Mary Wollstonecraft Part 4

I almost wish the girls were novel-readers and romantic. I declare false refinement is better than none at all; but these girls understand several languages, and have read _cartloads_ of history, for their mother was a prudent woman. Lady K.'s pa.s.sion for animals fills up the hours which are not spent in dressing. All her children have been ill,--very disagreeable fevers. Her ladys.h.i.+p visited them in a formal way, though their situation called forth my tenderness, and I endeavored to amuse them, while she lavished awkward fondness on her dogs. I think now I hear her infantine lisp. She rouges, and, in short, is a fine lady, without fancy or sensibility. I am almost tormented to death by dogs. But you will perceive I am not under the influence of my darling pa.s.sion--pity; it is not always so. I make allowance and adapt myself, talk of getting husbands for the _ladies_--and the _dogs_, and am wonderfully entertaining; and then I retire to my room, form figures in the fire, listen to the wind, or view the Gotties, a fine range of mountains near us, and so does time waste away in apathy or misery.... I am drinking a.s.ses' milk, but do not find it of any service. I am very ill, and so low-spirited my tears flow in torrents almost insensibly. I struggle with myself, but I hope my Heavenly Father will not be extreme to mark my weakness, and that He will have compa.s.sion upon a poor bruised reed, and pity a miserable wretch, whose sorrows He only knows.... I almost wish my warfare was over.

The religious tone of this letter calls for special notice, since it was written at the very time she was supposed to be imparting irreligious principles to her pupils.

Mary had none of the false sentiment of a Sterne, and could not waste sympathy over brutes, when she felt that there were human beings who needed it. Her ladys.h.i.+p's dogs worried her because of the contrast between the attention they received and the indifference which fell to the lot of the children. Besides, the then distressing condition of the laboring population in Ireland made the luxuries and silly affectations of the rich doubly noticeable. Mary saw for herself the poverty of the peasantry. Margaret was allowed to visit the poor, and she accompanied her on her charitable rounds. The almost b.e.s.t.i.a.l squalor in which these people lived was another cruel contrast to the pampered existence led by the dogs at the castle. She had none of Strap's veneration for the epithet of gentleman. Eliza owned to a "sneaking kindness for people of quality." But Mary cared only for a man's intrinsic merit. His rank could not cover his faults. Therefore, with the misery and dest.i.tution of so many men and women staring her in the face, the amus.e.m.e.nts and occupations of the few within Lady Kingsborough's household continually grated upon her finer instincts.

In the winter of 1788 the family went to Dublin, and Mary accompanied them. She liked the society of the capital no better than she had that of the country. She, however, occasionally shared in its frivolities, her relations to Lady Kingsborough obliging her to do this. She was still young enough to possess the capacity for enjoyment, though her many hards.h.i.+ps and sorrows had made her think this impossible, and she was sometimes carried away by the gayety around her. But, as thorough a hater of shams as Carlyle, she was disgusted with herself once the pa.s.sing excitement was over. From Dublin she wrote to Everina giving her a description of a mask to which she had gone, and of which she had evidently been a conspicuous feature:--

DUBLIN, March 14, 1788.

... I am very weak to-day, but I can account for it. The day before yesterday there was a masquerade; in the course of conversation some time before, I happened to wish to go to it. Lady K. offered me two tickets for myself and Miss Delane to accompany me. I refused them on account of the expense of dressing properly. She then, to obviate that objection, lent me a black domino. I was out of spirits, and thought of another excuse; but she proposed to take me and Betty Delane to the houses of several people of fas.h.i.+on who saw masks. We went to a great number, and were a tolerable, nay, a much-admired, group. Lady K. went in a domino with a smart c.o.c.kade; Miss Moore dressed in the habit of one of the females of the new discovered islands; Betty D. as a forsaken shepherdess; and your sister Mary in a black domino. As it was taken for granted the stranger who had just arrived could not speak the language, I was to be her interpreter, which afforded me an ample field for satire.

I happened to be very melancholy in the morning, as I am almost every morning, but at night my fever gives me false spirits; this night the lights, the novelty of the scene, and all things together contributed to make me _more_ than half mad. I gave full scope to a satirical vein, and suppose ...

Unfortunately, the rest of the letter is lost.

