Mary Wollstonecraft Part 10

She knew in Paris a Madame Filiettaz, daughter of the Madame Bregantz at whose school in Putney Eliza and Everina had been teachers, and to her house she went, by invitation. Monsieur and Madame Filiettaz were absent, and she was for some little time its sole occupant save the servants. The object of her visit was twofold. She wished to study French, for though she could read and translate this language fluently, from want of practice she could neither speak nor understand it when it was spoken; and she also desired to watch for herself the development of the cause of freedom. Their love of liberty had made the French, as a nation, peculiarly attractive to her. She had long since openly avowed her sympathy by her indignant reply to Burke's outcry against them. It was now a great satisfaction to be where she could follow day by day the progress of their struggle. She had excellent opportunities not only to see what was on the surface of society, which is all visitors to a strange land can usually do, but to study the actual forces at work in the movement. Thomas Paine was then in Paris. He was a member of the National Convention, and was on terms of intimacy with Condorcet, Brissot, Madame Roland, and other Republican leaders. Mary had known him well in London. She now renewed the acquaintance, and was always welcomed to his house near the Rue de Richelieu. Later, when, worn out by his numerous visitors, he retired to the Faubourg St. Denis, to a hotel where Madame de Pompadour had once lived, and allowed it to be generally believed that he had gone into the country for his health, Mary was one of the few favored friends who knew of his whereabouts. She thus, through him, was brought into close contact with the leading spirits of the day.

She also saw much of Helen Maria Williams, the poetess, already notorious for her extreme liberalism, and who had numerous friends and acquaintances among the Revolutionary party in Paris. Mrs. Christie was still another friend of this period. Her husband's business having kept them in France, they had become thoroughly nationalized. At their house many Americans congregated, among others a Captain Gilbert Imlay, of whom more hereafter. In addition to these English friends, Mary had letters of introduction to several prominent French citizens.

She arrived in Paris just before Louis XVI.'s trial. The city was comparatively quiet, but there was in the air an oppression which betokened the coming storm. She felt the people's suspense as if she too had been personally interested. Between her studies and her efforts to obtain the proper clew by which she could in her own mind reduce the present political chaos to order, she found more than enough wherewith to fill her days. As always happened with her, the mental strain reacted upon her physical health, and her old enemies, depression of spirits and headaches, returned to hara.s.s her.

She wrote to Everina on the 24th of December:

To-morrow I expect to see Aline [Madame Filiettaz]. During her absence the servants endeavored to render the house, a most excellent one, comfortable to me; but as I wish to acquire the language as fast as I can, I was sorry to be obliged to remain so much alone. I apply so closely to the language, and labor so continually to understand what I hear, that I never go to bed without a headache, and my spirits are fatigued with endeavoring to form a just opinion of public affairs. The day after to-morrow I expect to see the King at the bar, and the consequences that will follow I am almost afraid to antic.i.p.ate.

I have seen very little of Paris, the streets are so dirty; and I wait till I can make myself understood before I call upon Madame Laurent, etc. Miss Williams has behaved very civilly to me, and I shall visit her frequently because I _rather_ like her, and I meet French company at her house. Her manners are affected, yet the simple goodness of her heart continually breaks through the varnish, so that one would be more inclined, at least I should, to love than admire her. Authorship is a heavy weight for female shoulders, especially in the sunshine of prosperity. Of the French I will not speak till I know more of them. They seem the people of all others for a stranger to come amongst, yet sometimes when I have given a commission, which was eagerly asked for, it has not been executed, and when I ask for an explanation,--I allude to the servant-maid, a quick girl, who, an't please you, has been a teacher in an English boarding-school,--dust is thrown up with a self-sufficient air, and I am obliged to appear to see her meaning clearly, though she puzzles herself, that I may not make her feel her ignorance; but you must have experienced the same thing. I will write to you soon again. Meantime, let me hear from you, and believe me yours sincerely and affectionately,

