a feveriſh imagination continually ſport themſelves in gardens full of aromatic ſhrubs, which cloy while they delight, and weaken the ſenſe of pleaſure they gratify. The heaven of fancy, below or beyond the ſtars, in this life, or in thoſe ever-ſmiling regions ſurrounded by the unmarked ocean of futurity, have an inſipid uniformity which palls. Poets have imagined ſcenes of bliſs; but, fencing out ſorrow, all the extatic emotions of the ſoul, and even its grandeur, ſeem to be equally excluded. We doſe over the unruffled lake, and long to ſcale the rocks which fence the happy valley of contentment, though ſerpents hiſs in the pathleſs deſert, and danger lurks in the unexplored wiles. Maria found herſelf more indulgent as ſhe was hap[141]pier, and diſcovered virtues, in characters ſhe had before diſregarded, while chaſing the phantoms of elegance and excellence, which ſported in the meteors that exhale in the marſhes of miſfortune. The heart is often ſhut by romance againſt ſocial pleaſure; and, foſtering a ſickly ſenſibility, grows callous to the ſoft touches of humanity.
To part with Darnford was indeed cruel.—It was to feel moſt painfully alone; but ſhe rejoiced to think, that ſhe ſhould ſpare him the care and perplexity of the ſuit, and meet him again, all his own. Marriage, as at preſent conſtituted, ſhe conſidered as leading to immorality—yet, as the odium of ſociety impedes uſefulneſs, ſhe wiſhed to avow her affection to Darnford, by becoming his wife according to eſtabliſhed rules; not to be confounded[142] with women who act from very different motives, though her conduct would be juſt the ſame without the ceremony as with it, and her expectations from him not leſs firm. The being ſummoned to defend herſelf from a charge which ſhe was determined to plead guilty to, was ſtill galling, as it rouſed bitter reflections on the ſituation of women in ſociety.
[138-A] The name in the manuſcript is by miſtake written Cæſar.
editor.
[143]
Such was her ſtate of mind when the dogs of law were let looſe on her. Maria took the taſk of conducting Darnford's defence upon herſelf. She inſtructed his counſel to plead guilty to the charge of adultery; but to deny that of ſeduction.
The counſel for the plaintiff opened the cauſe, by obſerving, "that his client had ever been an indulgent huſband, and had borne with ſeveral defects of temper, while he had nothing criminal to lay to the charge of his wife. But that ſhe left his houſe without aſſigning any cauſe. He could not aſſert that ſhe was then acquainted with the defendant; yet, when he was[144] once endeavouring to bring her back to her home, this man put the peace-officers to flight, and took her he knew not whither. After the birth of her child, her conduct was ſo ſtrange, and a melancholy malady having afflicted one of the family, which delicacy forbade the dwelling on, it was neceſſary to confine her. By ſome means the defendant enabled her to make her eſcape, and they had lived together, in deſpite of all ſenſe of order and decorum. The adultery was allowed, it was not neceſſary to bring any witneſſes to prove it; but the ſeduction, though highly probable from the circumſtances which he had the honour to ſtate, could not be ſo clearly proved.—It was of the moſt atrocious kind, as decency was ſet at defiance, and reſpect for reputa[145]tion, which ſhows internal compunction, utterly diſregarded."
A ſtrong ſenſe of injuſtice had ſilenced every emotion, which a mixture of true and falſe delicacy might otherwiſe have excited in Maria's boſom. She only felt in earneſt to inſiſt on the privilege of her nature. 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. [She therefore eagerly put herſelf forward, inſtead of deſiring to be abſent, on this memorable occaſion.]
