Mary Wollstonecraft Part 18

Feb. 3, 1797.

_Friday morning._--Mrs. Inchbald was gone into the city to dinner, so I had to measure back my steps.

To-day I find myself better, and, as the weather is fine, mean to call on Dr. Fordyce. I shall leave home about two o'clock. I tell you so, lest you should call after that hour. I do not think of visiting you in my way, because I seem inclined to be industrious.

I believe I feel affectionate to you in proportion as I am in spirits; still I must not dally with you, when I can do anything else. There is a civil speech for you to chew.

Feb. 22, 1797.

Everina's [her sister was at this time staying with her] cold is still so bad, that unless pique urges her, she will not go out to-day. For to-morrow I think I may venture to promise. I will call, if possible, this morning. I know I must come before half after one; but if you hear nothing more from me, you had better come to my house this evening.

Will you send the second volume of "Caleb," and pray _lend_ me a bit of Indian-rubber. I have lost mine. Should you be obliged to quit home before the hour I have mentioned, say. You will not forget that we are to dine at four. I wish to be exact, because I have promised to let Mary go and a.s.sist her brother this afternoon.

I have been tormented all this morning by puss, who has had four or five fits. I could not conceive what occasioned them, and took care that she should not be terrified. But she flew up my chimney, and was so wild, that I thought it right to have her drowned. f.a.n.n.y imagines that she was sick and ran away.

March 11, 1797.

_Sat.u.r.day morning._--I must dine to-day with Mrs. Christie, and mean to return as early as I can; they seldom dine before five.

Should you call and find only books, have a little patience, and I shall be with you.

Do not give f.a.n.n.y a cake to-day. I am afraid she stayed too long with you yesterday.

You are to dine with me on Monday, remember; the salt beef awaits your pleasure.

March 17, 1797.

_Friday morning._--And so, you goose, you lost your supper, and deserved to lose it, for not desiring Mary to give you some beef.

There is a good boy, write me a review of Vaurien. I remember there is an absurd attack on a Methodist preacher because he denied the eternity of future punishments.

I should be glad to have the Italian, were it possible, this week, because I promised to let Johnson have it this week.

These notes speak for themselves.

There was now a decided improvement in the lives of both Mary and G.o.dwin.

The latter, under the new influence, was humanized. Domestic ties, which he had never known before, softened him. He hereafter appears not only as the pa.s.sionless philosopher, but as the loving husband and the affectionate father, little f.a.n.n.y Imlay being treated by him as if she had been his own child. His love transformed him from a mere student of men to a man like all others. He who had always been, so far as his emotional nature was concerned, apart from the rest of his kind, was, in the end, one with them. From being a sceptic on the subject, he was converted into a firm believer in human pa.s.sion. With the zeal usually attributed to converts, he became as warm in his praise of the emotions as he had before been indifferent in his estimation of them. This change is greatly to Mary's credit. As, in his Introduction to "St. Leon" he made his public recantation of faith, so in the course of the story he elaborated his new doctrines, and, by so doing, paid tribute to the woman who had wrought the wonder. His hero's description of married pleasures being based on his own knowledge of them, he writes:--

"Now only it was that I tasted of perfect happiness. To judge from my own experience in this situation, I should say that nature has atoned for all the disasters and miseries she so copiously and incessantly pours upon her sons by this one gift, the transcendent enjoyment and nameless delights which, wherever the heart is pure and the soul is refined, wait on the attachment of two persons of opposite s.e.xes.... It has been said to be a peculiar felicity for any one to be praised by a man who is himself eminently a subject of praise; how much happier to be prized and loved by a person worthy of love. A man may be prized and valued by his friend; but in how different a style of sentiment from the regard and attachment that may reign in the bosom of his mistress or his wife.... In every state we long for some fond bosom on which to rest our weary head; some speaking eye with which to exchange the glances of intelligence and affection. Then the soul warms and expands itself; then it shuns the observation of every other beholder; then it melts with feelings that are inexpressible, but which the heart understands without the aid of words; then the eyes swim with rapture, then the frame languishes with enjoyment; then the soul burns with fire; then the two persons thus blest are no longer two; distance vanishes, one thought animates, one mind informs them. Thus love acts; thus it is ripened to perfection; never does man feel himself so much alive, so truly ethereal, as when, bursting the bonds of diffidence, uncertainty, and reserve, he pours himself entire into the bosom of the woman he adores."

