Maria; Or, The Wrongs of Woman
pleasure, was counter-balanced by the curiosity I had to see America,
or rather to travel; [nor had any of those circumstances occurred to my
youth, which might have been calculated] to bind my country to my
heart. I shall not trouble you with the details of a military life. My
blood was still kept in motion; till, towards the close of the contest,
I was wounded and taken prisoner.
“Confined to my bed, or chair, by a lingering cure, my only refuge from
the preying activity of my mind, was books, which I read with great
avidity, profiting by the conversation of my host, a man of sound
understanding. My political sentiments now underwent a total change;
and, dazzled by the hospitality of the Americans, I determined to take
up my abode with freedom. I, therefore, with my usual impetuosity, sold
my commission, and travelled into the interior parts of the country, to
lay out my money to advantage. Added to this, I did not much like the
puritanical manners of the large towns. Inequality of condition was
there most disgustingly galling. The only pleasure wealth afforded, was
to make an ostentatious display of it; for the cultivation of the fine
arts, or literature, had not introduced into the first circles that
polish of manners which renders the rich so essentially superior to the
poor in Europe. Added to this, an influx of vices had been let in by
the Revolution, and the most rigid principles of religion shaken to the
centre, before the understanding could be gradually emancipated from
the prejudices which led their ancestors undauntedly to seek an
inhospitable clime and unbroken soil. The resolution, that led them, in
pursuit of independence, to embark on rivers like seas, to search for
unknown shores, and to sleep under the hovering mists of endless
forests, whose baleful damps agued their limbs, was now turned into
commercial speculations, till the national character exhibited a
phenomenon in the history of the human mind—a head enthusiastically
enterprising, with cold selfishness of heart. And woman, lovely
woman!—they charm everywhere—still there is a degree of prudery, and a
want of taste and ease in the manners of the American women, that
renders them, in spite of their roses and lilies, far inferior to our
European charmers. In the country, they have often a bewitching
simplicity of character; but, in the cities, they have all the airs and
ignorance of the ladies who give the tone to the circles of the large
trading towns in England. They are fond of their ornaments, merely
because they are good, and not because they embellish their persons;
and are more gratified to inspire the women with jealousy of these
exterior advantages, than the men with love. All the frivolity which
often (excuse me, Madam) renders the society of modest women so stupid
in England, here seemed to throw still more leaden fetters on their
charms. Not being an adept in gallantry, I found that I could only keep
myself awake in their company by making downright love to them.
“But, not to intrude on your patience, I retired to the track of land
which I had purchased in the country, and my time passed pleasantly
enough while I cut down the trees, built my house, and planted my
different crops. But winter and idleness came, and I longed for more
elegant society, to hear what was passing in the world, and to do
something better than vegetate with the animals that made a very
considerable part of my household. Consequently, I determined to
travel. Motion was a substitute for variety of objects; and, passing
over immense tracks of country, I exhausted my exuberant spirits,
without obtaining much experience. I every where saw industry the
fore-runner and not the consequence, of luxury; but this country,
everything being on an ample scale, did not afford those picturesque
views, which a certain degree of cultivation is necessary gradually to
produce. The eye wandered without an object to fix upon over
immeasureable plains, and lakes that seemed replenished by the ocean,
whilst eternal forests of small clustering trees, obstructed the
circulation of air, and embarrassed the path, without gratifying the
eye of taste. No cottage smiling in the waste, no travellers hailed us,
to give life to silent nature; or, if perchance we saw the print of a
footstep in our path, it was a dreadful warning to turn aside; and the
head ached as if assailed by the scalping knife. The Indians who
hovered on the skirts of the European settlements had only learned of
their neighbours to plunder, and they stole their guns from them to do
it with more safety.
“From the woods and back settlements, I returned to the towns, and
learned to eat and drink most valiantly; but without entering into
commerce (and I detested commerce) I found I could not live there; and,
growing heartily weary of the land of liberty and vulgar aristocracy,
seated on her bags of dollars, I resolved once more to visit Europe. I
wrote to a distant relation in England, with whom I had been educated,
mentioning the vessel in which I intended to sail. Arriving in London,
my senses were intoxicated. I ran from street to street, from theater
to theater, and the women of the town (again I must beg pardon for my
habitual frankness) appeared to me like angels.
“A week was spent in this thoughtless manner, when, returning very late
to the hotel in which I had lodged ever since my arrival, I was knocked
down in a private street, and hurried, in a state of insensibility,
into a coach, which brought me hither, and I only recovered my senses
to be treated like one who had lost them. My keepers are deaf to my
remonstrances and enquiries, yet assure me that my confinement shall
not last long. Still I cannot guess, though I weary myself with
conjectures, why I am confined, or in what part of England this house
is situated. I imagine sometimes that I hear the sea roar, and wished
myself again on the Atlantic, till I had a glimpse of you.”[5]
[5] The introduction of Darnford as the deliverer of Maria in a former
instance, appears to have been an after-thought of the author. This
has occasioned the omission of any allusion to that circumstance in
the preceding narration. EDITOR. [Godwin’s note]
A few moments were only allowed to Maria to comment on this narrative,
when Darnford left her to her own thoughts, to the “never ending, still
beginning,” task of weighing his words, recollecting his tones of
voice, and feeling them reverberate on her heart.
