Maria

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MARIA

or

The Wrongs of Woman


by MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT

(1759-1797)

After the edition of 1798


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CONTENTS

Preface by William S. Godwin

Author's Preface

Maria




MARIA

or

The Wrongs of Woman




PREFACE

THE PUBLIC are here presented with the last literary attempt of an
author, whose fame has been uncommonly extensive, and whose talents have
probably been most admired, by the persons by whom talents are estimated
with the greatest accuracy and discrimination. There are few, to whom
her writings could in any case have given pleasure, that would have
wished that this fragment should have been suppressed, because it is
a fragment. There is a sentiment, very dear to minds of taste and
imagination, that finds a melancholy delight in contemplating these
unfinished productions of genius, these sketches of what, if they had
been filled up in a manner adequate to the writer's conception, would
perhaps have given a new impulse to the manners of a world.

The purpose and structure of the following work, had long formed a
favourite subject of meditation with its author, and she judged them
capable of producing an important effect. The composition had been in
progress for a period of twelve months. She was anxious to do justice
to her conception, and recommenced and revised the manuscript several
different times. So much of it as is here given to the public, she was
far from considering as finished, and, in a letter to a friend directly
written on this subject, she says, "I am perfectly aware that some of
the incidents ought to be transposed, and heightened by more harmonious
shading; and I wished in some degree to avail myself of criticism,
before I began to adjust my events into a story, the outline of which
I had sketched in my mind."* The only friends to whom the author
communicated her manuscript, were Mr. Dyson, the translator of the
Sorcerer, and the present editor; and it was impossible for the most
inexperienced author to display a stronger desire of profiting by the
censures and sentiments that might be suggested.**

* A more copious extract of this letter is subjoined to the
author's preface.

** The part communicated consisted of the first fourteen
chapters.

In revising these sheets for the press, it was necessary for the editor,
in some places, to connect the more finished parts with the pages of an
older copy, and a line or two in addition sometimes appeared requisite
for that purpose. Wherever such a liberty has been taken, the additional
phrases will be found inclosed in brackets; it being the editor's most
earnest desire to intrude nothing of himself into the work, but to give
to the public the words, as well as ideas, of the real author.

What follows in the ensuing pages, is not a preface regularly drawn
out by the author, but merely hints for a preface, which, though never
filled up in the manner the writer intended, appeared to be worth
preserving.

W. GODWIN.




AUTHOR'S PREFACE

THE WRONGS OF WOMAN, like the wrongs of the oppressed part of mankind,
may be deemed necessary by their oppressors: but surely there are a few,
who will dare to advance before the improvement of the age, and grant
that my sketches are not the abortion of a distempered fancy, or the
strong delineations of a wounded heart.

In writing this novel, I have rather endeavoured to pourtray passions
than manners.

In many instances I could have made the incidents more dramatic, would I
have sacrificed my main object, the desire of exhibiting the misery and
oppression, peculiar to women, that arise out of the partial laws and
customs of society.

In the invention of the story, this view restrained my fancy; and
the history ought rather to be considered, as of woman, than of an
individual.

The sentiments I have embodied.

In many works of this species, the hero is allowed to be mortal, and
to become wise and virtuous as well as happy, by a train of events and
circumstances. The heroines, on the contrary, are to be born immaculate,
and to act like goddesses of wisdom, just come forth highly finished
Minervas from the head of Jove.

[The following is an extract of a letter from the author to a friend, to
whom she communicated her manuscript.]

For my part, I cannot suppose any situation more distressing, than for a
woman of sensibility, with an improving mind, to be bound to such a man
as I have described for life; obliged to renounce all the humanizing
affections, and to avoid cultivating her taste, lest her perception of
grace and refinement of sentiment, should sharpen to agony the pangs of
disappointment. Love, in which the imagination mingles its bewitching
colouring, must be fostered by delicacy. I should despise, or rather
call her an ordinary woman, who could endure such a husband as I have
sketched.

These appear to me (matrimonial despotism of heart and conduct) to be
the peculiar Wrongs of Woman, because they degrade the mind. What are
termed great misfortunes, may more forcibly impress the mind of common
readers; they have more of what may justly be termed stage-effect;
but it is the delineation of finer sensations, which, in my opinion,
constitutes the merit of our best novels. This is what I have in
view; and to show the wrongs of different classes of women, equally
oppressive, though, from the difference of education, necessarily
various.





CHAPTER 1


ABODES OF HORROR have frequently been described, and castles, filled
with spectres and chimeras, conjured up by the magic spell of genius
to harrow the soul, and absorb the wondering mind. But, formed of such
stuff as dreams are made of, what were they to the mansion of despair,
in one corner of which Maria sat, endeavouring to recall her scattered
thoughts!

Surprise, astonishment, that bordered on distraction, seemed to have
suspended her faculties, till, waking by degrees to a keen sense of
anguish, a whirlwind of rage and indignation roused her torpid pulse.
One recollection with frightful velocity following another, threatened
to fire her brain, and make her a fit companion for the terrific
inhabitants, whose groans and shrieks were no unsubstantial sounds of
whistling winds, or startled birds, modulated by a romantic fancy, which
amuse while they affright; but such tones of misery as carry a dreadful
certainty directly to the heart. What effect must they then have
produced on one, true to the touch of sympathy, and tortured by maternal
apprehension!