Mary was as much metamorphosed by her new circ.u.mstances as G.o.dwin. Her heart at rest, she grew gay and happy. She was at all times, even when hara.s.sed with cares, thoughtful of other people. When her own troubles had ceased, her increased kindliness was shown in many little ways, which unfortunately cannot be appreciated by posterity, but which made her, to her contemporaries, a more than ever delightful companion and sympathetic friend. "She had always possessed," G.o.dwin says of her, "in an unparalleled degree the art of communicating happiness, and she was now in the constant and unlimited exercise of it. She seemed to have attained that situation which her disposition and character imperiously demanded, but which she had never before attained; and her understanding and her heart felt the benefit of it." She never at any time tried to hide her feelings, whatever these might be; therefore she did not disguise her new-found happiness, though she gave no reason for its existence. It revealed itself in her face, in her manners, and even in her conversation. "The serenity of her countenance," again to quote G.o.dwin, best of all authorities for this period of her life, "the increasing sweetness of her manners, and that consciousness of enjoyment that seemed ambitious that every one she saw should be happy as well as herself, were matters of general observation to all her acquaintance." Her beauty, depending so much more upon expression than upon charm of coloring or regularity of features, naturally developed rather than decreased with years. Suffering and happiness had left their impress upon her face, giving it the strength, the strange melancholy, and the tenderness which characterize her portrait, painted by Opie about this time. Southey, who was just then visiting London, bears witness to her striking personal appearance. He wrote to his friend Cottle:--

"Of all the lions or _literati_ I have seen here, Mary Imlay's countenance is the best, infinitely the best; the only fault in it is an expression somewhat similar to what the prints of Horne Tooke display,--an expression indicating superiority, not haughtiness, not sarcasm in Mary Imlay, but still it is unpleasant. Her eyes are light brown, and although the lid of one of them is affected by a little paralysis, they are the most meaning I ever saw."{1}

{1} Mr. Kegan Paul, in the spring of 1884, showed the author of this Life a lock of Mary Wollstonecraft's hair. It is wonderfully soft in texture, and in color a rich auburn, turning to gold in the sunlight.

On March 29, 1797, after they had lived together happily and serenely for seven months, Mary and G.o.dwin were married. The marriage ceremony was performed at old Saint Pancras Church, in London, and Mr. Marshal, their mutual friend, and the clerk were the only witnesses. So unimportant did it seem to G.o.dwin, to whom reason was more binding than any conventional form, that he never mentioned it in his diary, though in the latter he kept a strict account of his daily actions. It meant as little to Mary as it did to him, and she playfully alluded to the change, in one of her notes written a day or two afterwards:

March 31, 1797.

_Tuesday._--I return you the volumes; will you get me the rest? I have not perhaps given it as careful a reading as some of the sentiments deserve.

Pray send me by Mary, for my luncheon, a part of the supper you announced to me last night, as I am to be a partaker of your worldly goods, you know!

They were induced to take this step, not by any dissatisfaction with the nature of the connection they had already formed, but by the fact that Mary was soon to become a mother for the second time. G.o.dwin explains that "she was unwilling, and perhaps with reason, to incur that exclusion from the society of many valuable and excellent individuals, which custom awards in cases of this sort. I should have felt an extreme repugnance to the having caused her such an inconvenience." But probably another equally strong motive was, that both had at heart the welfare of their unborn child. In G.o.dwin's ideal state of society, illegitimacy would be no disgrace. But men were very far from having attained it; and children born of unmarried parents were still treated as if they were criminals.

Mary doubtlessly realized the bitterness in store for f.a.n.n.y, through no fault of her own, and was unwilling to bring another child into the world to meet so cruel a fate. So long as their actions affected no one but themselves, she and G.o.dwin could plead a right to bid defiance to society and its customs, since they were willing to bear the penalty; but once they became responsible for a third life, they were no longer free agents. The duties they would thereby incur were so many arguments for compliance with social laws.

At first they told no one of their marriage. Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley gives two reasons for their silence. G.o.dwin was very sensitive to criticism, perhaps even more so than Mary. He confessed once to Holcroft: "Though I certainly give myself credit for intellectual powers, yet I have a failing which I have never been able to overcome. I am so cowed and cast down by rude and unqualified a.s.sault, that for a time I am unable to recover." This was true not only in connection with his literary work, but with all his relations in life. He knew that severe comments would be called forth by an act in direct contradiction to doctrines he had emphatically preached. His adherents would condemn him as an apostate.

His enemies would accept his practical retraction of one of his theories as a proof of the unsoundness of the rest. It required no little courage to submit to such an ordeal. But the other motive for secrecy was more urgent. Mary, after Imlay left her, was penniless. She resumed at once her old tasks. But her expenses were greater than they had been, and her free time less, since she had to provide for and take care of f.a.n.n.y.

Besides, Imlay's departure had caused certain money complications. Mr.