Convinced that the ſubterfuges of the law were diſgraceful, ſhe wrote a paper, which ſhe expreſſly deſired might be read in court:
"Married when ſcarcely able to diſ[146]tinguiſh the nature of the engagement, I yet ſubmitted to the rigid laws which enſlave women, and obeyed the man whom I could no longer love. Whether the duties of the ſtate are reciprocal, I mean not to diſcuſs; but I can prove repeated infidelities which I overlooked or pardoned. Witneſſes are not wanting to eſtabliſh theſe facts. I at preſent maintain the child of a maid ſervant, ſworn to him, and born after our marriage. I am ready to allow, that education and circumſtances lead men to think and act with leſs delicacy, than the preſervation of order in ſociety demands from women; but ſurely I may without aſſumption declare, that, though I could excuſe the birth, I could not the deſertion of this unfortunate babe:—and, while I deſpiſed the man, it was not eaſy to ve[147]nerate the huſband. With proper reſtrictions however, I revere the inſtitution which fraternizes the world. I exclaim againſt the laws which throw the whole weight of the yoke on the weaker ſhoulders, and force women, when they claim protectorſhip as mothers, to ſign a contract, which renders them dependent on the caprice of the tyrant, whom choice or neceſſity has appointed to reign over them. Various are the caſes, in which a woman ought to ſeparate herſelf from her huſband; and mine, I may be allowed emphatically to inſiſt, comes under the deſcription of the moſt aggravated.
"I will not enlarge on thoſe provocations which only the individual can eſtimate; but will bring forward ſuch charges only, the truth of which is an inſult upon humanity. In order to[148] promote certain deſtructive ſpeculations, Mr. Venables prevailed on me to borrow certain ſums of a wealthy relation; and, when I refuſed further compliance, he thought of bartering my perſon; and not only allowed opportunities to, but urged, a friend from whom he borrowed money, to ſeduce me. On the diſcovery of this act of atrocity, I determined to leave him, and in the moſt decided manner, for ever. I conſider all obligation as made void by his conduct; and hold, that ſchiſms which proceed from want of principles, can never be healed.
"He received a fortune with me to the amount of five thouſand pounds. On the death of my uncle, convinced that I could provide for my child, I deſtroyed the ſettlement of that fortune. I required none of my property to be[149] returned to me, nor ſhall enumerate the ſums extorted from me during ſix years that we lived together.
"After leaving, what the law conſiders as my home, I was hunted like a criminal from place to place, though I contracted no debts, and demanded no maintenance—yet, as the laws ſanction ſuch proceeding, and make women the property of their huſbands, I forbear to animadvert. After the birth of my daughter, and the death of my uncle, who left a very conſiderable property to myſelf and child, I was expoſed to new perſecution; and, becauſe I had, before arriving at what is termed years of diſcretion, pledged my faith, I was treated by the world, as bound for ever to a man whoſe vices were notorious. Yet what are the vices generally known, to the various miſeries that a[150] woman may be ſubject to, which, though deeply felt, eating into the ſoul, elude deſcription, and may be gloſſed over! A falſe morality is even eſtabliſhed, which makes all the virtue of women conſiſt in chaſtity, ſubmiſſion, and the forgiveneſs of injuries.
"I pardon my oppreſſor—bitterly as I lament the loſs of my child, torn from me in the moſt violent manner. But nature revolts, and my ſoul ſickens at the bare ſuppoſition, that it could ever be a duty to pretend affection, when a ſeparation is neceſſary to prevent my feeling hourly averſion.
"To force me to give my fortune, I was impriſoned—yes; in a private mad-houſe.—There, in the heart of miſery, I met the man charged with ſeducing me. We became attached—I deemed, and ever ſhall deem, myſelf free. The[151] death of my babe diſſolved the only tie which ſubſiſted between me and my, what is termed, lawful huſband.