M. W.

When the dreaded 26th came, there was no one in Paris more excited and interested than Mary. From her window she saw the King as, seemingly forgetting the history he was making for future historians to discuss, he rode by with calm dignity to his trial. Throughout the entire day she waited anxiously, uncertain as to what would be the effects of the morning's proceedings. Then, when evening came, and all continued quiet and the danger was over, she grew nervous and fearful, as she had that other memorable night when she kept her vigil in the little room at Hackney. She was absolutely alone with her thoughts, and it was a relief to write to Mr. Johnson. It gave her a sense of companionship. This "hyena in petticoats," this "philosophizing serpent," was at heart as feminine as Hannah More or any other "excellent woman."

PARIS, Dec. 26, 1792.

I should immediately on the receipt of your letter, my dear friend, have thanked you for your punctuality, for it highly gratified me, had I not wished to wait till I could tell you that this day was not stained with blood. Indeed, the prudent precautions taken by the National Convention to prevent a tumult made me suppose that the dogs of faction would not dare to bark, much less to bite, however true to their scent; and I was not mistaken; for the citizens, who were all called out, are returning home with composed countenances, shouldering their arms. About nine o'clock this morning the King pa.s.sed by my window, moving silently along, excepting now and then a few strokes on the drum which rendered the stillness more awful, through empty streets, surrounded by the National Guards, who, cl.u.s.tering round the carriage, seemed to deserve their name. The inhabitants flocked to their windows, but the cas.e.m.e.nts were all shut; not a voice was heard, nor did I see anything like an insulting gesture. For the first time since I entered France I bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected the propriety of behavior, so perfectly in unison with my own feelings. I can scarcely tell you why, but an a.s.sociation of ideas made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when I saw Louis sitting, with more dignity than I expected from his character, in a hackney-coach, going to meet death where so many of his race have triumphed. My fancy instantly brought Louis XIV. before me, entering the capital with all his pomp, after one of the victories most flattering to his pride, only to see the sunshine of prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery. I have been alone ever since; and though my mind is calm, I cannot dismiss the lively images that have filled my imagination all the day. Nay, do not smile, but pity me, for once or twice, lifting my eyes from the paper, I have seen eyes glare through a gla.s.s door opposite my chair, and b.l.o.o.d.y hands shook at me. Not the distant sound of a footstep can I hear. My apartments are remote from those of the servants, the only persons who sleep with me in an immense hotel, one folding-door opening after another. I wish I had even kept the cat with me! I want to see something alive, death in so many frightful shapes has taken hold of my fancy. I am going to bed, and for the first time in my life I cannot put out the candle.

M. W.

These imaginary terrors gave way to real ones soon enough. The execution of Louis was followed by the declaration of war between France and England and the complete demoralization of the French people, especially of the Parisians. The feeling against England grew daily more bitter, and the position of English residents in Paris more precarious. It was next to impossible for them to send letters home, and therefore their danger was not realized by their countrymen on the other side of the Channel.

Mrs. Bishop, in the faraway Welsh castle, grew impatient at Mary's silence. Politics was a subject dear to her heart, but one tabooed at Upton. At her first word upon the topic the family, her employers, left the room, and she was consequently obliged to ignore it when she was with them. But when, some months later on, two or three French refugees came to Pembroke, she was quick to go to them, ostensibly for French lessons, but in reality to hear their accounts of the scenes through which they had pa.s.sed. Forced to live in quiet, remote places, she longed for the excitement only to be had in the large centres of action, and at one time, in her discontent, began to make plans to join her sister in France. While Eliza was thus contemplating a journey to Paris, Mary was wondering how it would be possible either to continue living there or to leave the country. It was equally out of the question to obtain fresh supplies of money from England or a pa.s.sport to carry her safely back.

She had, when she left London, only intended to be absent for a few weeks, and had not even given up her rooms in George Street. But the weeks had lengthened into months, and now her return was an impossibility.

