Memoirs of the Author of a Vindication of the Rights of Woman
patient about three o'clock on Thursday afternoon. He however perceived
no particular cause of alarm; and, on that or the next day, quoted, as I
am told, Mary's case, in a mixed company, as a corroboration of a
favourite idea of his, of the propriety of employing females in the
capacity of midwives. Mary "had had a woman, and was doing extremely
well."
What had passed however in the night between Wednesday and Thursday, had
so far alarmed me, that I did not quit the house, and scarcely the
chamber, during the following day. But my alarms wore off, as time
advanced. Appearances were more favourable, than the exhausted state of
the patient would almost have permitted me to expect. Friday morning
therefore I devoted to a business of some urgency, which called me to
different parts of the town, and which, before dinner, I happily
completed. On my return, and during the evening, I received the most
pleasurable sensations from the promising state of the patient. I was
now perfectly satisfied that every thing was safe, and that, if she did
not take cold, or suffer from any external accident, her speedy recovery
was certain.
Saturday was a day less auspicious than Friday, but not absolutely
alarming.
Sunday, the third of September, I now regard as the day, that finally
decided on the fate of the object dearest to my heart that the universe
contained. Encouraged by what I considered as the progress of her
recovery, I accompanied a friend in the morning in several calls, one of
them as far as Kensington, and did not return till dinner-time. On my
return I found a degree of anxiety in every face, and was told that she
had had a sort of shivering fit, and had expressed some anxiety at the
length of my absence. My sister and a friend of hers, had been engaged
to dine below stairs, but a message was sent to put them off, and Mary
ordered that the cloth should not be laid, as usual, in the room
immediately under her on the first floor, but in the ground-floor
parlour. I felt a pang at having been so long and so unseasonably
absent, and determined that I would not repeat the fault.
In the evening she had a second shivering fit, the symptoms of which
were in the highest degree alarming. Every muscle of the body trembled,
the teeth chattered, and the bed shook under her. This continued
probably for five minutes. She told me, after it was over, that it had
been a struggle between life and death, and that she had been more than
once, in the course of it, at the point of expiring. I now apprehend
these to have been the symptoms of a decided mortification, occasioned
by the part of the placenta that remained in the womb. At the time
however I was far from considering it in that light. When I went for Dr.
Poignand, between two and three o'clock on the morning of Thursday,
despair was in my heart. The fact of the adhesion of the placenta was
stated to me; and, ignorant as I was of obstetrical science, I felt as
if the death of Mary was in a manner decided. But hope had re-visited my
bosom; and her chearings were so delightful, that I hugged her
obstinately to my heart. I was only mortified at what appeared to me a
new delay in the recovery I so earnestly longed for. I immediately sent
for Dr. Fordyce, who had been with her in the morning, as well as on
the three preceding days. Dr. Poignand had also called this morning but
declined paying any further visits, as we had thought proper to call in
Dr. Fordyce.
The progress of the disease was now uninterrupted. On Tuesday I found it
necessary again to call in Dr. Fordyce in the afternoon, who brought
with him Dr. Clarke of New Burlington-street, under the idea that some
operation might be necessary. I have already said, that I pertinaciously
persisted in viewing the fair side of things; and therefore the interval
between Sunday and Tuesday evening, did not pass without some mixture of
cheerfulness. On Monday, Dr. Fordyce forbad the child's having the
breast, and we therefore procured puppies to draw off the milk. This
occasioned some pleasantry of Mary with me and the other attendants.
Nothing could exceed the equanimity, the patience and affectionateness
of the poor sufferer. I intreated her to recover; I dwelt with trembling
fondness on every favourable circumstance; and, as far it was possible
in so dreadful a situation, she, by her smiles and kind speeches,
rewarded my affection.
Wednesday was to me the day of greatest torture in the melancholy
series. It was now decided that the only chance of supporting her
through what she had to suffer, was by supplying her rather freely with
wine. This task was devolved upon me. I began about four o'clock in the
afternoon. But for me, totally ignorant of the nature of diseases and of
the human frame, thus to play with a life that now seemed all that was
dear to me in the universe, was too dreadful a task. I knew neither what
was too much, nor what was too little. Having begun, I felt compelled,
under every disadvantage, to go on. This lasted for three hours. Towards
the end of that time, I happened foolishly to ask the servant who came
out of the room, "What she thought of her mistress?" she replied, "that,
in her judgment, she was going as fast as possible." There are moments,
when any creature that lives, has power to drive one into madness. I
seemed to know the absurdity of this reply; but that was of no
consequence. It added to the measure of my distraction. A little after
seven I intreated a friend to go for Mr. Carlisle, and bring him
instantly wherever he was to be found. He had voluntarily called on the
patient on the preceding Saturday, and two or three times since. He had
seen her that morning, and had been earnest in recommending the
wine-diet. That day he dined four miles out of town, on the side of the
metropolis, which was furthest from us. Notwithstanding this, my friend
returned with him after three-quarters of an hour's absence. No one who
knows my friend, will wonder either at his eagerness or success, when I
name Mr. Basil Montagu. The sight of Mr. Carlisle thus unexpectedly,
gave me a stronger alleviating sensation, than I thought it possible to
experience.
