Part 1 (2/2)
It is evident that the great historical drama then being enacted in France had made a deep impression on Mary's mind--its influence is stamped on every page of her book, and it was her desire to visit France with Mr.
Johnson and Fuseli. Her friends were, however, unable to accompany her, so she went alone in the December of 1792, chiefly with the object of perfecting her French. G.o.dwin states, though apparently in error, that Fuseli was the cause of her going to France, the acquaintance with the painter having grown into something warmer than mere friends.h.i.+p. Fuseli, however, had a wife and was happily married, so Mary ”prudently resolved to retire into another country, far remote from the object who had unintentionally excited the tender pa.s.sion in her breast.”
She certainly arrived in Paris at a dramatic moment; she wrote on December 24 to her sister Everina: ”The day after to-morrow I expect to see the King at the bar, and the consequences that will follow I am almost afraid to antic.i.p.ate.” On the day in question, the 26th, Louis XVI. appeared in the Hall of the Convention to plead his cause through his advocate, Desize, and on the same day she wrote that letter to Mr. Johnson which has so often been quoted: ”About nine o'clock this morning,” she says, ”the King pa.s.sed by my window, moving silently along (excepting now and then a few strokes on the drum, which rendered the stillness more awful) through empty streets, surrounded by the national guards, who, cl.u.s.tering round the carriage, seemed to deserve their name. The inhabitants flocked to their windows, but the cas.e.m.e.nts were all shut, not a voice was heard, nor did I see anything like an insulting gesture. For the first time since I entered France I bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected the propriety of behaviour so perfectly in unison with my own feelings. I can scarcely tell you why, but an a.s.sociation of ideas made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when I saw Louis sitting, with more dignity than I expected from his character, in a hackney coach, going to meet death, where so many of his race had triumphed. My fancy instantly brought Louis XIV. before me, entering the capital with all his pomp, after one of his victories so flattering to his pride, only to see the suns.h.i.+ne of prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery....”
Mary first went to stay at the house of Madame Filiettaz, the daughter of Madame Bregantz, in whose school at Putney both Mrs. Bishop and Everina Wollstonecraft had been teachers. Mary was now something of a celebrity--”Authors.h.i.+p,” she writes, ”is a heavy weight for female shoulders, especially in the suns.h.i.+ne of prosperity”--and she carried with her letters of introduction to several influential people in Paris. She renewed her acquaintance with Tom Paine, became intimate with Helen Maria Williams (who is said to have once lived with Imlay), and visited, among others, the house of Mr. Thomas Christie. It was her intention to go to Switzerland, but there was some trouble about her pa.s.sport, so she settled at Neuilly, then a village three miles from Paris. ”Her habitation here,” says G.o.dwin, ”was a solitary house in the midst of a garden, with no other habitant than herself and the gardener, an old man who performed for her many offices of a domestic, and would sometimes contend for the honour of making her bed. The gardener had a great veneration for his guest, and would set before her, when alone, some grapes of a particularly fine sort, which she could not without the greatest difficulty obtain of him when she had any person with her as a visitor. Here it was that she conceived, and for the most part executed, her historical and moral view of the French Revolution, into which she incorporated most of the observations she had collected for her letters, and which was written with more sobriety and cheerfulness than the tone in which they had been commenced. In the evening she was accustomed to refresh herself by a walk in a neighbouring wood, from which her host in vain endeavoured to dissuade her, by recounting divers horrible robberies and murders that had been committed there.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: From an engraving by Ridley, dated 1796, after a painting by John Opie, R.A.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.
This picture was purchased for the National Gallery at the sale of the late Mr. William Russell. The reason for supposing that it represents Mary Wollstonecraft rests solely on testimony of the engraving in the _Monthly Mirror_ (published during her lifetime), from which this reproduction was made. Mrs. Merritt made an etching of the picture for Mr. Kegan Paul's edition of the ”Letters to Imlay.”
_To face p. xvi_]
It is probable that in March 1793 Mary Wollstonecraft first saw Gilbert Imlay. The meeting occurred at Mr. Christie's house, and her immediate impression was one of dislike, so that on subsequent occasions she avoided him. However, her regard for him rapidly changed into friends.h.i.+p, and later into love. Gilbert Imlay was born in New Jersey about 1755. He served as a captain in the American army during the Revolutionary war, and was the author of ”A Topographical Description of the Western Territory of North America,” 1792, and a novel ent.i.tled ”The Emigrants,” 1793. In the latter work, as an American, he proposes to ”place a mirror to the view of Englishmen, that they may behold the decay of these features that were once so lovely,” and further ”to prevent the sacrilege which the present practice of matrimonial engagements necessarily produce.” It is not known whether these views regarding marriage preceded, or were the result of, his connexion with Mary Wollstonecraft. In 1793 he was engaged in business, probably in the timber trade with Sweden and Norway.
In deciding to devote herself to Imlay, Mary sought no advice and took no one into her confidence. She was evidently deeply in love with him, and felt that their mutual confidence shared by no one else gave a sacredness to their union. G.o.dwin, who is our chief authority on the Imlay episode, states that ”the origin of the connexion was about the middle of April 1793, and it was carried on in a private manner for about three months.”
