The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay
said to have plighted his troth to Mary Godwin's daughter. In 1851, when
the Metropolitan and Midland Railways were constructed at St. Pancras,
the graveyard was destroyed, but the bodies of Mary and William Godwin
were removed by their grandson, Sir Percy Shelley, to Bournemouth, where
they now rest with his remains, and those of his mother, Mrs. Shelley.
In the year following Mary's death (1798) Godwin edited his wife's
"Posthumous Works," in four volumes, in which appeared the letters to
Imlay, and her incomplete novel "The Wrongs of Woman." His tribute to Mary
Godwin's memory was also published in 1798, under the title of "Memoirs of
the Author of _A Vindication of the Rights of Woman_." Godwin's novel,
"St. Leon" came out in 1799; his tragedy "Antonio" was produced only to
fail, in 1800, and in 1801, he was wooed and won by Mrs. Clairmont, a
widow. The Godwin household was a somewhat mixed one, consisting, as it
did, of Fanny Imlay, Mary Godwin, Mrs. Godwin's two children, Charles and
Claire Clairmont, and also of William, the only child born of her marriage
with Godwin. In 1812 Shelley began a correspondence with Godwin, which
ultimately led to Mary Godwin's elopement with the poet. Poor Fanny Imlay,
or Godwin, as she was called after her mother's death, died at the age of
nineteen by her own hand, in October 1816. Her life had been far from
happy in this strange household. She had grown to love Shelley, but his
choice had fallen on her half-sister, so she bravely kept her secret to
herself. One day she suddenly left home and travelled to Swansea, where
she was found lying dead the morning after her arrival, in the inn where
she had taken a room, "her long brown hair about her face; a bottle of
laudanum upon the table, and a note which ran thus: 'I have long
determined that the best thing I could do was to put an end to the
existence of a being whose birth was unfortunate, and whose life has only
been a series of pain to those persons who have hurt their health in
endeavouring to promote her welfare.' She had with her the little Genevan
watch, a gift of travel from Mary and Shelley: and in her purse were a few
shillings."[1]
Shelley, afterwards recalling his last interview with Fanny in London,
wrote this stanza:
"Her voice did quiver as we parted;
Yet knew I not that heart was broken
From whence it came, and I departed
Heeding not the words then spoken.
Misery--O Misery,
This world is all too wide for thee!"
III
The vicissitudes to which Mary Wollstonecraft was so largely a prey during
her lifetime seem to have pursued her after death. In her own day
recognised as a public character, reviled by most of her contemporaries in
terms not less ungentle than Horace Walpole's epithets, "a hyena in
petticoats" or "a philosophising serpent," posterity has proved hardly
more lenient to her. But the vigorous work of this "female patriot" has
saved her name from that descent into obscurity which is the reward of
many men and women more talented than Mary Wollstonecraft. Reputed chiefly
as an unsexed being, who had written "A Vindication of the Rights of
Women," she was not the first woman to hold views on the emancipation of
her sex; but her chief crimes were in expressing them for the instruction
of the public, and having the courage to live up to her opinions. Whether
right or wrong, she paid the penalty of violating custom by discussing
forbidden subjects. It is true that she detected many social evils, and
suggested some excellent remedies for their amelioration, but the time was
not ripe for her book, and she suffered the usual fate of the pioneer.
Moreover, her memoir by William Godwin, beautiful as it is in many
respects, exercised a distinctly harmful influence in regard to her
memory. The very fact that she became the wife of so notorious a man, was
sufficient reason to condemn her in the eyes of her countrymen.
For two generations after her death practically no attempt was made to
remove the stigma from her name. But at length the late Mr. Kegan Paul, a
man of wide and generous sympathies, made a serious effort to obtain
something like justice for Mary Wollstonecraft. In his book on William
Godwin, published in 1876, the true story of Mary's life was told for the
first time. It was somewhat of a revelation, for it recorded the history
of an unhappy but brave and loyal woman, whose faults proceeded from
excessive sensibility and from a heart that was over-susceptible. Mary
Wollstonecraft was an idealist in a very matter-of-fact age, and her
outlook on life, like that of most idealists, was strongly affected by her
imagination. She saw people and events in brilliant lights or sombre
shadows--it was a power akin to enthusiasm which enabled her to produce
some of her best writing, but it also prevented her from seeing the
defects of her worst work. Since Mr. Kegan Paul's memoir, Mary
Wollstonecraft has been viewed from an entirely different aspect, and many
there are who have come under the spell of her fascinating personality. It
is not, however, her message alone that now interests us, but the woman
herself, her desires, her aspirations, her struggles, and her love.
Pathetic and lonely, she stands out in the faint mists of the past, a
woman that will continue to evoke sympathy when her books are no longer
read. But it is safe to predict that the pages reprinted in this volume
are not destined to share the fate of the rest of her work. Other writers
have been unhappy and have known the pains of unrequited love, but Mary
Wollstonecraft addressed these letters with a breaking heart to the man
whom she adored, the most passionate love letters in our literature. It is
true that she was a votary of Rousseau, and that she had probably
assimilated from the study of his work not only many of his views, but
something of his style; it does not, however, appear that she had any
motive in writing these letters other than to plead her cause with Imlay.