For motives of economy she left the large Filiettaz mansion. At first she thought of making a trip to Switzerland, but this plan had to be abandoned because of the difficulty in procuring a pa.s.sport. She therefore went to Neuilly, where, her ready money wellnigh exhausted, she lived as simply as she could. Economy was doubly necessary at a time when heavy taxes were sending a hungry mult.i.tude into the streets, clamoring for bread. She was now more alone than ever. Her sole attendant was an old man, a gardener. He became her warm friend, succ.u.mbing completely to her power of attraction. With the gallantry of his race he could not do enough for Madame. He waited upon her with unremitting attention; he even disputed for the honor of making her bed. He served up at her table, unasked, the grapes from his garden which he absolutely refused to give to her guests. He objected to her English independence; her lonely walks through the woods of Neuilly met with his serious disapproval, and he besought her to allow him the privilege of accompanying her, painting in awful colors the robbers and other dangers with which the place abounded.

But Mary persisted in going alone; and when, evening after evening, she returned unharmed, it must have seemed to him as if she bore a charmed life. Such incidents as these show, better than volumes of praise, the true kindliness of her nature which was not influenced by distinctions of rank.

Those who knew her but by name, however, dealt with her in less gentle fashion. Her fame had been carried even into Pembroke; and while she was living her solitary and inoffensive life in Paris, Mrs. Bishop was writing to Everina: "The conversation [at Upton Castle] turns on Murphy, on Irish potatoes, or Tommy Paine, whose effigy they burnt at Pembroke the other day. Nay, they talk of immortalizing Miss Wollstonecraft in like manner, but all end in d.a.m.ning all politics: What good will they do men? and what rights have men that three meals a day will not supply?"

After all, perhaps they were wise, these Welshmen. Were not their brethren in France purchasing their rights literally at the price of their three meals a day?

Sometimes, perhaps to please her friend, the gardener, instead of her rambles through the woods, Mary walked towards and even into Paris, and then she saw sights which made Pembroke logic seem true wisdom, and freedom a farce. Once, in so doing, she pa.s.sed by chance a place of execution, just at the close of one of its too frequent tragic scenes.

The blood was still fresh upon the pavement; the crowd of lookers-on not yet dispersed. She heard them as they stood there rehearsing the day's horror, and she chafed against the cruelty and inhumanity of the deed. In a moment--her French so improved that she could make herself understood--she was telling the people near her something of what she thought of their new tyrants. Those were dangerous times for freedom of speech. So far the champions of liberty had proved themselves more inexorable masters than the Bourbons. Some of the bystanders, who, though they dared not speak their minds, sympathized with Mary's indignation, warned her of her danger and hurried her away from the spot. Horror at the ferocity of men's pa.s.sions, wrath at injustices committed in the name of freedom, and impatience at her own helplessness to right the evils by which she was surrounded, no doubt inspired her, as saddened and sobered she walked back alone to Neuilly.

During all this time she continued her literary work. She proposed to write a series of letters upon the present character of the French nation, and with this end in view she silently studied the people and the course of political action. She was quick and observant, and nothing escaped her notice. She came to Paris prepared to continue a firm partisan of the French Revolution; but she could not be blind to the national defects. She saw the frivolity and sensuality of the people, their hunger for all things sweet, and the unrestrained pa.s.sions of the greater number of the Republican leaders, which made them love liberty more than law itself. She valued their cause, but she despised the means by which they sought to gain it. Thus, in laboring to grasp the meaning of the movement, not as it appeared to petty factions, but as it was as a whole, she was confronted by the greatest of all mysteries, the relation of good and evil. Again, as when she had a.n.a.lyzed the rights of women, she recognized evil to be a power which eventually works for righteousness, thereby proving the clearness of her mental vision. Only one of these letters, however, was written and published. It is dated Feb. 15, 1793, so that the opinions therein expressed were not hastily formed. As its style is that of a familiar letter, and as it gives a good idea of the thoroughness with which she had applied herself to her task, it may appropriately be quoted here.