"To this perſon, thus encountered, I voluntarily gave myſelf, never conſidering myſelf as any more bound to tranſgreſs the laws of moral purity, becauſe the will of my huſband might be pleaded in my excuſe, than to tranſgreſs thoſe laws to which [the policy of artificial ſociety has] annexed [poſitive] puniſhments.——While no command of a huſband can prevent a woman from ſuffering for certain crimes, ſhe muſt be allowed to conſult her conſcience, and regulate her conduct, in ſome degree, by her own ſenſe of right. The reſpect I owe to myſelf, demanded my ſtrict adherence to my determination of never viewing Mr. Venables in the light of a huſband, nor could it forbid me from[152] encouraging another. If I am unfortunately united to an unprincipled man, am I for ever to be ſhut out from fulfilling the duties of a wife and mother?—I wiſh my country to approve of my conduct; but, if laws exiſt, made by the ſtrong to oppreſs the weak, I appeal to my own ſenſe of juſtice, and declare that I will not live with the individual, who has violated every moral obligation which binds man to man.
"I proteſt equally againſt any charge being brought to criminate the man, whom I conſider as my huſband. I was ſix-and-twenty when I left Mr. Venables' roof; if ever I am to be ſuppoſed to arrive at an age to direct my own actions, I muſt by that time have arrived at it.—I acted with deliberation.—Mr. Darnford found me a forlorn and oppreſſed woman, and promiſed[153] the protection women in the preſent ſtate of ſociety want.—But the man who now claims me—was he deprived of my ſociety by this conduct? The queſtion is an inſult to common ſenſe, conſidering where Mr. Darnford met me.—Mr. Venables' door was indeed open to me—nay, threats and intreaties were uſed to induce me to return; but why? Was affection or honour the motive?—I cannot, it is true, dive into the receſſes of the human heart—yet I preſume to aſſert, [borne out as I am by a variety of circumſtances,] that he was merely influenced by the moſt rapacious avarice.
"I claim then a divorce, and the liberty of enjoying, free from moleſtation, the fortune left to me by a relation, who was well aware of the character of the man with whom I had to[154] contend.—I appeal to the juſtice and humanity of the jury—a body of men, whoſe private judgment muſt be allowed to modify laws, that muſt be unjuſt, becauſe definite rules can never apply to indefinite circumſtances—and I deprecate puniſhment upon the man of my choice, freeing him, as I ſolemnly do, from the charge of ſeduction.]
"I did not put myſelf into a ſituation to juſtify a charge of adultery, till I had, from conviction, ſhaken off the fetters which bound me to Mr. Venables.—While I lived with him, I defy the voice of calumny to ſully what is termed the fair fame of woman.—Neglected by my huſband, I never encouraged a lover; and preſerved with ſcrupulous care, what is termed my honour, at the expence of my peace, till he, who ſhould have been its guar[155]dian, laid traps to enſnare me. From that moment I believed myſelf, in the ſight of heaven, free—and no power on earth ſhall force me to renounce my reſolution."
The judge, in ſumming up the evidence, alluded to "the fallacy of letting women plead their feelings, as an excuſe for the violation of the marriage-vow. For his part, he had always determined to oppoſe all innovation, and the new-fangled notions which incroached on the good old rules of conduct. We did not want French principles in public or private life—and, if women were allowed to plead their feelings, as an excuſe or palliation of infidelity, it was opening a flood-gate for immorality. What virtuous woman thought of her feelings?—It was her duty to love and obey the man[156] choſen by her parents and relations, who were qualified by their experience to judge better for her, than ſhe could for herſelf. As to the charges brought againſt the huſband, they were vague, ſupported by no witneſſes, excepting that of impriſonment in a private mad-houſe. The proofs of an inſanity in the family, might render that however a prudent meaſure; and indeed the conduct of the lady did not appear that of a perſon of ſane mind. Still ſuch a mode of proceeding could not be juſtified, and might perhaps entitle the lady [in another court] to a ſentence of ſeparation from bed and board, during the joint lives of the parties; but he hoped that no Engliſhman would legalize adultery, by enabling the adultereſs to enrich her ſeducer. Too many reſtrictions could not be thrown in the[157] way of divorces, if we wiſhed to maintain the ſanctity of marriage; and, though they might bear a little hard on a few, very few individuals, it was evidently for the good of the whole."
[158]
Very few hints exiſt reſpecting the plan of the remainder of the work. I find only two detached ſentences, and ſome ſcattered heads for the continuation of the ſtory. I tranſcribe the whole.