In the midst of her duties and dissipations she managed to find some little time for more solid pleasures and more congenial work. In her letters she speaks of nothing with so much enthusiasm as of Rousseau, whose "emile" she read while she was in Dublin. She wrote to Everina, on the 24th of March,--

I believe I told you before that as a nation I do not admire the Irish; and as to the great world and its frivolous ceremonies, I cannot away with them; they fatigue me. I thank Heaven I was not so unfortunate as to be born a lady of quality. I am now reading Rousseau's "emile," and love his paradoxes. He chooses a common capacity to educate, and gives as a reason that a genius will educate itself. However, he rambles into that chimerical world in which I have too often wandered, and draws the usual conclusion that all is vanity and vexation of spirit. He was a strange, inconsistent, unhappy, clever creature, yet he possessed an uncommon portion of sensibility and penetration....

Adieu, yours sincerely, MARY.

It was also during this period that she wrote a novel called "Mary." It is a narrative of her acquaintance and friends.h.i.+p with f.a.n.n.y Blood,--her _In Memoriam_ of the friend she so dearly loved. In writing it she sought relief for the bitter sorrow with which her loss had filled her heart.

The Irish gayeties lasted through the winter. In the spring the family crossed over to England and went to Bristol, Hotwells, and Bath. In all these places Mary saw more of the gay world, but it was only to deepen the disgust with which it inspired her. Those were the days when men drank at dinner until they fell under the table; when young women thought of nothing but beaux, and were exhibited by their fond mothers as so much live-stock to be delivered to the highest bidder; and when dowagers, whose flirting season was over, spent all their time at the card-table.

Nowhere were the absurdities and emptiness of polite society so fully exposed as at these three fas.h.i.+onable resorts. Even the frivolity of Dublin paled in comparison. Mary's health improved in England. The Irish climate seems to have specially disagreed with her. But notwithstanding the much-needed improvement in her physical condition, and despite her occasional concessions to her circ.u.mstances, her life became more unbearable every day, while her sympathies and tastes grew farther apart from those of her employers.

But while even the little respect she felt for Lord and Lady Kingsborough lessened, her love for the children increased. This they returned with interest. Once, when one of them had to go into the country with her mother and without her governess, she cried so bitterly that she made herself ill. The strength of Margaret's affection can be partly measured by the following pa.s.sage from a letter written by Mary shortly after their separation:--

"I had, the other day, the satisfaction of again receiving a letter from my poor dear Margaret. With all the mother's fondness, I could transcribe a part of it. She says, every day her affection to me, and dependence on heaven, increase, etc. I miss her innocent caresses, and sometimes indulge a pleasing hope, that she may be allowed to cheer my childless age if I am to live to be old. At any rate, I may hear of the virtues I may not contemplate."

Lady Kingsborough made no effort to win her children's affection, but she was unwilling that they should bestow it upon a stranger. She could not forgive the governess who had taken her place in their hearts. She and her eldest daughter had on this account frequent quarrels. Mary's position was therefore untenable. Her surroundings were uncongenial, her duties distasteful, and she was disapproved of by her employer. Nothing was needed but a decent pretext for the latter to dismiss her. This she before long found when, Mary being temporarily separated from her pupils, Margaret showed more regret than her mother thought the occasion warranted. Lady Kingsborough seized the opportunity to give the governess her dismissal. This was in the autumn of 1788, and the family were in London. Mary had for some weeks known that this end was inevitable, but still her departure, when the time came, was sudden. It was a trial to her to leave the children, but escape from the household was a joyful emanc.i.p.ation. Again she was obliged to face the world, and again she emerged triumphant from her struggles. With each new change she advanced a step in her intellectual progress. After she left Lady Kingsborough she began the literary life which was to make her famous.

CHAPTER IV.

LITERARY LIFE.

1788-1791.

During her residence with the family of Lady Kingsborough in Ireland, Mary, as has been seen, corresponded with Mr. Johnson the publisher. In her hour of need she went to him for advice and a.s.sistance. He strongly recommended, as he had more than once before, that she should give up teaching altogether, and devote her time to literary work.

Mr. Johnson was a man of considerable influence and experience, and he was enterprising and progressive. He published most of the princ.i.p.al books of the day. The Edgeworths sent him their novels from Ireland, and Cowper his poetry from Olney. One day he gave the reading world Mrs.

Barbauld's works for the young, and the next, the speculations of reformers and social philosophers whose rationalism deterred many another publisher. It was for printing the Rev. Gilbert Wakefield's too plain-spoken writings that he was, at a later date, fined and imprisoned.

Quick to discern true merit, he was equally prompt in encouraging it. As Mary once said of him, he was a man before he was a bookseller. His kind, generous nature made him as ready to a.s.sist needy and deserving authors with his purse as he was to publish their works. From the time he had seen Mary's pamphlet on the "Education of Daughters," he had been deeply and honestly interested in her. It had convinced him of her power to do something greater. Her letters had sustained him in this opinion, and her novel still further confirmed it. He now, in addition to urging her to try to support herself by writing, promised her continual employment if she would settle in London.