"... The whole mode of life here," she writes, "tends indeed to render the people frivolous, and, to borrow their favorite epithet, amiable. Ever on the wing, they are always sipping the sparkling joy on the brim of the cup, leaving satiety in the bottom for those who venture to drink deep. On all sides they trip along, buoyed up by animal spirits, and seemingly so void of care that often, when I am walking on the Boulevards, it occurs to me that they alone understand the full import of the term leisure; and they trifle their time away with such an air of contentment, I know not how to wish them wiser at the expense of gayety. They play before me like motes in a sunbeam, enjoying the pa.s.sing ray; whilst an English head, searching for more solid happiness, loses in the a.n.a.lysis of pleasure the volatile sweets of the moment. Their chief enjoyment, it is true, rises from vanity; but it is not the vanity that engenders vexation of spirit: on the contrary, it lightens the heavy burden of life, which reason too often weighs, merely to shift from one shoulder to the other....

"I would I could first inform you that out of the chaos of vices and follies, prejudices and virtues, rudely jumbled together, I saw the fair form of Liberty slowly rising, and Virtue, expanding her wings to shelter all her children! I should then hear the account of the barbarities that have rent the bosom of France patiently, and bless the firm hand that lopt off the rotten limbs. But if the aristocracy of birth is levelled with the ground, only to make room for that of riches, I am afraid that the morals of the people will not be much improved by the change, or the government rendered less venial. Still it is not just to dwell on the misery produced by the present struggle without adverting to the standing evils of the old system. I am grieved, sorely grieved, when I think of the blood that has stained the cause of freedom at Paris; but I also hear the same live stream cry aloud from the highways through which the retreating armies pa.s.sed with famine and death in their rear, and I hide my face with awe before the inscrutable ways of Providence, sweeping in such various directions the besom of destruction over the sons of men.

"Before I came to France, I cherished, you know, an opinion that strong virtues might exist with the polished manners produced by the progress of civilization; and I even antic.i.p.ated the epoch, when, in the course of improvement, men would labor to become virtuous, without being goaded on by misery. But now the perspective of the golden age, fading before the attentive eye of observation, almost eludes my sight; and, losing thus in part my theory of a more perfect state, start not, my friend, if I bring forward an opinion which, at the first glance, seems to be levelled against the existence of G.o.d! I am not become an atheist, I a.s.sure you, by residing at Paris; yet I begin to fear that vice or, if you will, evil is the grand mobile of action, and that, when the pa.s.sions are justly poised, we become harmless, and in the same proportion useless....

"You may think it too soon to form an opinion of the future government, yet it is impossible to avoid hazarding some conjectures, when everything whispers me that names, not principles, are changed, and when I see that the turn of the tide has left the dregs of the old system to corrupt the new. For the same pride of office, the same desire of power, are still visible; with this aggravation, that, fearing to return to obscurity after having but just acquired a relish for distinction, each hero or philosopher, for all are dubbed with these new t.i.tles, endeavors to make hay while the sun shines; and every petty munic.i.p.al officer, become the idol, or rather the tyrant of the day, stalks like a c.o.c.k on a dunghill."

The letters were discontinued, probably because Mary thought letter-writing too easy and familiar a style in which to treat so weighty a subject. She only gave up the one work, however, to undertake another still more ambitious. At Neuilly she began, and wrote almost all that was ever finished, of her "Historical and Moral View of the French Revolution."

While she was thus living the quiet life of a student in the midst of excitement, her own affairs, as well as those of France, were hastening to a crisis.

CHAPTER VIII.

LIFE WITH IMLAY.

1793-1794.

While Mary was living at Neuilly, the terrors of the French Revolution growing daily greater, she took a step to which she was prompted by pure motives, but which has left a blot upon her fair fame. The outcry raised by her "Vindication of the Rights of Women" has ceased, since its theories have found so many champions. But that which followed her a.s.sertion of her individual rights has never yet been hushed. Kegan Paul speaks the truth when he says, "The name of Mary Wollstonecraft has long been a mark for obloquy and scorn." The least that can be done to clear her memory of stains is to state impartially the facts of her case.