Johnson and other kind friends, however, were now, as always, ready to help her out of pressing difficulties, and to a.s.sume the debts which she could not meet. G.o.dwin, who had made it a rule of life not to earn more money than was absolutely necessary for his very small wants, and who had never looked forward to maintaining a family, could not at once contribute towards Mary's support, or relieve her financial embarra.s.sments. The announcement of their marriage would be the signal for her friends to cease giving her their aid, and she could not, as yet, settle her affairs alone. This was the difficulty which forced them into temporary silence.

However, to secure the end for which they had married, long concealment was impossible. G.o.dwin applied to Mr. Thomas Wedgwood of Etruria for a loan of 50, without giving him any explanation for his request, though he was sure, on account of his well-known economy and simple habits, it would appear extraordinary. This sum enabled Mary to tide over her present emergency, and the marriage was made public on the 6th of April, a few days after the ceremony had been performed. One of the first to whom G.o.dwin told the news was Miss Hayes. This was but fair, since it was under her auspices that they renewed their acquaintance to such good purpose. His note is dated April 10:--

"My fair neighbor desires me to announce to you a piece of news which it is consonant to the regard which she and I entertain for you, you should rather learn from us than from any other quarter.

She bids me remind you of the earnest way in which you pressed me to prevail upon her to change her name, and she directs me to add that it has happened to me, like many other disputants, to be entrapped in my own toils; in short, that we found that there was no way so obvious for her to drop the name of Imlay as to a.s.sume the name of G.o.dwin. Mrs. G.o.dwin--who the devil is that?--will be glad to see you at No. 29 Polygon, Somer's Town, whenever you are inclined to favor her with a call."

About ten days later he wrote to Mr. Wedgwood, and his letter confirms Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley's statement. His effort to prove that his conduct was not inconsistent with his creed shows how keenly he felt the criticisms it would evoke; and his demand for more money reveals the slender state of the finances of husband and wife:--

NO. 7 EVESHAM BUILDINGS, SOMER'S TOWN, April 19, 1797.

You have by this time heard from B. Montague of my marriage. This was the solution of my late application to you, which I promised speedily to communicate. Some persons have found an inconsistency between my practice in this instance and my doctrines. But I cannot see it. The doctrine of my "Political Justice" is, that an attachment in some degree permanent between two persons of opposite s.e.xes is right, but that marriage as practised in European countries is wrong. I still adhere to that opinion. Nothing but a regard for the happiness of the individual which I had no right to injure could have induced me to submit to an inst.i.tution which I wish to see abolished, and which I would recommend to my fellow-men never to practise but with the greatest caution. Having done what I thought necessary for the peace and respectability of the individual, I hold myself no otherwise bound than I was before the ceremony took place.

It is possible, however, that you will not see the subject in the same light, and I perhaps went too far, when I presumed to suppose that if you were acquainted with the nature of the case, you would find it to be such as to make the interference I requested of you appear reasonable. I trust you will not accuse me of duplicity in having told you that it was not for myself that I wanted your a.s.sistance. You will perceive that that remark was in reference to the seeming inconsistency between my habits of economy and independence, and the application in question.

I can see no reason to doubt that, as we are both successful authors, we shall be able by our literary exertions, though with no other fortune, to maintain ourselves either separately or, which is more desirable, jointly. The loan I requested of you was rendered necessary by some complication in her pecuniary affairs, the consequence of her former connection, the particulars of which you have probably heard. Now that we have entered into a new mode of living, which will probably be permanent, I find a further supply of fifty pounds will be necessary to enable us to start fair. This you shall afford us, if you feel perfectly a.s.sured of its propriety; but if there be the smallest doubt in your mind, I shall be much more gratified by your obeying that doubt, than superseding it. I do not at present feel inclined to remain long in any man's debt, not even in yours. As to the not having published our marriage at first, I yielded in that to her feelings. Having settled the princ.i.p.al point in conformity to her interests, I felt inclined to leave all inferior matters to her disposal.

We do not entirely cohabit.

