Maria; Or, The Wrongs of Woman
if I ever ventured to complain of this treatment to either my father or
mother, I was rudely rebuffed for presuming to judge of the conduct of
my eldest brother.
“About this period a merchant’s family came to settle in our
neighbourhood. A mansion-house in the village, lately purchased, had
been preparing the whole spring, and the sight of the costly furniture,
sent from London, had excited my mother’s envy, and roused my father’s
pride. My sensations were very different, and all of a pleasurable
kind. I longed to see new characters, to break the tedious monotony of
my life; and to find a friend, such as fancy had pourtrayed. I cannot
then describe the emotion I felt, the Sunday they made their appearance
at church. My eyes were rivetted on the pillar round which I expected
first to catch a glimpse of them, and darted forth to meet a servant
who hastily preceded a group of ladies, whose white robes and waving
plumes, seemed to stream along the gloomy aisle, diffusing the light,
by which I contemplated their figures.
“We visited them in form; and I quickly selected the eldest daughter
for my friend. The second son, George, paid me particular attention,
and finding his attainments and manners superior to those of the young
men of the village, I began to imagine him superior to the rest of
mankind. Had my home been more comfortable, or my previous acquaintance
more numerous, I should not probably have been so eager to open my
heart to new affections.
“Mr. Venables, the merchant, had acquired a large fortune by
unremitting attention to business; but his health declining rapidly, he
was obliged to retire, before his son, George, had acquired sufficient
experience, to enable him to conduct their affairs on the same
prudential plan, his father had invariably pursued. Indeed, he had
laboured to throw off his authority, having despised his narrow plans
and cautious speculation. The eldest son could not be prevailed on to
enter the firm; and, to oblige his wife, and have peace in the house,
Mr. Venables had purchased a commission for him in the guards.
“I am now alluding to circumstances which came to my knowledge long
after; but it is necessary, my dearest child, that you should know the
character of your father, to prevent your despising your mother; the
only parent inclined to discharge a parent’s duty. In London, George
had acquired habits of libertinism, which he carefully concealed from
his father and his commercial connections. The mask he wore, was so
complete a covering of his real visage, that the praise his father
lavished on his conduct, and, poor mistaken man! on his principles,
contrasted with his brother’s, rendered the notice he took of me
peculiarly flattering. Without any fixed design, as I am now convinced,
he continued to single me out at the dance, press my hand at parting,
and utter expressions of unmeaning passion, to which I gave a meaning
naturally suggested by the romantic turn of my thoughts. His stay in
the country was short; his manners did not entirely please me; but,
when he left us, the colouring of my picture became more vivid—Whither
did not my imagination lead me? In short, I fancied myself in love—in
love with the disinterestedness, fortitude, generosity, dignity, and
humanity, with which I had invested the hero I dubbed. A circumstance
which soon after occurred, rendered all these virtues palpable. [The
incident is perhaps worth relating on other accounts, and therefore I
shall describe it distinctly.]
“I had a great affection for my nurse, old Mary, for whom I used often
to work, to spare her eyes. Mary had a younger sister, married to a
sailor, while she was suckling me; for my mother only suckled my eldest
brother, which might be the cause of her extraordinary partiality.
Peggy, Mary’s sister, lived with her, till her husband, becoming a mate
in a West-Indian trader, got a little before-hand in the world. He
wrote to his wife from the first port in the Channel, after his most
successful voyage, to request her to come to London to meet him; he
even wished her to determine on living there for the future, to save
him the trouble of coming to her the moment he came on shore; and to
turn a penny by keeping a green-stall. It was too much to set out on a
journey the moment he had finished a voyage, and fifty miles by land,
was worse than a thousand leagues by sea.
“She packed up her alls, and came to London—but did not meet honest
Daniel. A common misfortune prevented her, and the poor are bound to
suffer for the good of their country—he was pressed in the river—and
never came on shore.
“Peggy was miserable in London, not knowing, as she said, ‘the face of
any living soul.’ Besides, her imagination had been employed,
anticipating a month or six weeks’ happiness with her husband. Daniel
was to have gone with her to Sadler’s Wells, and Westminster Abbey, and
to many sights, which he knew she never heard of in the country. Peggy
too was thrifty, and how could she manage to put his plan in execution
alone? He had acquaintance; but she did not know the very name of their
places of abode. His letters were made up of—How do you does, and God
bless yous,—information was reserved for the hour of meeting.
“She too had her portion of information, near at heart. Molly and Jacky
were grown such little darlings, she was almost angry that daddy did
not see their tricks. She had not half the pleasure she should have had
from their prattle, could she have recounted to him each night the
pretty speeches of the day. Some stories, however, were stored up—and
Jacky could say papa with such a sweet voice, it must delight his
heart. Yet when she came, and found no Daniel to greet her, when Jacky
called papa, she wept, bidding ‘God bless his innocent soul, that did
not know what sorrow was.’—But more sorrow was in store for Peggy,
innocent as she was.—Daniel was killed in the first engagement, and
then the papa was agony, sounding to the heart.