I.
"Darnford's letters were affectionate; but circumſtances occaſioned delays,[159] and the miſcarriage of ſome letters rendered the reception of wiſhed-for anſwers doubtful: his return was neceſſary to calm Maria's mind."
II.
"As Darnford had informed her that his buſineſs was ſettled, his delaying to return ſeemed extraordinary; but love to exceſs, excludes fear or ſuſpicion."
The ſcattered heads for the continuation of the ſtory, are as follow[159-A].
I.
"Trial for adultery—Maria defends herſelf—A ſeparation from bed and[160] board is the conſequence—Her fortune is thrown into chancery—Darnford obtains a part of his property—Maria goes into the country."
II.
"A proſecution for adultery commenced—Trial—Darnford ſets out for France—Letters—Once more pregnant—He returns—Myſterious behaviour—Viſit—Expectation—Diſcovery—Interview—Conſequence."
III.
"Sued by her huſband—Damages awarded to him—Separation from bed and board—Darnford goes abroad—Maria into the country—Provides for her father—Is ſhunned—Returns to London—Expects to ſee her lover[161]—The rack of expectation—Finds herſelf again with child—Delighted—A diſcovery—A viſit—A miſcarriage—Concluſion."
IV.
"Divorced by her huſband—Her lover unfaithful—Pregnancy—Miſcarriage—Suicide."
[The following paſſage appears in ſome reſpects to deviate from the preceding hints. It is ſuperſcribed]
"She ſwallowed the laudanum; her ſoul was calm—the tempeſt had ſub[162]ſided—and nothing remained but an eager longing to forget herſelf—to fly from the anguiſh ſhe endured to eſcape from thought—from this hell of diſappointment.
"Still her eyes cloſed not—one remembrance with frightful velocity followed another—All the incidents of her life were in arms, embodied to aſſail her, and prevent her ſinking into the ſleep of death.—Her murdered child again appeared to her, mourning for the babe of which ſhe was the tomb.—'And could it have a nobler?—Surely it is better to die with me, than to enter on life without a mother's care!—I cannot live!—but could I have deſerted my child the moment it was born?—thrown it on the troubled wave of life, without a hand to ſupport it?'—She looked[163] up: 'What have I not ſuffered!—may I find a father where I am going!'—Her head turned; a ſtupor enſued; a faintneſs—'Have a little patience,' ſaid Maria, holding her ſwimming head (ſhe thought of her mother), 'this cannot laſt long; and what is a little bodily pain to the pangs I have endured?'
"A new viſion ſwam before her. Jemima ſeemed to enter—leading a little creature, that, with tottering footſteps, approached the bed. The voice of Jemima ſounding as at a diſtance, called her—ſhe tried to liſten, to ſpeak, to look!
"'Behold your child!' exclaimed Jemima. Maria ſtarted off the bed, and fainted.—Violent vomiting followed.
"When ſhe was reſtored to life, Je[164]mima addreſſed her with great ſolemnity: '——— led me to ſuſpect, that your huſband and brother had deceived you, and ſecreted the child. I would not torment you with doubtful hopes, and I left you (at a fatal moment) to ſearch for the child!—I ſnatched her from miſery—and (now ſhe is alive again) would you leave her alone in the world, to endure what I have endured?'
"Maria gazed wildly at her, her whole frame was convulſed with emotion; when the child, whom Jemima had been tutoring all the journey, uttered the word 'Mamma!' She caught her to her boſom, and burſt into a paſſion of tears—then, reſting the child gently on the bed, as if afraid of killing it,—ſhe put her hand to her eyes, to conceal as it were the[165] agonizing ſtruggle of her ſoul. She remained ſilent for five minutes, croſſing her arms over her boſom, and reclining her head,—then exclaimed: 'The conflict is over!—I will live for my child!'"