To-day there would seem no possible reason for any one in her position to hesitate before accepting such an offer. But in her time it was an unusual occurrence for a woman to adopt literature as a profession. It is true there had been a great change since Swift declared that "not one gentleman's daughter in a thousand has been brought to read or understand her own natural tongue." Women had learned not only to read, but to write. Miss Burney had written her novels, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu her Letters, and Mrs. Inchbald her "Simple Story" and her plays, before Mary came to London. Though the Amelias and Lydia Melfords of fiction were still favorite types, the blue-stocking was gaining ascendency. Because she was such a _rara avis_ she received a degree of attention and devotion which now appears extraordinary. Mrs. Inchbald and Mrs. Opie, Maria Edgeworth and Mrs. Barbauld, at the end of the last and beginning of this century, were feted and praised as seldom falls to the lot of their successors of the present generation. But, despite this fact, they were not quite sure that they were keeping within the limits of feminine modesty by publis.h.i.+ng their writings. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu had considered it necessary to apologize for having translated Epictetus.

Miss Burney shrank from publicity, and preferred the slavery of a court to the liberty of home life, which meant time for writing. Good Mrs.

Barbauld feared she "stepped out of the bounds of female reserve" when she became an author. They all wrote either for amus.e.m.e.nt or as a last resource to eke out a slender income. But Mary would, by agreeing to Mr.

Johnson's proposition, deliberately throw over other chances of making a livelihood to rely entirely upon literature. She was young, unmarried, and, to all intents and purposes, alone in the world. Such a step was unprecedented in English literary annals. She would really be, as she wrote to her sister, the first of a new genus. Her conduct would unquestionably be criticised and censured. She would have to run the gauntlet of public opinion, a much more trying ordeal than that through which she had pa.s.sed at the castle in Mitchelstown.

But, on the other hand, she would thereby gain freedom and independence, for which she had always yearned above all else; her work would be congenial; and, what to her was even more important, she would obtain better means to further the welfare of her sisters and brothers, and to a.s.sist her father. Compared to these inducements, the fact that people would look upon her askance was a very insignificant consideration. She believed in a woman's right to independence; and, the first chance she had, she acted according to her lights.

But, at the same time, she knew that if her friends heard of her determination before she had carried it into effect, they would try to dissuade her from it. She was firmly resolved not to be influenced in this matter by any one; and therefore, to avoid the unpleasant discussions and disputes that might arise from a difference of opinion, she maintained strict secrecy as to her plans. From her letters it seems probable that she had made definite arrangements with Mr. Johnson before her formal dismissal by Lady Kingsborough. In September of 1788 she stayed at Henley for a short time with Mrs. Bishop; and it was doubtless this visit that caused Margaret's unhappiness and hence her mother's indignation. At Henley Mary enjoyed a short interval of rest. The quiet of the place and temporary idleness were the best of tonics for her disordered nerves, and an excellent preparation for her new labors. That she was at that time determined to give up teaching for literature, but that she did not take her sister into her confidence, is shown by this letter written to Mr. Johnson, containing a pleasant description of her holiday:--

HENLEY, Thursday, Sept. 13.

MY DEAR SIR,--Since I saw you I have, literally speaking, _enjoyed_ solitude. My sister could not accompany me in my rambles; I therefore wandered alone by the side of the Thames, and in the neighboring beautiful fields and pleasure grounds: the prospects were of such a placid kind, I _caught_ tranquillity while I surveyed them; my mind was _still_, though active. Were I to give you an account how I have spent my time, you would smile. I found an old French Bible here, and amused myself with comparing it with our English translation; then I would listen to the falling leaves, or observe the various tints the autumn gave to them. At other times, the singing of a robin or the noise of a water-mill engaged my attention; for I was at the same time, perhaps, discussing some knotty point, or straying from this _tiny_ world to new systems.

After these excursions I returned to the family meals, told the children stories (they think me _vastly_ agreeable), and my sister was amused. Well, will you allow me to call this way of pa.s.sing my days pleasant?

I was just going to mend my pen; but I believe it will enable me to say all I have to add to this epistle. Have you yet heard of an habitation for me? I often think of my new plan of life; and lest my sister should try to prevail on me to alter it, I have avoided mentioning it to her. I am determined! Your s.e.x generally laugh at female determinations; but let me tell you, I never yet resolved to do anything of consequence, that I did not adhere resolutely to it, till I had accomplished my purpose, improbable as it might have appeared to a more timid mind. In the course of near nine and twenty years I have gathered some experience, and felt many _severe_ disappointments; and what is the amount? I long for a little peace and _independence_! Every obligation we receive from our fellow-creatures is a new shackle, takes from our native freedom, and debases the mind, makes us mere earthworms. I am not fond of grovelling!

