Maria; Or, The Wrongs of Woman
counting-house, as she was going out, I heard her say, ‘The child is
very weak; she cannot live long, she will soon die out of your way, so
you need not grudge her a little physic.’
“‘So much the better,’ he replied,’ and pray mind your own business,
good woman.’
“I was struck by his unfeeling, inhuman tone of voice, and drew back,
determined when the woman came again, to try to speak to her, not out
of curiosity, I had heard enough, but with the hope of being useful to
a poor, outcast girl.
“A month or two elapsed before I saw this woman again; and then she had
a child in her hand that tottered along, scarcely able to sustain her
own weight. They were going away, to return at the hour Mr. Venables
was expected; he was now from home. I desired the woman to walk into
the parlour. She hesitated, yet obeyed. I assured her that I should not
mention to my husband (the word seemed to weigh on my respiration),
that I had seen her, or his child. The woman stared at me with
astonishment; and I turned my eyes on the squalid object [that
accompanied her.] She could hardly support herself, her complexion was
sallow, and her eyes inflamed, with an indescribable look of cunning,
mixed with the wrinkles produced by the peevishness of pain.
“Poor child!’ I exclaimed. ‘Ah! you may well say poor child,’ replied
the woman. ‘I brought her here to see whether he would have the heart
to look at her, and not get some advice. I do not know what they
deserve who nursed her. Why, her legs bent under her like a bow when
she came to me, and she has never been well since; but, if they were no
better paid than I am, it is not to be wondered at, sure enough.’
“On further enquiry I was informed, that this miserable spectacle was
the daughter of a servant, a country girl, who caught Mr. Venables’
eye, and whom he seduced. On his marriage he sent her away, her
situation being too visible. After her delivery, she was thrown on the
town; and died in an hospital within the year. The babe was sent to a
parish-nurse, and afterwards to this woman, who did not seem much
better; but what was to be expected from such a close bargain? She was
only paid three shillings a week for board and washing.
“The woman begged me to give her some old clothes for the child,
assuring me, that she was almost afraid to ask master for money to buy
even a pair of shoes.
“I grew sick at heart. And, fearing Mr. Venables might enter, and
oblige me to express my abhorrence, I hastily enquired where she lived,
promised to pay her two shillings a week more, and to call on her in a
day or two; putting a trifle into her hand as a proof of my good
intention.
“If the state of this child affected me, what were my feelings at a
discovery I made respecting Peggy—?”[7]
[7] The manuscript is imperfect here. An episode seems to have been
intended, which was never committed to paper. EDITOR. [Godwin’s note]
CHAPTER 10
“My father’s situation was now so distressing, that I prevailed on my
uncle to accompany me to visit him; and to lend me his assistance, to
prevent the whole property of the family from becoming the prey of my
brother’s rapacity; for, to extricate himself out of present
difficulties, my father was totally regardless of futurity. I took down
with me some presents for my step-mother; it did not require an effort
for me to treat her with civility, or to forget the past.
“This was the first time I had visited my native village, since my
marriage. But with what different emotions did I return from the busy
world, with a heavy weight of experience benumbing my imagination, to
scenes, that whispered recollections of joy and hope most eloquently to
my heart! The first scent of the wild flowers from the heath, thrilled
through my veins, awakening every sense to pleasure. The icy hand of
despair seemed to be removed from my bosom; and—forgetting my
husband—the nurtured visions of a romantic mind, bursting on me with
all their original wildness and gay exuberance, were again hailed as
sweet realities. I forgot, with equal facility, that I ever felt
sorrow, or knew care in the country; while a transient rainbow stole
athwart the cloudy sky of despondency. The picturesque form of several
favourite trees, and the porches of rude cottages, with their smiling
hedges, were recognized with the gladsome playfulness of childish
vivacity. I could have kissed the chickens that pecked on the common;
and longed to pat the cows, and frolic with the dogs that sported on
it. I gazed with delight on the windmill, and thought it lucky that it
should be in motion, at the moment I passed by; and entering the dear
green lane, which led directly to the village, the sound of the
well-known rookery gave that sentimental tinge to the varying
sensations of my active soul, which only served to heighten the lustre
of the luxuriant scenery. But, spying, as I advanced, the spire,
peeping over the withered tops of the aged elms that composed the
rookery, my thoughts flew immediately to the churchyard, and tears of
affection, such was the effect of my imagination, bedewed my mother’s
grave! Sorrow gave place to devotional feelings. I wandered through the
church in fancy, as I used sometimes to do on a Saturday evening. I
recollected with what fervour I addressed the God of my youth: and once
more with rapturous love looked above my sorrows to the Father of
nature. I pause—feeling forcibly all the emotions I am describing; and
(reminded, as I register my sorrows, of the sublime calm I have felt,
when in some tremendous solitude, my soul rested on itself, and seemed
to fill the universe) I insensibly breathe soft, hushing every wayward
emotion, as if fearing to sully with a sigh, a contentment so extatic.