A few readers perhaps, in looking over theſe hints, will wonder how it could have been practicable, without tediouſneſs, or remitting in any degree the intereſt of the ſtory, to have filled, from theſe ſlight ſketches, a number of pages, more conſiderable than thoſe which have been already preſented. But, in reality, theſe hints, ſimple as they are, are pregnant with paſſion and diſtreſs. It is the refuge of barren au[166]thors only, to crowd their fictions with ſo great a number of events, as to ſuffer no one of them to ſink into the reader's mind. It is the province of true genius to develop events, to diſcover their capabilities, to aſcertain the different paſſions and ſentiments with which they are fraught, and to diverſify them with incidents, that give reality to the picture, and take a hold upon the mind of a reader of taſte, from which they can never be looſened. It was particularly the deſign of the author, in the preſent inſtance, to make her ſtory ſubordinate to a great moral purpoſe, that "of exhibiting the miſery and oppreſſion, peculiar to women, that ariſe out of the partial laws and cuſtoms of ſociety.—This view reſtrained her fancy[166-A]." It[167] was neceſſary for her, to place in a ſtriking point of view, evils that are too frequently overlooked, and to drag into light thoſe details of oppreſſion, of which the groſſer and more inſenſible part of mankind make little account.
[159-A] To underſtand theſe minutes, it is neceſſary the reader ſhould conſider each of them as ſetting out from the ſame point in the ſtory, viz. the point to which it is brought down in the preceding chapter.
[166-A] See author's preface.
[168]
[169]
[170]
[171]
The following pages will, I believe, be judged by every reader of taſte to have been worth preſerving, among the other teſtimonies the author left behind her, of her genius and the ſoundneſs of her underſtanding. To[172] ſuch readers I leave the taſk of comparing theſe leſſons, with other works of the ſame nature previouſly publiſhed. It is obvious that the author has ſtruck out a path of her own, and by no means intrenched upon the plans of her predeceſſors.
It may however excite ſurpriſe in ſome perſons to find theſe papers annexed to the concluſion of a novel. All I have to offer on this ſubject, conſiſts in the following conſiderations:
Firſt, ſomething is to be allowed for the difficulty of arranging the miſcellaneous papers upon very different ſub[173]jects, which will frequently conſtitute an author's poſthumous works.
Secondly, the ſmall portion they occupy in the preſent volume, will perhaps be accepted as an apology, by ſuch good-natured readers (if any ſuch there are), to whom the peruſal of them ſhall be a matter of perfect indifference.
Thirdly, the circumſtance which determined me in annexing them to the preſent work, was the ſlight aſſociation (in default of a ſtrong one) between the affectionate and pathetic manner in which Maria Venables ad[174]dreſſes her infant, in the Wrongs of Woman; and the agoniſing and painful ſentiment with which the author originally bequeathed theſe papers, as a legacy for the benefit of her child.
[175]
The firſt book of a ſeries which I intended to have written for my unfortunate girl[175-A].
LESSON I.
Cat. Dog. Cow. Horſe. Sheep. Pig. Bird. Fly.
Man. Boy. Girl. Child.
[176] Head. Hair. Face. Noſe. Mouth. Chin. Neck. Arms. Hand. Leg. Foot. Back. Breaſt.
Houſe. Wall. Field. Street. Stone. Graſs.
Bed. Chair. Door. Pot. Spoon. Knife. Fork. Plate. Cup. Box. Boy. Bell.
Tree. Leaf. Stick. Whip. Cart. Coach.
Frock. Hat. Coat. Shoes. Shift. Cap.
Bread. Milk. Tea. Meat. Drink. Cake.
LESSON II.
Come. Walk. Run. Go. Jump. Dance. Ride. Sit. Stand. Play.[177] Hold. Shake. Speak. Sing. Cry. Laugh. Call. Fall.
Day. Night. Sun. Moon. Light. Dark. Sleep. Wake.
Waſh. Dreſs. Kiſs. Comb.
Fire. Hot. Burn. Wind. Rain. Cold.
Hurt. Tear. Break. Spill.
Book. See. Look.
Sweet. Good. Clean.