As has been said in the previous chapter, Mary often spent her free hours with Mrs. Christie, and at her house she met Captain Gilbert Imlay. He was one of the many Americans then living in Paris. He was an attractive man personally, and his position and abilities ent.i.tled him to respect.

He had taken an active part in the American rebellion, having then risen to the rank of captain, and, after the war, had been sent as commissioner to survey still unsettled districts of the western States. On his return from this work he wrote a monograph, called "A Topographical Description of the Western Territory of North America," which is remarkable for its thoroughness and its clear, condensed style, appropriate to such a treatise. It pa.s.sed through several editions and increased his reputation. His business in France is not very explicitly explained. His headquarters seem to have been at Havre, while he had certain commercial relations with Norway and Sweden. He was most probably in the timber business, and was, at least at this period, successful. G.o.dwin says that he had no property whatever, but his speculations apparently brought him plenty of ready money.

Foreigners in Paris, especially Americans and English, were naturally drawn together. Mary and Imlay had mutual acquaintances, and they saw much of each other. His republican sentiments alone would have appealed to her. But the better she learned to know him, the more she liked him personally. He, on his side, was equally attracted, and his kindness and consideration for her were greatly in his favor. Their affection in the end developed into a feeling stronger than mere friendship. Its consequence, since both were free, would under ordinary circ.u.mstances have been marriage.

But her circ.u.mstances just then were extraordinary. G.o.dwin says that she objected to a marriage with Imlay because she did not wish to "involve him in certain family embarra.s.sments to which she conceived herself exposed, or make him answerable for the pecuniary demands that existed against her." There were, however, more formidable objections, not of her own making. The English who remained in Paris ran the chance from day to day of being arrested with the priests and aristocrats, and even of being carried to the guillotine. Their only safeguard lay in obscurity. They had above all else to evade the notice of government officers. Mary, if she married Imlay, would be obliged to proclaim herself a British subject, and would thus be risking imprisonment and perhaps death.

Besides, it was very doubtful whether a marriage ceremony performed by the French authorities would be recognized in England as valid. Had she been willing to pa.s.s through this perilous ordeal she would have gained nothing. Love's labor would indeed have been lost. Marriage was thus out of the question.

To Mary, however, this did not seem an insurmountable obstacle to their union. "Her view had now become," Kegan Paul says, "that mutual affection was marriage, and that the marriage tie should not bind after the death of love, if love should die." In her "Vindication," she had upheld the sanct.i.ty of marriage because she believed that the welfare of society depends upon the order maintained in family relations. But her belief also was that the form the law demands is nothing, the feeling which leads those concerned to desire it, everything. What she had hitherto seen of married life, as at present inst.i.tuted, was not calculated to make her think highly of it. Her mother and her friend's mother had led the veriest dogs' lives because the law would not permit them to leave brutal and sensual husbands, whom they had ceased to honor or love. Her sister had been driven mad by the ill-treatment of a man to whom she was bound by legal, but not by natural ties. Lady Kingsborough, giving to dogs the love which neither her coa.r.s.e husband nor her children by him could evoke, was not a brilliant example of conjugal pleasure. Probably in London other cases had come within her notice. Marriage vows, it seemed, were with the majority but the convenient cloak of vice. Women lived with their husbands that they might be more free to entertain their lovers. Men lived with their wives that they might keep establishments elsewhere for their mistresses. Love was the one unimportant element in the marriage compact. The artificial tone of society had disgusted all the more earnest thinkers of the day. The very extreme to which existing evils were carried drove reformers to the other. Rousseau and Helvetius clamored for a relapse into a state of nature without exactly knowing what the realization of their theories would produce. Mary reasoned in the same spirit as they did, and from no desire to uphold the doctrine of free love. Fearless in her practice as in her theories, she did not hesitate in this emergency to act in a way that seemed to her conscience right. She loved Imlay honestly and sincerely. Because she loved him she could not think evil of him, nor suppose for a moment that his pa.s.sion was not as pure and true as hers. Therefore she consented to live with him as his wife, though no religious nor civil ceremony could sanction their union.

