Memoirs of the Author of a Vindication of the Rights of Woman
gained a new link, by finding reason to suppose herself with child.
Their establishment at Paris, was however broken up almost as soon as
formed, by the circumstance of Mr. Imlay's entering into business,
urged, as he said, by the prospect of a family, and this being a
favourable crisis in French affairs for commercial speculations. The
pursuits in which he was engaged, led him in the month of September to
Havre de Grace, then called Havre Marat, probably to superintend the
shipping of goods, in which he was jointly engaged with some other
person or persons. Mary remained in the capital.
The solitude in which she was now left, proved an unexpected trial.
Domestic affections constituted the object upon which her heart was
fixed; and she early felt, with an inward grief, that Mr. Imlay "did not
attach those tender emotions round the idea of home," which, every time
they recurred, dimmed her eyes with moisture. She had expected his
return from week to week, and from month to month, but a succession of
business still continued to detain him at Havre. At the same time the
sanguinary character which the government of France began every day more
decisively to assume, contributed to banish tranquillity from the first
months of her pregnancy. Before she left Neuilly, she happened one day
to enter Paris on foot (I believe, by the _Place de Louis Quinze_), when
an execution, attended with some peculiar aggravations, had just taken
place, and the blood of the guillotine appeared fresh upon the pavement.
The emotions of her soul burst forth in indignant exclamations, while a
prudent bystander warned her of her danger, and intreated her to hasten
and hide her discontents. She described to me, more than once, the
anguish she felt at hearing of the death of Brissot, Vergniaud, and the
twenty deputies, as one of the most intolerable sensations she had ever
experienced.
Finding the return of Mr. Imlay continually postponed, she determined,
in January 1794, to join him at Havre. One motive that influenced her,
though, I believe, by no means the principal, was the growing cruelties
of Robespierre, and the desire she felt to be in any other place, rather
than the devoted city, in the midst of which they were perpetrated.
From January to September, Mr. Imlay and Mary lived together, with great
harmony, at Havre, where the child, with which she was pregnant, was
born, on the fourteenth of May, and named Frances, in remembrance of
the dear friend of her youth, whose image could never be erased from
her memory.
In September, Mr. Imlay took his departure from Havre for the port of
London. As this step was said to be necessary in the way of business, he
endeavoured to prevail upon Mary to quit Havre, and once more take up
her abode at Paris. Robespierre was now no more, and, of consequence,
the only objection she had to residing in the capital, was removed. Mr.
Imlay was already in London, before she undertook her journey, and it
proved the most fatiguing journey she ever made; the carriage, in which
she travelled, being overturned no less than four times between Havre
and Paris.
This absence, like that of the preceding year in which Mr. Imlay had
removed to Havre, was represented as an absence that was to have a
short duration. In two months he was once again to join her at Paris. It
proved however the prelude to an eternal separation. The agonies of such
a separation, or rather desertion, great as Mary would have found them
upon every supposition, were vastly increased, by the lingering method
in which it was effected, and the ambiguity that, for a long time, hung
upon it. This circumstance produced the effect, of holding her mind, by
force, as it were, to the most painful of all subjects, and not
suffering her to derive the just advantage from the energy and
elasticity of her character.
The procrastination of which I am speaking was however productive of one
advantage. It put off the evil day. She did not suspect the calamities
that awaited her, till the close of the year. She gained an additional
three months of comparative happiness. But she purchased it at a very
dear rate. Perhaps no human creature ever suffered greater misery, than
dyed the whole year 1795, in the life of this incomparable woman. It was
wasted in that sort of despair, to the sense of which the mind is
continually awakened, by a glimmering of fondly cherished, expiring
hope.
Why did she thus obstinately cling to an ill-starred, unhappy passion?
Because it is of the very essence of affection, to seek to perpetuate
itself. He does not love, who can resign this cherished sentiment,
without suffering some of the sharpest struggles that our nature is
capable of enduring. Add to this, Mary had fixed her heart upon this
chosen friend; and one of the last impressions a worthy mind can submit
to receive, is that of the worthlessness of the person upon whom it has
fixed all its esteem. Mary had struggled to entertain a favourable
opinion of human nature; she had unweariedly fought for a kindred mind,
in whose integrity and fidelity to take up her rest. Mr. Imlay undertook
to prove, in his letters written immediately after their complete
separation, that his conduct towards her was reconcilable to the
strictest rectitude; but undoubtedly Mary was of a different opinion.
Whatever the reader may decide in this respect, there is one sentiment
that, I believe, he will unhesitatingly admit: that of pity for the
mistake of the man, who, being in possession of such a friendship and
attachment as those of Mary, could hold them at a trivial price, and,
"like the base Indian, throw a pearl away, richer than all his
tribe.[A]"
[A] A person, from whose society at this time Mary derived particular
gratification, was Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who had lately become a
fugitive from Ireland, in consequence of a political prosecution, and in
whom she found those qualities which were always eminently engaging to
her, great integrity of disposition, and great kindness of heart.