Gone. Loſt. Hide. Keep. Give. Take.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
White. Black. Red. Blue. Green. Brown.
[178]
LESSON III.
STROKE the cat. Play with the Dog. Eat the bread. Drink the milk. Hold the cup. Lay down the knife.
Look at the fly. See the horſe. Shut the door. Bring the chair. Ring the bell. Get your book.
Hide your face. Wipe your noſe. Waſh your hands. Dirty hands. Why do you cry? A clean mouth. Shake hands. I love you. Kiſs me now. Good girl.
The bird ſings. The fire burns. The cat jumps. The dog runs. The bird flies. The cow lies down. The man laughs. The child cries.
[179]
LESSON IV.
LET me comb your head. Aſk Betty to waſh your face. Go and ſee for ſome bread. Drink milk, if you are dry. Play on the floor with the ball. Do not touch the ink; you will black your hands.
What do you want to ſay to me? Speak ſlow, not ſo faſt. Did you fall? You will not cry, not you; the baby cries. Will you walk in the fields?
LESSON V.
COME to me, my little girl. Are you tired of playing? Yes. Sit down and reſt yourſelf, while I talk to you.
[180] Have you ſeen the baby? Poor little thing. O here it comes. Look at him. How helpleſs he is. Four years ago you were as feeble as this very little boy.
See, he cannot hold up his head. He is forced to lie on his back, if his mamma do not turn him to the right or left ſide, he will ſoon begin to cry. He cries to tell her, that he is tired with lying on his back.
LESSON VI.
PERHAPS he is hungry. What ſhall we give him to eat? Poor fellow, he cannot eat. Look in his mouth, he has no teeth.
How did you do when you were a baby like him? You cannot tell. Do you want to know? Look then at the dog,[181] with her pretty puppy. You could not help yourſelf as well as the puppy. You could only open your mouth, when you were lying, like William, on my knee. So I put you to my breaſt, and you ſucked, as the puppy ſucks now, for there was milk enough for you.
LESSON VII.
WHEN you were hungry, you began to cry, becauſe you could not ſpeak. You were ſeven months without teeth, always ſucking. But after you got one, you began to gnaw a cruſt of bread. It was not long before another came pop. At ten months you had four pretty white teeth, and you uſed to bite me. Poor mamma! Still I did not cry, becauſe I am not a child, but[182] you hurt me very much. So I ſaid to papa, it is time the little girl ſhould eat. She is not naughty, yet ſhe hurts me. I have given her a cruſt of bread, and I muſt look for ſome other milk.
The cow has got plenty, and her jumping calf eats graſs very well. He has got more teeth than my little girl. Yes, ſays papa, and he tapped you on the cheek, you are old enough to learn to eat? Come to me, and I will teach you, my little dear, for you muſt not hurt poor mamma, who has given you her milk, when you could not take any thing elſe.
LESSON VIII.
YOU were then on the carpet, for you could not walk well. So when you were in a hurry, you uſed to run[183] quick, quick, quick, on your hands and feet, like the dog.
Away you ran to papa, and putting both your arms round his leg, for your hands were not big enough, you looked up at him, and laughed. What did this laugh ſay, when you could not ſpeak? Cannot you gueſs by what you now ſay to papa?—Ah! it was, Play with me, papa!—play with me!
Papa began to ſmile, and you knew that the ſmile was always—Yes. So you got a ball, and papa threw it along the floor—Roll—roll—roll; and you ran after it again—and again. How pleaſed you were. Look at William, he ſmiles; but you could laugh loud—Ha! ha! ha!—Papa laughed louder than the little girl, and rolled the ball ſtill faſter.
Then he put the ball on a chair, and[184] you were forced to take hold of the back, and ſtand up to reach it. At laſt you reached too far, and down you fell: not indeed on your face, becauſe you put out your hands. You were not much hurt; but the palms of your hands ſmarted with the pain, and you began to cry, like a little child.