That this, according to the world's standard, was wrong, is a fact beyond dispute. But before the first stones are thrown, the _pros_ as well as the _cons_ must be remembered. If Mary had held the conventional beliefs as to the relations of the s.e.xes, she would be judged by them. Had she thought her connection with Imlay criminal, then she would be condemned by her own conviction. But she did not think so. Moreover, her opinions to the contrary were very decided. When she gave herself to Imlay without waiting for a minister's blessing or a legal permit, she acted in strict adherence to her moral ideals; and this at once places her in a far different rank from that of the Mrs. Robinsons and Mrs. Jordans, with whom men have been too ready to cla.s.s her. Neither can she be compared to a woman like George Sand, who also believed that love was a more sacred bond of union than the marriage tie, and who acted accordingly. But to George Sand, as masculine by nature as by dress, love was of her life a thing apart, and a change of lovers a matter of secondary importance. To Mary love was literally her whole existence, and fidelity a virtue to be cultivated above all others. Since she in her conduct in this instance stands alone, she can be justly judged by no other standard than her own.

Whether marriage does or does not represent the ideal relation which can exist between a man and woman is without the compa.s.s of the present work.

But since it is and has been for ages held to be so, the woman who bids defiance to this law must abide by the consequences. Custom has inconsistently pardoned freedom in such matters to men, but never to women. Mary Wollstonecraft might rely upon her friends and acquaintances for recognition of her virtue, but she should have remembered that to the world at large her conduct would appear immoral; that by it she would become a pariah in society, and her work lose much of its efficacy; while she would be giving to her children, if she had any, an inheritance of shame that would cling to them forever.

She may probably have realized this drawback and determined to avoid the evil consequences of her defiance to social usages. For the first few months it seems that she kept her intimacy with Imlay secret, and she may have intended concealing it until such time as she could make it legal in the eyes of the world. G.o.dwin dates its beginning in April, 1793. The only information in this respect is to be had from her published letters to Imlay, the first of which was written in June of the same year, though, it must be added, Kegan Paul queries the date. This and the following note, dated August, prove the secrecy she for a time maintained. The latter seems to have been written after she had determined to live openly with Imlay in Paris, but just before she carried her determination into practice:--

_Past Twelve o'clock, Monday night._

I obey an emotion of my heart which made me think of wishing thee, my love, good-night! before I go to rest, with more tenderness than I can to-morrow, when writing a hasty line or two under Colonel ----'s eye. You can scarcely imagine with what pleasure I antic.i.p.ate the day when we are to begin almost to live together; and you would smile to hear how many plans of employment I have in my head, now that I am confident my heart has found peace in your bosom. Cherish me with that dignified tenderness which I have only found in you, and your own dear girl will try to keep under a quickness of feeling that has sometimes given you pain. Yes, I will be _good_, that I may deserve to be happy; and whilst you love me, I cannot again fall into the miserable state which rendered life a burden almost too heavy to be borne.

But good-night! G.o.d bless you! Sterne says that is equal to a kiss, yet I would rather give you the kiss into the bargain, glowing with grat.i.tude to Heaven and affection to you. I like the word affection, because it signifies something habitual; and we are soon to meet, to try whether we have mind enough to keep our hearts warm.

I will be at the barrier a little after ten o'clock to-morrow.

Yours, ----

The reason for this step was probably the fact that it was not safe for her to continue in Paris alone and unprotected. The robbers in the woods at Neuilly might be laughed at; but the red-capped _citoyens_ and _citoyennes_, drunk from the first draught of aristocratic blood, were no old man's dangers. The peril of the English in the city increased with every new development of the struggle; but Americans were looked upon as stanch brother citizens, and a man who had fought for the American Republic was esteemed as the friend and honored guest of the French Republic. As Imlay's wife, Mary's safety would therefore be a.s.sured. The murderous greed of the people, to break out in September in the _Law of the Suspect_, was already felt in August, and at the end of that month she sought protection under Imlay's roof, and shielded herself by his name.