Mr. Carlisle left us no more from Wednesday evening, to the hour of her
death. It was impossible to exceed his kindness and affectionate
attention. It excited in every spectator a sentiment like adoration.
His conduct was uniformly tender and anxious, ever upon the watch,
observing every symptom, and eager to improve every favourable
appearance. If skill or attention could have saved her, Mary would still
live. In addition to Mr. Carlisle's constant presence, she had Dr.
Fordyce and Dr. Clarke every day. She had for nurses, or rather for
friends, watching every occasion to serve her, Mrs. Fenwick, author of
an excellent novel, entitled Secrecy, another very kind and judicious
lady, and a favourite female servant. I was scarcely ever out of the
room. Four friends, Mr. Fenwick, Mr. Basil Montagu, Mr. Marshal, and Mr.
Dyson, sat up nearly the whole of the last week of her existence in the
house, to be dispatched, on any errand, to any part of the metropolis,
at a moment's warning.
Mr. Carlisle being in the chamber, I retired to bed for a few hours on
Wednesday night. Towards morning he came into my room with an account
that the patient was surprisingly better. I went instantly into the
chamber. But I now sought to suppress every idea of hope. The greatest
anguish I have any conception of, consists in that crushing of a
new-born hope which I had already two or three times experienced. If
Mary recovered, it was well, and I should see it time enough. But it was
too mighty a thought to bear being trifled with, and turned out and
admitted in this abrupt way.
I had reason to rejoice in the firmness of my gloomy thoughts, when,
about ten o'clock on Thursday evening, Mr. Carlisle told us to prepare
ourselves, for we had reason to expect the fatal event every moment. To
my thinking, she did not appear to be in that state of total exhaustion,
which I supposed to precede death; but it is probable that death does
not always take place by that gradual process I had pictured to myself;
a sudden pang may accelerate his arrival. She did not die on Thursday
night.
Till now it does not appear that she had any serious thoughts of dying;
but on Friday and Saturday, the two last days of her life, she
occasionally spoke as if she expected it. This was however only at
intervals; the thought did not seem to dwell upon her mind. Mr. Carlisle
rejoiced in this. He observed, and there is great force in the
suggestion, that there is no more pitiable object, than a sick man, that
knows he is dying. The thought must be expected to destroy his courage,
to co-operate with the disease, and to counteract every favourable
effort of nature.
On these two days her faculties were in too decayed a state, to be able
to follow any train of ideas with force or any accuracy of connection.
Her religion, as I have already shown, was not calculated to be the
torment of a sick bed; and, in fact, during her whole illness, not one
word of a religious cast fell from her lips.
She was affectionate and compliant to the last. I observed on Friday and
Saturday nights, that, whenever her attendants recommended to her to
sleep, she discovered her willingness to yield, by breathing, perhaps
for the space of a minute, in the manner of a person that sleeps, though
the effort, from the state of her disorder, usually proved ineffectual.
She was not tormented by useless contradiction. One night the servant,
from an error in judgment, teazed her with idle expostulations, but she
complained of it grievously, and it was corrected. "Pray, pray, do not
let her reason with me," was her expression. Death itself is scarcely so
dreadful to the enfeebled frame, as the monotonous importunity of nurses
ever-lastingly repeated.
Seeing that every hope was extinct, I was very desirous of obtaining
from her any directions, that she might wish to have followed after her
decease. Accordingly, on Saturday morning, I talked to her for a good
while of the two children. In conformity to Mr. Carlisle's maxim of not
impressing the idea of death, I was obliged to manage my expressions. I
therefore affected to proceed wholly upon the ground of her having been
very ill, and that it would be some time before she could expect to be
well; wishing her to tell me any thing that she would choose to have
done respecting the children, as they would now be principally under my
care. After having repeated this idea to her in a great variety of
forms, she at length said, with a significant tone of voice, "I know
what you are thinking of," but added, that she had nothing to
communicate to me upon the subject.
The shivering fits had ceased entirely for the two last days. Mr.
Carlisle observed that her continuance was almost miraculous, and he was
on the watch for favourable appearances, believing it highly improper
to give up all hope, and remarking, that perhaps one in a million, of
persons in her state might possibly recover. I conceive that not one in
a million, unites so good a constitution of body and of mind.
These were the amusements of persons in the very gulph of despair. At
six o'clock on Sunday morning, September the tenth, Mr. Carlisle called
me from my bed to which I had retired at one, in conformity to my
request, that I might not be left to receive all at once the
intelligence that she was no more. She expired at twenty minutes before
eight.
* * * * *
Her remains were deposited, on the fifteenth of September, at ten
o'clock in the morning, in the church-yard of the parish church of St.
Pancras, Middlesex. A few of the persons she most esteemed, attended the