Imlay had no property whatever, and Mary had objected to marry him, because she would not burden him with her own debts, or ”involve him in certain family embarra.s.sments,” for which she believed herself responsible. She looked upon her connexion with Imlay, however, ”as of the most inviolable nature.” Then the French Government pa.s.sed a decree that all British subjects resident in France should go to prison until a general declaration of peace. It therefore became expedient, not that a marriage should take place, for that would necessitate Mary declaring her nationality, but that she should take the name of Imlay, ”which,” says G.o.dwin, ”from the nature of their connexion (formed on her part at least, with no capricious or fickle design), she conceived herself ent.i.tled to do, and obtain a certificate from the American Amba.s.sador, as the wife of a native of that country. Their engagement being thus avowed, they thought proper to reside under the same roof, and for that purpose removed to Paris.”
In a letter from Mary Wollstonecraft to her sister Everina, dated from Havre, March 10, 1794, she describes the climate of France as ”uncommonly fine,” and praises the common people for their manners; but she is also saddened by the scenes that she had witnessed and adds that ”death and misery, in every shape of terror, haunt this devoted country.... If any of the many letters I have written have come to your hands or Eliza's, you know that I am safe, through the protection of an American, a most worthy man who joins to uncommon tenderness of heart and quickness of feeling, a soundness of understanding, and reasonableness of temper rarely to be met with. Having been brought up in the interior parts of America, he is a most natural, unaffected creature.”
Mary has expressed in the ”Rights of Woman” her ideal of the relations between man and wife; she now looked forward to such a life of domestic happiness as she had cherished for some time. She had known much unhappiness in the past. G.o.dwin says: ”She brought in the present instance, a wounded and sick heart, to take refuge in the attachment of a chosen friend. Let it not, however, be imagined, that she brought a heart, querulous, and ruined in its taste for pleasure. No; her whole character seemed to change with a change of fortune. Her sorrows, the depression of her spirits, were forgotten, and she a.s.sumed all the simplicity and the vivacity of a youthful mind. She was playful, full of confidence, kindness, and sympathy. Her eyes a.s.sumed new l.u.s.tre, and her cheeks new colour and smoothness. Her voice became cheerful; her temper overflowing with universal kindness; and that smile of bewitching tenderness from day to day illuminated her countenance, which all who knew her will so well recollect, and which won, both heart and soul, the affections of almost every one that beheld it.” She had now met the man to whom she earnestly believed she could surrender herself with entire devotion. Naturally of an affectionate nature, for the first time in her life, with her impulsive Irish spirit, as G.o.dwin says, ”she gave way to all the sensibilities of her nature.”
The affair was nevertheless doomed to failure from the first. Mary had taken her step without much forethought. She attributed to Imlay ”uncommon tenderness of heart,” but she did not detect his instability of character. He certainly fascinated her, as he fascinated other women, both before and after his attachment to Mary. He was not the man to be satisfied with one woman as his life-companion. A typical American, he was deeply immersed in business, but his affairs may not have claimed as much of his time as he represented. In the September after he set up house with Mary, that is in '93, the year of the Terror, he left her in Paris while he went to Havre, formerly known as Havre de Grace, but then altered to Havre Marat. It is awful to think what must have been the life of this lonely stranger in Paris at such a time. Yet her letters to Imlay contain hardly a reference to the events of the Revolution.
Mary, tired of waiting for Imlay's return to Paris, and sickened with the ”growing cruelties of Robespierre,” joined him at Havre in January 1794, and on May 14 she gave birth to a girl, whom she named Frances in memory of f.a.n.n.y Blood, the friend of her youth. There is every evidence throughout her letters to Imlay of how tenderly she loved the little one.
In a letter to Everina, dated from Paris on September 20, she speaks thus of little f.a.n.n.y:
”I want you to see my little girl, who is more like a boy. She is ready to fly away with spirits, and has eloquent health in her cheeks and eyes. She does not promise to be a beauty, but appears wonderfully intelligent, and though I am sure she has her father's quick temper and feelings, her good humour runs away with all the credit of my good nursing.”
In September Imlay left Havre for London, and now that the Terror had subsided Mary returned to Paris. This separation really meant the end of their camaraderie. They were to meet again, but never on the old footing.
The journey proved the most fatiguing that she ever made, the carriage in which she travelled breaking down four times between Havre and Paris.