It is only very little children who cry when they are hurt; and it is to tell their mamma, that ſomething is the matter with them. Now you can come to me, and ſay, Mamma, I have hurt myſelf. Pray rub my hand: it ſmarts. Put ſomething on it, to make it well. A piece of rag, to ſtop the blood. You are not afraid of a little blood—not you. You ſcratched your arm with a pin: it bled a little; but it did you no harm. See, the ſkin is grown over it again.
[185]
LESSON IX.
TAKE care not to put pins in your mouth, becauſe they will ſtick in your throat, and give you pain. Oh! you cannot think what pain a pin would give you in your throat, ſhould it remain there: but, if you by chance ſwallow it, I ſhould be obliged to give you, every morning, ſomething bitter to drink. You never taſted any thing ſo bitter! and you would grow very ſick. I never put pins in my mouth; but I am older than you, and know how to take care of myſelf.
My mamma took care of me, when I was a little girl, like you. She bade me never put any thing in my mouth, without aſking her what it was.
When you were a baby, with no more[186] ſenſe than William, you put every thing in your mouth to gnaw, to help your teeth to cut through the ſkin. Look at the puppy, how he bites that piece of wood. William preſſes his gums againſt my finger. Poor boy! he is ſo young, he does not know what he is doing. When you bite any thing, it is becauſe you are hungry.
LESSON X.
SEE how much taller you are than William. In four years you have learned to eat, to walk, to talk. Why do you ſmile? You can do much more, you think: you can waſh your hands and face. Very well. I ſhould never kiſs a dirty face. And you can comb your head with the pretty comb you always[187] put by in your own drawer. To be ſure, you do all this to be ready to take a walk with me. You would be obliged to ſtay at home, if you could not comb your own hair. Betty is buſy getting the dinner ready, and only bruſhes William's hair, becauſe he cannot do it for himſelf.
Betty is making an apple-pye. You love an apple-pye; but I do not bid you make one. Your hands are not ſtrong enough to mix the butter and flour together; and you muſt not try to pare the apples, becauſe you cannot manage a great knife.
Never touch the large knives: they are very ſharp, and you might cut your finger to the bone. You are a little girl, and ought to have a little knife. When you are as tall as I am, you ſhall have a knife as large as mine; and[188] when you are as ſtrong as I am, and have learned to manage it, you will not hurt yourſelf.
You can trundle a hoop, you ſay; and jump over a ſtick. O, I forgot!—and march like the men in the red coats, when papa plays a pretty tune on the fiddle.
LESSON XI.
WHAT, you think that you ſhall ſoon be able to dreſs yourſelf entirely? I am glad of it: I have ſomething elſe to do. You may go, and look for your frock in the drawer; but I will tie it, till you are ſtronger. Betty will tie it, when I am buſy.
I button my gown myſelf: I do not want a maid to aſſiſt me, when I am[189] dreſſing. But you have not yet got ſenſe enough to do it properly, and muſt beg ſomebody to help you, till you are older.
Children grow older and wiſer at the ſame time. William is not able to take a piece of meat, becauſe he has not got the ſenſe which would make him think that, without teeth, meat would do him harm. He cannot tell what is good for him.
The ſenſe of children grows with them. You know much more than William, now you walk alone, and talk; but you do not know as much as the boys and girls you ſee playing yonder, who are half as tall again as you; and they do not know half as much as their fathers and mothers, who are men and women grown. Papa and I were children, like you; and men and women[190] took care of us. I carry William, becauſe he is too weak to walk. I lift you over a ſtile, and over the gutter, when you cannot jump over it.
You know already, that potatoes will not do you any harm: but I muſt pluck the fruit for you, till you are wiſe enough to know the ripe apples and pears. The hard ones would make you ſick, and then you muſt take phyſic. You do not love phyſic: I do not love it any more than you. But I have more ſenſe than you; therefore I take care not to eat unripe fruit, or any thing elſe that would make my ſtomach ache, or bring out ugly red ſpots on my face.