“She had lived sparingly on his wages, while there was any hope of his
return; but, that gone, she returned with a breaking heart to the
country, to a little market town, nearly three miles from our village.
She did not like to go to service, to be snubbed about, after being her
own mistress. To put her children out to nurse was impossible: how far
would her wages go? and to send them to her husband’s parish, a distant
one, was to lose her husband twice over.
“I had heard all from Mary, and made my uncle furnish a little cottage
for her, to enable her to sell—so sacred was poor Daniel’s advice, now
he was dead and gone a little fruit, toys and cakes. The minding of the
shop did not require her whole time, nor even the keeping her children
clean, and she loved to see them clean; so she took in washing, and
altogether made a shift to earn bread for her children, still weeping
for Daniel, when Jacky’s arch looks made her think of his father.—It
was pleasant to work for her children.—‘Yes; from morning till night,
could she have had a kiss from their father, God rest his soul! Yes;
had it pleased Providence to have let him come back without a leg or an
arm, it would have been the same thing to her—for she did not love him
because he maintained them—no; she had hands of her own.’
“The country people were honest, and Peggy left her linen out to dry
very late. A recruiting party, as she supposed, passing through, made
free with a large wash; for it was all swept away, including her own
and her children’s little stock.
“This was a dreadful blow; two dozen of shirts, stocks and
handkerchiefs. She gave the money which she had laid by for half a
year’s rent, and promised to pay two shillings a week till all was
cleared; so she did not lose her employment. This two shillings a week,
and the buying a few necessaries for the children, drove her so hard,
that she had not a penny to pay her rent with, when a twelvemonth’s
became due.
“She was now with Mary, and had just told her tale, which Mary
instantly repeated—it was intended for my ear. Many houses in this
town, producing a borough-interest, were included in the estate
purchased by Mr. Venables, and the attorney with whom my brother lived,
was appointed his agent, to collect and raise the rents.
“He demanded Peggy’s, and, in spite of her intreaties, her poor goods
had been seized and sold. So that she had not, and what was worse her
children, ‘for she had known sorrow enough,’ a bed to lie on. She knew
that I was good-natured—right charitable, yet not liking to ask for
more than needs must, she scorned to petition while people could any
how be made to wait. But now, should she be turned out of doors, she
must expect nothing less than to lose all her customers, and then she
must beg or starve—and what would become of her children?—‘had Daniel
not been pressed—but God knows best—all this could not have happened.’
“I had two mattresses on my bed; what did I want with two, when such a
worthy creature must lie on the ground? My mother would be angry, but I
could conceal it till my uncle came down; and then I would tell him all
the whole truth, and if he absolved me, heaven would.
“I begged the house-maid to come up stairs with me (servants always
feel for the distresses of poverty, and so would the rich if they knew
what it was). She assisted me to tie up the mattrass; I discovering, at
the same time, that one blanket would serve me till winter, could I
persuade my sister, who slept with me, to keep my secret. She entering
in the midst of the package, I gave her some new feathers, to silence
her. We got the mattrass down the back stairs, unperceived, and I
helped to carry it, taking with me all the money I had, and what I
could borrow from my sister.
“When I got to the cottage, Peggy declared that she would not take what
I had brought secretly; but, when, with all the eager eloquence
inspired by a decided purpose, I grasped her hand with weeping eyes,
assuring her that my uncle would screen me from blame, when he was once
more in the country, describing, at the same time, what she would
suffer in parting with her children, after keeping them so long from
being thrown on the parish, she reluctantly consented.
“My project of usefulness ended not here; I determined to speak to the
attorney; he frequently paid me compliments. His character did not
intimidate me; but, imagining that Peggy must be mistaken, and that no
man could turn a deaf ear to such a tale of complicated distress, I
determined to walk to the town with Mary the next morning, and request
him to wait for the rent, and keep my secret, till my uncle’s return.
“My repose was sweet; and, waking with the first dawn of day, I bounded
to Mary’s cottage. What charms do not a light heart spread over nature!
Every bird that twittered in a bush, every flower that enlivened the
hedge, seemed placed there to awaken me to rapture—yes; to rapture. The
present moment was full fraught with happiness; and on futurity I
bestowed not a thought, excepting to anticipate my success with the
attorney.
“This man of the world, with rosy face and simpering features, received
me politely, nay kindly; listened with complacency to my remonstrances,
though he scarcely heeded Mary’s tears. I did not then suspect, that my
eloquence was in my complexion, the blush of seventeen, or that, in a
world where humanity to women is the characteristic of advancing
civilization, the beauty of a young girl was so much more interesting
than the distress of an old one. Pressing my hand, he promised to let
Peggy remain in the house as long as I wished.—I more than returned the
pressure—I was so grateful and so happy. Emboldened by my innocent
warmth, he then kissed me—and I did not draw back—I took it for a kiss
of charity.