I am, Sir, yours, etc., MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.

When she parted from Lady Kingsborough, and the time arrived for beginning her new life, she thought it best to communicate her prospects to Everina; but she begged the latter not to mention them to any one else. She seems for some time to have wished that her family at least should know nothing of her whereabouts or her occupations.

She wrote from London on the 7th of November to Everina,--

I am, my dear girl, once more thrown on the world. I _have_ left Lord K.'s, and they return next week to Mitchelstown. I long since imagined that my departure would be sudden. I have not _seen_ Mrs.

Burgh, but I have informed her of this circ.u.mstance, and at the same time mentioned to her, that I was determined not to see any of my friends till I am in a way to earn my own subsistence. And to this determination I _will_ adhere. You can conceive how disagreeable pity and advice would be at this juncture. I have two other cogent reasons. Before I go on will you pause, and if, after deliberating, you will promise not to mention to any one what you know of my designs, though you may think my requesting you to conceal them unreasonable, I will trust to your honor, and proceed.

Mr. Johnson, whose uncommon kindness, I believe, has saved me from despair and vexation I shrink back from, and fear to encounter, a.s.sures me that if I exert my talents in writing, I may support myself in a comfortable way. I am then going to be the first of a new genus. I tremble at the attempt; yet if I fail _I_ only suffer; and should I succeed, my dear girls will ever in sickness have a home and a refuge, where for a few months in the year they may forget the cares that disturb the rest. I shall strain every nerve to obtain a situation for Eliza nearer town: in short, I am once more involved in schemes. Heaven only knows whether they will answer! Yet while they are pursued life slips away. I would not on any account inform my father or Edward of my designs. You and Eliza are the only part of the family I am interested about; I wish to be a mother to you both. My undertaking would subject me to ridicule and an inundation of friendly advice to which I cannot listen; I must be independent. I wish to introduce you to Mr. Johnson. You would respect him; and his sensible conversation would soon wear away the impression that a formality, or rather stiffness of manners, first makes to his disadvantage. I am sure you would love him, did you know with what tenderness and humanity he has behaved to me....

I cannot write more explicitly. I have indeed been very much hara.s.sed. But Providence has been very kind to me, and when I reflect on past mercies, I am not without hope with respect to the future; and freedom, even uncertain freedom, is dear.... This project has long floated in my mind. You know I am not born to tread in the beaten track; the peculiar bent of my nature pushes me on. Adieu; believe me ever your sincere friend and affectionate sister,

MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.

Seas will not now divide us, nor years elapse before we see each other.

Thus, hopeful for herself and her sisters, she started out upon a new road, which, smoother than any she had yet trodden, was not without its many thorns and pitfalls. For a little while she stayed with Mr. Johnson, whose house was then, as ever, open to her. But as soon as possible she moved to lodgings he found for her in George Street, in the neighborhood of Blackfriars' Bridge. Here she was near him, and this was an important consideration, as the work he proposed to give her necessitated frequent intercourse between them, and it was also an advantage for her to be within reasonable distance of the only friend she possessed in London.

Mr. Johnson made her his "reader;" that is to say, he gave her the ma.n.u.scripts sent to him to read and criticise; he also required that she should translate for him foreign works, for which there was then a great demand, and that she should contribute to the "a.n.a.lytical Review," which had just been established. Her position was a good one. It is true it left her little time for original work, and G.o.dwin thought that it contracted rather than enlarged her genius for the time being. But it gave her a certain valuable experience and much practice which she would not otherwise have obtained, and it insured her steady employment. She was to the publisher what a staff contributor is to a newspaper. Whenever anything was to be done, she was called upon to do it. Therefore, there was no danger of her dying of starvation in a garret, like Chatterton, or of her offering her ma.n.u.scripts to one unwilling bookseller after another, as happened to Carlyle.