CHAPTER 4
Pity, and the forlorn seriousness of adversity, have both been
considered as dispositions favourable to love, while satirical writers
have attributed the propensity to the relaxing effect of idleness; what
chance then had Maria of escaping, when pity, sorrow, and solitude all
conspired to soften her mind, and nourish romantic wishes, and, from a
natural progress, romantic expectations?
Maria was six-and-twenty. But, such was the native soundness of her
constitution, that time had only given to her countenance the character
of her mind. Revolving thought, and exercised affections had banished
some of the playful graces of innocence, producing insensibly that
irregularity of features which the struggles of the understanding to
trace or govern the strong emotions of the heart, are wont to imprint
on the yielding mass. Grief and care had mellowed, without obscuring,
the bright tints of youth, and the thoughtfulness which resided on her
brow did not take from the feminine softness of her features; nay, such
was the sensibility which often mantled over it, that she frequently
appeared, like a large proportion of her sex, only born to feel; and
the activity of her well-proportioned, and even almost voluptuous
figure, inspired the idea of strength of mind, rather than of body.
There was a simplicity sometimes indeed in her manner, which bordered
on infantine ingenuousness, that led people of common discernment to
underrate her talents, and smile at the flights of her imagination. But
those who could not comprehend the delicacy of her sentiments, were
attached by her unfailing sympathy, so that she was very generally
beloved by characters of very different descriptions; still, she was
too much under the influence of an ardent imagination to adhere to
common rules.
There are mistakes of conduct which at five-and-twenty prove the
strength of the mind, that, ten or fifteen years after, would
demonstrate its weakness, its incapacity to acquire a sane judgment.
The youths who are satisfied with the ordinary pleasures of life, and
do not sigh after ideal phantoms of love and friendship, will never
arrive at great maturity of understanding; but if these reveries are
cherished, as is too frequently the case with women, when experience
ought to have taught them in what human happiness consists, they become
as useless as they are wretched. Besides, their pains and pleasures are
so dependent on outward circumstances, on the objects of their
affections, that they seldom act from the impulse of a nerved mind,
able to choose its own pursuit.
Having had to struggle incessantly with the vices of mankind, Maria’s
imagination found repose in pourtraying the possible virtues the world
might contain. Pygmalion formed an ivory maid, and longed for an
informing soul. She, on the contrary, combined all the qualities of a
hero’s mind, and fate presented a statue in which she might enshrine
them.
We mean not to trace the progress of this passion, or recount how often
Darnford and Maria were obliged to part in the midst of an interesting
conversation. Jemima ever watched on the tip-toe of fear, and
frequently separated them on a false alarm, when they would have given
worlds to remain a little longer together.
A magic lamp now seemed to be suspended in Maria’s prison, and fairy
landscapes flitted round the gloomy walls, late so blank. Rushing from
the depth of despair, on the seraph wing of hope, she found herself
happy.—She was beloved, and every emotion was rapturous.
To Darnford she had not shown a decided affection; the fear of
outrunning his, a sure proof of love, made her often assume a coldness
and indifference foreign from her character; and, even when giving way
to the playful emotions of a heart just loosened from the frozen bond
of grief, there was a delicacy in her manner of expressing her
sensibility, which made him doubt whether it was the effect of love.
One evening, when Jemima left them, to listen to the sound of a distant
footstep, which seemed cautiously to approach, he seized Maria’s
hand—it was not withdrawn. They conversed with earnestness of their
situation; and, during the conversation, he once or twice gently drew
her towards him. He felt the fragrance of her breath, and longed, yet
feared, to touch the lips from which it issued; spirits of purity
seemed to guard them, while all the enchanting graces of love sported
on her cheeks, and languished in her eyes.
Jemima entering, he reflected on his diffidence with poignant regret,
and, she once more taking alarm, he ventured, as Maria stood near his
chair, to approach her lips with a declaration of love. She drew back
with solemnity, he hung down his head abashed; but lifting his eyes
timidly, they met her’s; she had determined, during that instant, and
suffered their rays to mingle. He took, with more ardour, reassured, a
half-consenting, half-reluctant kiss, reluctant only from modesty; and
there was a sacredness in her dignified manner of reclining her glowing
face on his shoulder, that powerfully impressed him. Desire was lost in
more ineffable emotions, and to protect her from insult and sorrow—to
make her happy, seemed not only the first wish of his heart, but the
most noble duty of his life. Such angelic confidence demanded the