She could not at once judge of the manner in which this expedient would be received. It was impossible to hold any communication with England.

For eighteen months after her letter to Mr. Johnson, not a word from her reached her friends at home. As for those in Paris, so intense was the great human tragedy of which they were the witnesses, that they probably forgot to gossip about each other. The crimes and horrors that stared them in the face were so appalling that desire to seek out imaginary ones in their neighbors was lost. As far as can be known from Mary's letters, her connection with Imlay did not take from her the position she had held in the English colony. No door was closed against her; no scandal was spread about her. The truth is, these people must have understood her difficulties as well as she did. They knew the impossibility of a legal ceremony and the importance in her case of an immediate union; and understanding this, they seem to have considered her Imlay's wife. At least the rumors which months afterwards came to her sisters treated her marriage as a certainty. Charles Wollstonecraft, now settled in Philadelphia, wrote on June 16, 1794, to Eliza, a year after Mary and Imlay had begun their joint life: "I heard from Mary six months ago by a gentleman who knew her at Paris, and since that have been informed she is married to Captain Imlay of this country." The same report had found its way to Mr. Johnson, and through him again to Mrs. Bishop. It was hard to doubt its truth, and yet Mrs. Bishop knew as well as, if not better than, any one Mary's views about marriage. She had, happily for herself, reaped the benefit of them. In her surprise she sent Charles's letter to Everina, accompanied by her own reflections upon the startling news.

These are a curious testimony to the strength of Mary's objections to matrimony. Eliza's petty envy of her greater sister is still apparent in this letter. It is dated August 15:--

"... If Mary is _actually_ married to Mr. Imlay, it is not impossible but she might settle there [in America] too. Yet Mary cannot be _married_! It is natural to conclude her protector is her _husband_. Nay, on reading Charles's letter, I for an instant believed it true. I would, my Everina, we were out of suspense, for all at present is uncertainty and the most cruel suspense; still, Johnson does not repeat things at random, and that the very same tale should have crossed the Atlantic makes me almost believe that the once M. is now Mrs. Imlay, and a mother. Are we ever to see this mother and her babe?"

The only record of Mary's connection with Imlay, which lasted for about two years, are the letters which she wrote to him while he was away from her, his absences being frequent and long. Fortunately, these letters have been preserved. They were published by G.o.dwin almost immediately after her death, and were republished in 1879 by C. Kegan Paul. "They are," says G.o.dwin, "the offspring of a glowing imagination, and a heart penetrated with the pa.s.sion it essays to describe." She was thirty-five when she met Imlay. Her pa.s.sion for him was strong with the strength of full womanhood, nor had it been weakened by the flirtations in which so many women fritter away whatever deep feeling they may have originally possessed. She was no coquette, as she told him many times. She could not have concealed her love in order to play upon that of the man to whom she gave it. What she felt for him she showed him with no reservation or affectation of feminine delicacy. She despised such false sentiments. The consequence is, that her letters contain the unreserved expression of her feelings. Those written before she had cause to doubt her lover are full of wifely devotion and tenderness; those written from the time she was forced to question his sincerity, through the gradual realization of his faithlessness, until the bitter end, are the most pathetic and heart-rending that have ever been given to the world. They are the cry of a human soul in its death-agony, and are the more tragic because they belong to real life and not to fiction. The sorrows of the Heros, Guineveres, and Francescas of romance are not greater than hers were.

Their grief was separation from lovers who still loved them. Hers was the loss of the love of a man for whom her pa.s.sion had not ceased, and the admission of the unworthiness of him whom she had chosen as worthy above all others. Who will deny that her fate was the more cruel?

She in her letters tells her story better than any one else could do it for her. Therefore, as far as it is possible, it will be repeated here in her own words.