CHAP. VIII.
1795, 1796.
In April 1795, Mary returned once more to London, being requested to do
so by Mr. Imlay, who even sent a servant to Paris to wait upon her in
the journey, before she could complete the necessary arrangements for
her departure. But, notwithstanding these favourable appearances, she
came to England with a heavy heart, not daring, after all the
uncertainties and anguish she had endured, to trust to the suggestions
of hope.
The gloomy forebodings of her mind, were but too faithfully verified.
Mr. Imlay had already formed another connexion; as it is said, with a
young actress from a strolling company of players. His attentions
therefore to Mary were formal and constrained, and she probably had but
little of his society. This alteration could not escape her penetrating
glance. He ascribed it to pressure of business, and some pecuniary
embarrassments which, at that time, occurred to him; it was of little
consequence to Mary what was the cause. She saw, but too well, though
she strove not to see, that his affections were lost to her for ever.
It is impossible to imagine a period of greater pain and mortification
than Mary passed, for about seven weeks, from the sixteenth of April to
the sixth of June, in a furnished house that Mr. Imlay had provided for
her. She had come over to England, a country for which she, at this
time, expressed "a repugnance, that almost amounted to horror," in
search of happiness. She feared that that happiness had altogether
escaped her; but she was encouraged by the eagerness and impatience
which Mr. Imlay at length seemed to manifest for her arrival. When she
saw him, all her fears were confirmed. What a picture was she capable of
forming to herself, of the overflowing kindness of a meeting, after an
interval of so much anguish and apprehension! A thousand images of this
sort were present to her burning imagination. It is in vain, on such
occasions, for reserve and reproach to endeavour to curb in the emotions
of an affectionate heart. But the hopes she nourished were speedily
blasted. Her reception by Mr. Imlay, was cold and embarrassed.
Discussions ("explanations" they were called) followed; cruel
explanations, that only added to the anguish of a heart already
overwhelmed in grief! They had small pretensions indeed to explicitness;
but they sufficiently told, that the case admitted not of remedy.
Mary was incapable of sustaining her equanimity in this pressing
emergency. "Love, dear, delusive love!" as she expressed herself to a
friend some time afterwards, "rigorous reason had forced her to resign;
and now her rational prospects were blasted, just as she had learned to
be contented with rational enjoyments". Thus situated, life became an
intolerable burthen. While she was absent from Mr. Imlay, she could
talk of purposes of reparation and independence. But, now that they were
in the same house, she could not withhold herself from endeavours to
revive their mutual cordiality; and unsuccessful endeavours continually
added fuel to the fire that destroyed her. She formed a desperate
purpose to die.
This part of the story of Mary is involved in considerable obscurity. I
only know, that Mr. Imlay became acquainted with her purpose, at a
moment when he was uncertain whether or no it were already executed, and
that his feelings were roused by the intelligence. It was perhaps owing
to his activity and representations, that her life was, at this time,
saved. She determined to continue to exist. Actuated by this purpose,
she took a resolution, worthy both of the strength and affectionateness
of her mind. Mr. Imlay was involved in a question of considerable
difficulty, respecting a mercantile adventure in Norway. It seemed to
require the presence of some very judicious agent, to conduct the
business to its desired termination. Mary determined to make the voyage,
and take the business into her own hands. Such a voyage seemed the most
desireable thing to recruit her health, and, if possible, her spirits,
in the present crisis. It was also gratifying to her feelings, to be
employed in promoting the interest of a man, from whom she had
experienced such severe unkindness, but to whom she ardently desired to
be reconciled. The moment of desperation I have mentioned, occurred in
the close of May, and, in about a week after, she set out upon this new
expedition.
The narrative of this voyage is before the world, and perhaps a book of
travels that so irresistibly seizes on the heart, never, in any other
instance, found its way from the press. The occasional harshness and
ruggedness of character, that diversify her Vindication of the Rights of
Woman, here totally disappear. If ever there was a book calculated to
make a man in love with its author, this appears to me to be the book.
She speaks of her sorrows, in a way that fills us with melancholy, and
dissolves us in tenderness, at the same time that she displays a genius
which commands all our admiration. Affliction had tempered her heart to
a softness almost more than human; and the gentleness of her spirit
seems precisely to accord with all the romance of unbounded attachment.
Thus softened and improved, thus fraught with imagination and
sensibility, with all, and more than all, "that youthful poets fancy,
when they love," she returned to England, and, if he had so pleased, to
the arms of her former lover. Her return was hastened by the ambiguity,
to her apprehension, of Mr. Imlay's conduct. He had promised to meet her
upon her return from Norway, probably at Hamburgh; and they were then to
pass some time in Switzerland. The style however of his letters to her
during her tour, was not such as to inspire confidence; and she wrote to