Imlay promised to come to Paris in the course of two months, and she expected him till the end of the year with cheerfulness. With the press of business and other distractions his feelings for her and the child had cooled, as the tone of his letters betrayed. For three months longer Imlay put her off with unsatisfactory explanations, but her suspense came to an end in April, when she went to London at his request. Her gravest forebodings proved too true. Imlay was already living with a young actress belonging to a company of strolling players; and it was evident, though at first he protested to the contrary, that Mary was only a second consideration in his life. He provided her, however, with a furnished house, and she did not at once abandon hope of a reconciliation: but when she realised that hope was useless, in her despair she resolved to take her life. Whether she actually attempted suicide, or whether Imlay learnt of her intention in time to prevent her, is not actually known. Imlay was at this time engaged in trade with Norway, and requiring a trustworthy representative to transact some confidential business, it was thought that the journey would restore Mary's health and spirits. She therefore consented to take the voyage, and set out early in April 1795, with a doc.u.ment drawn up by Imlay appointing her as his representative, and describing her as ”Mary Imlay, my best friend, and wife,” and concluding: ”Thus, confiding in the talent, zeal, and earnestness of my dearly beloved friend and companion; I submit the management of these affairs entirely and implicitly to her discretion: Remaining most sincerely and affectionately hers truly, G. Imlay.”
The letters describing her travels, excluding any personal matters, were issued in 1796, as ”Letters from Sweden and Norway,” one of her most readable books. The portions eliminated from these letters were printed by G.o.dwin in his wife's posthumous works, and are given in the present volume. She returned to England early in October with a heavy heart. Imlay had promised to meet her on the homeward journey, possibly at Hamburg, and to take her to Switzerland, but she hastened to London to find her suspicions confirmed. He provided her with a lodging, but entirely neglected her for some woman with whom he was living. On first making the discovery of his fresh intrigue, and in her agony of mind, she sought Imlay at the house he had furnished for his new companion. The conference resulted in her utter despair, and she decided to drown herself. She first went to Battersea Bridge, but found too many people there; and therefore walked on to Putney. It was night and raining when she arrived there, and after wandering up and down the bridge for half-an-hour until her clothing was thoroughly drenched she threw herself into the river. She was, however, rescued from the water and, although unconscious, her life was saved.
Mary met Imlay casually on two or three other occasions; probably her last sight of him was in the New Road (now Marylebone Road), when ”he alighted from his horse, and walked with her some time; and the re-encounter pa.s.sed,” she a.s.sured G.o.dwin, ”without producing in her any oppressive emotion.” Mary refused to accept any pecuniary a.s.sistance for herself from Imlay, but he gave a bond for a sum to be settled on her, the interest to be devoted to the maintenance of their child; neither princ.i.p.al nor interest, however, was ever paid. What ultimately became of Imlay is not known.
Mary at length resigned herself to the inevitable. Her old friend and publisher, Mr. Johnson, came to her aid, and she resolved to resume her literary work for the support of herself and her child. She was once more seen in literary society. Among the people whom she met at this time was William G.o.dwin. Three years her senior, he was one of the most advanced republicans of the time, the author of ”Political Justice” and the novel ”Caleb Williams.” They had met before, for the first time in November 1791, but she displeased G.o.dwin, because her vivacious gossip silenced the naturally quiet Thomas Paine, whom he was anxious to hear talk. Although they met occasionally afterwards, it was not until 1796 that they became friendly. There must have been something about G.o.dwin that made him extremely attractive to his friends, for he numbered among them some of the most charming women of the day, and such men as Wordsworth, Lamb, Hazlitt, and Sh.e.l.ley were proud to be of his circle. To the members of his family he was of a kind, even affectionate, disposition. Unfortunately, he appears to the worst advantage--a kind of early Pecksniff--in his later correspondence and relations with Sh.e.l.ley, and it is by this correspondence at the present day that he is best known. The fine side-face portrait of G.o.dwin by Northcote, in the National Portrait Gallery, preserves for us all the beauty of his intellectual brow and eyes. Another portrait of G.o.dwin, full-face, with a long sad nose, by Pickersgill, once to be seen in the National Portrait Gallery, is not so pleasing. In a letter to Cottle, Southey gives an unflattering portrait of G.o.dwin at the time of his marriage, which seems to suggest the full-face portrait of the philosopher--”he has large n.o.ble eyes, and a _nose_--oh, most abominable nose! Language is not vituperatious enough to describe the effect of its downward elongation.”
G.o.dwin describes his courts.h.i.+p with Mary as ”friends.h.i.+p melting into love.” They agreed to live together, but G.o.dwin took rooms about twenty doors from their home in the Polygon, Somers Town, as it was one of his theories that living together under the same roof is destructive of family happiness. G.o.dwin went to his rooms as soon as he rose in the morning, generally without taking breakfast with Mary, and he sometimes slept at his lodgings. They rarely met again until dinner-time, unless to take a walk together. During the day this extraordinary couple would communicate with each other by means of short letters or notes. Mr. Kegan Paul prints some of these; such as G.o.dwin's:
”I will have the honour to dine with you. You ask me whether I can get you four orders. I do not know, but I do not think the thing impossible. How do you do?”
And Mary's: ”f.a.n.n.y is delighted with the thought of dining with you. But I wish you to eat your meat first, and let her come up with the pudding. I shall probably knock at your door on my way to Opie's; but should I not find you, let me request you not to be too late this evening. Do not give f.a.n.n.y b.u.t.ter with her pudding.” This note is dated April 20, 1797, and probably fixes the time when Mary was sitting for her portrait to Opie.
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