W. G.o.dWIN.

Strange to say, the announcement of their marriage did not produce quite so satisfactory an effect as they had antic.i.p.ated. Mary, notwithstanding her frank protest, was still looked upon as Imlay's wife. Her intimate connection with G.o.dwin had been very generally understood, but not absolutely known, and hence it had not ostracized her socially. If conjectures and comments were made, they were whispered, and not uttered aloud. But the marriage had to be recognized, and the fact that Mary was free to marry G.o.dwin, though Imlay was alive, was an incontrovertible proof that her relation to the latter had been illegal. People who had been deaf to her statements could not ignore this formal demonstration of their truth. Hitherto, their friendliness to her could not be construed into approval of her unconventionality. But now, by continuing to visit her and receive her at their houses, they would be countenancing an offence against morality which the world ranks with the unpardonable sins. They might temporize with their own consciences, but not with public opinion. They were therefore in a dilemma, from which there was no middle course of extrication. Thus forced to decisive measures, a number of her friends felt obliged to forego all acquaintance with her. Two whom she then lost, and whom she most deeply regretted, were Mrs. Siddons and Mrs. Inchbald. In speaking of their secession, G.o.dwin says: "Mrs.

Siddons, I am sure, regretted the necessity which she conceived to be imposed on her by the peculiarity of her situation, to conform to the rules I have described." Mrs. Inchbald wept when she heard the news.

G.o.dwin was one of her highly valued friends and admirers, and was a constant visitor at her house. She feared, now he had a wife, his visits would be less frequent. Her conduct on this occasion was so ungracious that one wonders if her vanity were not more deeply wounded than her moral sensibility. Her congratulations seem inspired by personal pique, rather than by strong principle. She wrote and wished G.o.dwin joy, and then declared that she was so sure his new-found happiness would make him forgetful of all other engagements, that she had invited some one else to take his place at the theatre on a certain night when they had intended going together. "If I have done wrong," she told him, "when you next marry, I will do differently." Notwithstanding her note, G.o.dwin thought her friendship would stand the test to which he had put it, and both he and Mary accompanied her on the appointed night. But Mrs. Inchbald was very much in earnest, and did not hesitate to show her feelings. She spoke to Mary in a way that G.o.dwin later declared to be "base, cruel, and insulting;" adding, "There were persons in the box who heard it, and they thought as I do." The breach thus made was never completely healed. Mr.

and Mrs. Twiss, at whose house Mary had hitherto been cordially welcomed, also sacrificed her friendship to what, G.o.dwin says, they were "silly enough to think a proper etiquette."

But there still remained men and women of larger minds and hearts who fully appreciated that Mary's case was exceptional, and not to be judged by ordinary standards. The majority of her acquaintances, knowing that her intentions were pure, though her actions were opposed to accepted ideals of purity, were brave enough to regulate their behavior to her by their convictions. Beautiful Mrs. Reveley was as much moved as Mrs.

Inchbald when she heard the news of G.o.dwin's marriage, but her friendship was formed in a finer mould. Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley says that "she feared to lose a kind and constant friend; but becoming intimate with Mary Wollstonecraft, she soon learnt to appreciate her virtues and to love her. She soon found, as she told me in after days, that instead of losing one she had secured two friends, unequalled, perhaps, in the world for genius, single-heartedness, and n.o.bleness of disposition, and a cordial intercourse subsisted between them." It was from Mrs. Reveley that Mrs.

Sh.e.l.ley obtained most of her information about her mother's married life.

Men like Johnson, Basil Montague, Thomas Wedgwood, Horne Tooke, Thomas Holcroft, did not of course allow the marriage to interfere with their friendship. It is rather strange that Fuseli should have now been willing enough to be civil. Marriage, in his opinion, had restored Mary to respectability. "You have not, perhaps, heard," he wrote to a friend, "that the a.s.sertrix of female rights has given her hand to the _balancier_ of political justice." He not only called on Mrs. G.o.dwin, but he dined with her, an experiment, however, which did not prove pleasurable, for Horne Tooke, Curran, and Grattan were of the party, and they discussed politics. Fuseli, who loved nothing better than to talk, had never a chance to say a word. "I wonder you invited me to meet such wretched company," he exclaimed to Mary in disgust.

Thomas Holcroft, one of the four men whom G.o.dwin acknowledged to have greatly influenced him, wrote them an enthusiastic letter of congratulation. Addressing them both, he says:--

"From my very heart and soul I give you joy. I think you the most extraordinary married pair in existence. May your happiness be as pure as I firmly persuade myself it must be. I hope and expect to see you both, and very soon. If you show coldness, or refuse me, you will do injustice to a heart which, since it has really known you, never for a moment felt cold to you.

"I cannot be mistaken concerning the woman you have married. It is Mrs. W. Your secrecy a little pains me. It tells me you do not yet know me."

This latter paragraph is explained by the fact that G.o.dwin, when he wrote to inform Holcroft of his marriage, was so sure the latter would understand whom he had chosen that he never mentioned Mary's name.

Another friend who rejoiced in her new-found happiness was Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan. But he was then living near Wilmington, Delaware, and the news was long in reaching him. His letter of congratulation was, strangely enough, written the very day on which Mary was buried.