She did not disappoint Mr. Johnson's expectations. She worked well and diligently, being thoroughly conscientious in whatever she did. The office of "reader" is no mere sinecure; it requires a keen critical sense, an impartial mind, and not a little moral courage. The first of these qualifications Mary possessed naturally, and her honesty enabled her to cultivate the two last. She was as fearless in her criticisms as she was just; she praised and found fault with equal temerity. This disagreeable duty was the indirect cause of the happiest event of her life. The circ.u.mstance in question belongs to a later date, but it may more appropriately be mentioned here in connection with this branch of her work. On one occasion she had to read a volume of Essays written by Miss Hayes. The preface displeased her, and this she told the author, stating her reasons with unhesitating frankness. Miss Hayes was a woman capable of appreciating such candor of speech; and the business transaction led to a sincere and lasting friends.h.i.+p. Miss Hayes was the mutual friend who succeeded in producing a better feeling between G.o.dwin and Mary, who, as the sequel will show, were not very friendly when they first met. This fact adds a personal interest to Mary's letter. She writes,--

"I yesterday mentioned to Mr. Johnson your request, and he a.s.sented, desiring that the t.i.tlepage might be sent to him. I therefore can say nothing more, for trifles of this kind I have always left to him to settle; and you must be aware, madam, that the _honor_ of publis.h.i.+ng, the phrase on which you have laid a stress, is the cant of both trade and s.e.x; for if really equality should ever take place in society, the man who is employed and gives a just equivalent for the money he receives will not behave with the servile obsequiousness of a servant.

"I am now going to treat you with still greater frankness. I do not approve of your preface, and I will tell you why: if your work should deserve attention, it is a blur on the very face of it.

Disadvantages of education, etc., ought, in my opinion, never to be pleaded with the public in excuse for defects of any importance, because if the writer has not sufficient strength of mind to overcome the common difficulties that lie in his way, nature seems to command him, with a very audible voice, to leave the task of instructing others to those who can. This kind of vain humility has ever disgusted me; and I should say to an author, who humbly sued for forbearance, If you have not a tolerably good opinion of your own production, why intrude it on the public? We have plenty of bad books already, that have just gasped for breath and died. The last paragraph I particularly object to, it is so full of vanity. Your male friends will still treat you like a woman; and many a man, for instance Dr. Johnson, Lord Littleton, and even Dr. Priestley have insensibly been led to utter warm eulogiums in private that they would be sorry openly to avow without some cooling explanatory ifs.

An author, especially a woman, should be cautious, lest she too hastily swallows the crude praises which partial friend and polite acquaintance bestow thoughtlessly when the supplicating eye looks for them. In short, it requires great resolution to try rather to be useful than to please. With this remark in your head, I must beg you to pardon my freedom whilst you consider the purport of what I am going to add,--rest on yourself. If your essays have merit, they will stand alone; if not, the _shouldering up_ of Dr. this or that will not long keep them from falling to the ground. The vulgar have a pertinent proverb, 'Too many cooks spoil the broth;' and let me remind you that when weakness claims indulgence, it seems to justify the despotism of strength. Indeed, the preface, and even your pamphlet, is too full of yourself. Inquiries ought to be made before they are answered; and till a work strongly interests the public, true modesty should keep the author in the background, for it is only about the character and life of a _good_ author that curiosity is active. A blossom is but a blossom."

It is a pity that most of Mary's contributions to the "a.n.a.lytical Review," being unsigned, cannot be credited to her. She wrote for it many reviews and similar articles, and they probably were characterized by her uncompromising honesty and straightforwardness of speech. "If you do not like the manner in which I reviewed Dr. J----'s S---- on his wife," she wrote in a note to Mr. Johnson, "be it known unto you, I _will_ not do it any other way. I felt some pleasure in paying a just tribute of respect to the memory of a man, who, spite of all his faults, I have an affection for." From this it appears, that to tell the truth in these matters was not always an uncongenial duty.

She was princ.i.p.ally occupied in translating. Following Mr. Johnson's advice, she had while in Ireland perfected her French. She was tolerably familiar with Italian; and she now devoted all her spare minutes, and these could not have been many, to mastering German. Her energy was unflagging, and her determination to succeed in the calling she had chosen, indomitable. By studying she was laying up the only capital she knew how to acc.u.mulate, and she feared her future loss should she not make use of present opportunities. She wrote to Mr. Johnson, who was materially interested in her progress,--

I really want a German grammar, as I intend to attempt to learn that language, and I will tell you the reason why. While I live, I am persuaded, I must exert my understanding to procure an independence and render myself useful. To make the task easier, I ought to store my mind with knowledge. The seed-time is pa.s.sing away. I see the necessity of laboring now, and of that necessity I do not complain; on the contrary, I am thankful that I have more than common incentives to pursue knowledge, and draw my pleasures from the employments that are within my reach. You perceive this is not a gloomy day. I feel at this moment particularly grateful to you. Without your humane and _delicate_ a.s.sistance, how many obstacles should I not have had to encounter! Too often should I have been out of patience with my fellow-creatures, whom I wish to love. Allow me to love you, my dear sir, and call friend a being I respect. Adieu.

MARY W.