When I was a child, my mamma choſe the fruit for me, to prevent my making myſelf ſick. I was juſt like you; I uſed to aſk for what I ſaw, without knowing whether it was good or[191] bad. Now I have lived a long time, I know what is good; I do not want any body to tell me.
LESSON XII.
LOOK at thoſe two dogs. The old one brings the ball to me in a moment; the young one does not know how. He muſt be taught.
I can cut your ſhift in a proper ſhape. You would not know how to begin. You would ſpoil it; but you will learn.
John digs in the garden, and knows when to put the ſeed in the ground. You cannot tell whether it ſhould be in the winter or ſummer. Try to find it out. When do the trees put out their leaves? In the ſpring, you ſay, after the[192] cold weather. Fruit would not grow ripe without very warm weather. Now I am ſure you can gueſs why the ſummer is the ſeaſon for fruit.
Papa knows that peas and beans are good for us to eat with our meat. You are glad when you ſee them; but if he did not think for you, and have the ſeed put in the ground, we ſhould have no peas or beans.
LESSON XIII.
POOR child, ſhe cannot do much for herſelf. When I let her do any thing for me, it is to pleaſe her: for I could do it better myſelf.
Oh! the poor puppy has tumbled off the ſtool. Run and ſtroak him. Put[193] a little milk in a ſaucer to comfort him. You have more ſenſe than he. You can pour the milk into the ſaucer without ſpilling it. He would cry for a day with hunger, without being able to get it. You are wiſer than the dog, you muſt help him. The dog will love you for it, and run after you. I feed you and take care of you: you love me and follow me for it.
When the book fell down on your foot, it gave you great pain. The poor dog felt the ſame pain juſt now.
Take care not to hurt him when you play with him. And every morning leave a little milk in your baſon for him. Do not forget to put the baſon in a corner, leſt ſomebody ſhould fall over it.
When the ſnow covers the ground, ſave the crumbs of bread for the birds. In the ſummer they find feed enough,[194] and do not want you to think about them.
I make broth for the poor man who is ſick. A ſick man is like a child, he cannot help himſelf.
LESSON X.
WHEN I caught cold ſome time ago, I had ſuch a pain in my head, I could ſcarcely hold it up. Papa opened the door very ſoftly, becauſe he loves me. You love me, yet you made a noiſe. You had not the ſenſe to know that it made my head worſe, till papa told you.
Papa had a pain in the ſtomach, and he would not eat the fine cherries or grapes on the table. When I brought him a cup of camomile tea, he drank it without ſaying a word, or making[195] an ugly face. He knows that I love him, and that I would not give him any thing to drink that has a bad taſte, if it were not to do him good.
You aſked me for ſome apples when your ſtomach ached; but I was not angry with you. If you had been as wiſe as papa, you would have ſaid, I will not eat the apples to-day, I muſt take ſome camomile tea.
You ſay that you do not know how to think. Yes; you do a little. The other day papa was tired; he had been walking about all the morning. After dinner he fell aſleep on the ſopha. I did not bid you be quiet; but you thought of what papa ſaid to you, when my head ached. This made you think that you ought not to make a noiſe, when papa was reſting himſelf. So you came to me, and ſaid to me, very ſoftly, Pray reach me my ball, and[196] I will go and play in the garden, till papa wakes.
You were going out; but thinking again, you came back to me on your tip-toes. Whiſper——whiſper. Pray mama, call me, when papa wakes; for I ſhall be afraid to open the door to ſee, leſt I ſhould diſturb him.
Away you went.—Creep—creep—and ſhut the door as ſoftly as I could have done myſelf.
That was thinking. When a child does wrong at firſt, ſhe does not know any better. But, after ſhe has been told that ſhe muſt not diſturb mama, when poor mama is unwell, ſhe thinks herſelf, that ſhe muſt not wake papa when he is tired.
Another day we will ſee if you can think about any thing elſe.
[175-A] This title which is indorſed on the back of the manuſcript, I conclude to have been written in a period of deſperation, in the month of October, 1795.
editor.