She was far too sensitive to have intended them for publication, and it
was only by a mere chance that they were rescued from oblivion.
_December 1907._
PORTRAITS
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT (Photogravure) _Frontispiece_
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, by Opie. From an engraving
by Ridley _facing p._ xvi
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, from the picture by Opie _facing p._ xxvi
LETTERS TO GILBERT IMLAY
LETTER I
_Two o'Clock [Paris, June 1793]._
My dear love, after making my arrangements for our snug dinner to-day, I
have been taken by storm, and obliged to promise to dine, at an early
hour, with the Miss ----s, the _only_ day they intend to pass here. I
shall however leave the key in the door, and hope to find you at my
fire-side when I return, about eight o'clock. Will you not wait for poor
Joan?--whom you will find better, and till then think very affectionately
of her.
Yours, truly,
MARY.
I am sitting down to dinner; so do not send an answer.
LETTER II
_Past Twelve o'Clock, Monday Night
[Paris, Aug. 1793]._
I obey an emotion of my heart, which made me think of wishing thee, my
love, good-night! before I go to rest, with more tenderness than I can
to-morrow, when writing a hasty line or two under Colonel ----'s eye. You
can scarcely imagine with what pleasure I anticipate the day, when we are
to begin almost to live together; and you would smile to hear how many
plans of employment I have in my head, now that I am confident my heart
has found peace in your bosom.--Cherish me with that dignified tenderness,
which I have only found in you; and your own dear girl will try to keep
under a quickness of feeling, that has sometimes given you pain.--Yes, I
will be _good_, that I may deserve to be happy; and whilst you love me, I
cannot again fall into the miserable state, which rendered life a burthen
almost too heavy to be borne.
But, good-night!--God bless you! Sterne says, that is equal to a kiss--yet
I would rather give you the kiss into the bargain, glowing with gratitude
to Heaven, and affection to you. I like the word affection, because it
signifies something habitual; and we are soon to meet, to try whether we
have mind enough to keep our hearts warm.
MARY.
I will be at the barrier a little after ten o'clock to-morrow.[2]--Yours--
LETTER III
_Wednesday Morning [Paris, Aug. 1793]._
You have often called me, dear girl, but you would now say good, did you
know how very attentive I have been to the ---- ever since I came to
Paris. I am not however going to trouble you with the account, because I
like to see your eyes praise me; and Milton insinuates, that, during such
recitals, there are interruptions, not ungrateful to the heart, when the
honey that drops from the lips is not merely words.
Yet, I shall not (let me tell you before these people enter, to force me
to huddle away my letter) be content with only a kiss of DUTY--you _must_
be glad to see me--because you are glad--or I will make love to the
_shade_ of Mirabeau, to whom my heart continually turned, whilst I was
talking with Madame ----, forcibly telling me, that it will ever have
sufficient warmth to love, whether I will or not, sentiment, though I so
highly respect principle.----
Not that I think Mirabeau utterly devoid of principles--Far from it--and,
if I had not begun to form a new theory respecting men, I should, in the
vanity of my heart, have _imagined_ that _I_ could have made something of
his----it was composed of such materials--Hush! here they come--and love
flies away in the twinkling of an eye, leaving a little brush of his wing
on my pale cheeks.
I hope to see Dr. ---- this morning; I am going to Mr. ----'s to meet him.
----, and some others, are invited to dine with us to-day; and to-morrow I
am to spend the day with ----.
I shall probably not be able to return to ---- to-morrow; but it is no
matter, because I must take a carriage, I have so many books, that I
immediately want, to take with me.--On Friday then I shall expect you to
dine with me--and, if you come a little before dinner, it is so long since
I have seen you, you will not be scolded by yours affectionately,
MARY.
LETTER IV[3]
_Friday Morning [Paris, Sept. 1793]._
A man, whom a letter from Mr. ---- previously announced, called here
yesterday for the payment of a draft; and, as he seemed disappointed at
not finding you at home, I sent him to Mr. ----. I have since seen him,
and he tells me that he has settled the business.
So much for business!--May I venture to talk a little longer about less
weighty affairs?--How are you?--I have been following you all along the
road this comfortless weather; for, when I am absent from those I love, my
imagination is as lively, as if my senses had never been gratified by
their presence--I was going to say caresses--and why should I not? I have
found out that I have more mind than you, in one respect; because I can,
without any violent effort of reason, find food for love in the same
object, much longer than you can.--The way to my senses is through my
heart; but, forgive me! I think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours.
With ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very sufficient dash of folly is
necessary to render a woman _piquante_, a soft word for desirable; and,
beyond these casual ebullitions of sympathy, few look for enjoyment by
fostering a passion in their hearts. One reason, in short, why I wish my
whole sex to become wiser, is, that the foolish ones may not, by their
pretty folly, rob those whose sensibility keeps down their vanity, of the
few roses that afford them some solace in the thorny road of life.
I do not know how I fell into these reflections, excepting one thought