“Having settled my father’s affairs, and, by my exertions in his
favour, made my brother my sworn foe, I returned to London. My
husband’s conduct was now changed; I had during my absence, received
several affectionate, penitential letters from him; and he seemed on my
arrival, to wish by his behaviour to prove his sincerity. I could not
then conceive why he acted thus; and, when the suspicion darted into my
head, that it might arise from observing my increasing influence with
my uncle, I almost despised myself for imagining that such a degree of
debasing selfishness could exist.
“He became, unaccountable as was the change, tender and attentive; and,
attacking my weak side, made a confession of his follies, and lamented
the embarrassments in which I, who merited a far different fate, might
be involved. He besought me to aid him with my counsel, praised my
understanding, and appealed to the tenderness of my heart.
“This conduct only inspired me with compassion. I wished to be his
friend; but love had spread his rosy pinions and fled far, far away;
and had not (like some exquisite perfumes, the fine spirit of which is
continually mingling with the air) left a fragrance behind, to mark
where he had shook his wings. My husband’s renewed caresses then became
hateful to me; his brutality was tolerable, compared to his distasteful
fondness. Still, compassion, and the fear of insulting his supposed
feelings, by a want of sympathy, made me dissemble, and do violence to
my delicacy. What a task!
“Those who support a system of what I term false refinement, and will
not allow great part of love in the female, as well as male breast, to
spring in some respects involuntarily, may not admit that charms are as
necessary to feed the passion, as virtues to convert the mellowing
spirit into friendship. To such observers I have nothing to say, any
more than to the moralists, who insist that women ought to, and can
love their husbands, because it is their duty. To you, my child, I may
add, with a heart tremblingly alive to your future conduct, some
observations, dictated by my present feelings, on calmly reviewing this
period of my life. When novelists or moralists praise as a virtue, a
woman’s coldness of constitution, and want of passion; and make her
yield to the ardour of her lover out of sheer compassion, or to promote
a frigid plan of future comfort, I am disgusted. They may be good
women, in the ordinary acceptation of the phrase, and do no harm; but
they appear to me not to have those ‘finely fashioned nerves,’ which
render the senses exquisite. They may possess tenderness; but they want
that fire of the imagination, which produces _active_ sensibility, and
_positive virtue_. How does the woman deserve to be characterized, who
marries one man, with a heart and imagination devoted to another? Is
she not an object of pity or contempt, when thus sacrilegiously
violating the purity of her own feelings? Nay, it is as indelicate,
when she is indifferent, unless she be constitutionally insensible;
then indeed it is a mere affair of barter; and I have nothing to do
with the secrets of trade. Yes; eagerly as I wish you to possess true
rectitude of mind, and purity of affection, I must insist that a
heartless conduct is the contrary of virtuous. Truth is the only basis
of virtue; and we cannot, without depraving our minds, endeavour to
please a lover or husband, but in proportion as he pleases us. Men,
more effectually to enslave us, may inculcate this partial morality,
and lose sight of virtue in subdividing it into the duties of
particular stations; but let us not blush for nature without a cause!
“After these remarks, I am ashamed to own, that I was pregnant. The
greatest sacrifice of my principles in my whole life, was the allowing
my husband again to be familiar with my person, though to this cruel
act of self-denial, when I wished the earth to open and swallow me, you
owe your birth; and I the unutterable pleasure of being a mother. There
was something of delicacy in my husband’s bridal attentions; but now
his tainted breath, pimpled face, and blood-shot eyes, were not more
repugnant to my senses, than his gross manners, and loveless
familiarity to my taste.
“A man would only be expected to maintain; yes, barely grant a
subsistence, to a woman rendered odious by habitual intoxication; but
who would expect him, or think it possible to love her? And unless
‘youth, and genial years were flown,’ it would be thought equally
unreasonable to insist, [under penalty of] forfeiting almost every
thing reckoned valuable in life, that he should not love another:
whilst woman, weak in reason, impotent in will, is required to
moralize, sentimentalize herself to stone, and pine her life away,
labouring to reform her embruted mate. He may even spend in
dissipation, and intemperance, the very intemperance which renders him
so hateful, her property, and by stinting her expences, not permit her
to beguile in society, a wearisome, joyless life; for over their mutual
fortune she has no power, it must all pass through his hand. And if she
be a mother, and in the present state of women, it is a great
misfortune to be prevented from discharging the duties, and cultivating
the affections of one, what has she not to endure?—But I have suffered
the tenderness of one to lead me into reflections that I did not think
of making, to interrupt my narrative—yet the full heart will overflow.
“Mr. Venables’ embarrassments did not now endear him to me; still,
anxious to befriend him, I endeavoured to prevail on him to retrench
his expences; but he had always some plausible excuse to give, to
justify his not following my advice. Humanity, compassion, and the
interest produced by a habit of living together, made me try to
relieve, and sympathize with him; but, when I recollected that I was
bound to live with such a being for ever—my heart died within me; my
desire of improvement became languid, and baleful, corroding melancholy
took possession of my soul. Marriage had bastilled me for life. I