Her infant's image was continually floating on Maria's sight, and the
first smile of intelligence remembered, as none but a mother, an unhappy
mother, can conceive. She heard her half speaking half cooing, and felt
the little twinkling fingers on her burning bosom--a bosom bursting
with the nutriment for which this cherished child might now be pining
in vain. From a stranger she could indeed receive the maternal aliment,
Maria was grieved at the thought--but who would watch her with a
mother's tenderness, a mother's self-denial?

The retreating shadows of former sorrows rushed back in a gloomy train,
and seemed to be pictured on the walls of her prison, magnified by
the state of mind in which they were viewed--Still she mourned for her
child, lamented she was a daughter, and anticipated the aggravated ills
of life that her sex rendered almost inevitable, even while dreading she
was no more. To think that she was blotted out of existence was agony,
when the imagination had been long employed to expand her faculties;
yet to suppose her turned adrift on an unknown sea, was scarcely less
afflicting.

After being two days the prey of impetuous, varying emotions, Maria
began to reflect more calmly on her present situation, for she had
actually been rendered incapable of sober reflection, by the discovery
of the act of atrocity of which she was the victim. She could not
have imagined, that, in all the fermentation of civilized depravity, a
similar plot could have entered a human mind. She had been stunned by
an unexpected blow; yet life, however joyless, was not to be indolently
resigned, or misery endured without exertion, and proudly termed
patience. She had hitherto meditated only to point the dart of anguish,
and suppressed the heart heavings of indignant nature merely by the
force of contempt. Now she endeavoured to brace her mind to fortitude,
and to ask herself what was to be her employment in her dreary cell? Was
it not to effect her escape, to fly to the succour of her child, and to
baffle the selfish schemes of her tyrant--her husband?

These thoughts roused her sleeping spirit, and the self-possession
returned, that seemed to have abandoned her in the infernal solitude
into which she had been precipitated. The first emotions of overwhelming
impatience began to subside, and resentment gave place to tenderness,
and more tranquil meditation; though anger once more stopt the calm
current of reflection when she attempted to move her manacled arms. But
this was an outrage that could only excite momentary feelings of scorn,
which evaporated in a faint smile; for Maria was far from thinking
a personal insult the most difficult to endure with magnanimous
indifference.

She approached the small grated window of her chamber, and for a
considerable time only regarded the blue expanse; though it commanded
a view of a desolate garden, and of part of a huge pile of buildings,
that, after having been suffered, for half a century, to fall to decay,
had undergone some clumsy repairs, merely to render it habitable. The
ivy had been torn off the turrets, and the stones not wanted to patch up
the breaches of time, and exclude the warring elements, left in heaps
in the disordered court. Maria contemplated this scene she knew not how
long; or rather gazed on the walls, and pondered on her situation.
To the master of this most horrid of prisons, she had, soon after her
entrance, raved of injustice, in accents that would have justified his
treatment, had not a malignant smile, when she appealed to his judgment,
with a dreadful conviction stifled her remonstrating complaints. By
force, or openly, what could be done? But surely some expedient might
occur to an active mind, without any other employment, and possessed of
sufficient resolution to put the risk of life into the balance with the
chance of freedom.

A woman entered in the midst of these reflections, with a firm,
deliberate step, strongly marked features, and large black eyes, which
she fixed steadily on Maria's, as if she designed to intimidate her,
saying at the same time "You had better sit down and eat your dinner,
than look at the clouds."

"I have no appetite," replied Maria, who had previously determined to
speak mildly; "why then should I eat?"

"But, in spite of that, you must and shall eat something. I have had
many ladies under my care, who have resolved to starve themselves;
but, soon or late, they gave up their intent, as they recovered their
senses."

"Do you really think me mad?" asked Maria, meeting the searching glance
of her eye.

"Not just now. But what does that prove?--Only that you must be the more
carefully watched, for appearing at times so reasonable. You have
not touched a morsel since you entered the house."--Maria sighed
intelligibly.--"Could any thing but madness produce such a disgust for
food?"

"Yes, grief; you would not ask the question if you knew what it was."
The attendant shook her head; and a ghastly smile of desperate fortitude
served as a forcible reply, and made Maria pause, before she added--"Yet
I will take some refreshment: I mean not to die.--No; I will preserve
my senses; and convince even you, sooner than you are aware of, that my
intellects have never been disturbed, though the exertion of them may
have been suspended by some infernal drug."

Doubt gathered still thicker on the brow of her guard, as she attempted
to convict her of mistake.

"Have patience!" exclaimed Maria, with a solemnity that inspired awe.
"My God! how have I been schooled into the practice!" A suffocation of
voice betrayed the agonizing emotions she was labouring to keep down;
and conquering a qualm of disgust, she calmly endeavoured to eat enough
to prove her docility, perpetually turning to the suspicious female,
whose observation she courted, while she was making the bed and
adjusting the room.

"Come to me often," said Maria, with a tone of persuasion, in
consequence of a vague plan that she had hastily adopted, when, after
surveying this woman's form and features, she felt convinced that she
had an understanding above the common standard, "and believe me mad,
till you are obliged to acknowledge the contrary." The woman was no
fool, that is, she was superior to her class; nor had misery quite
petrified the life's-blood of humanity, to which reflections on our own
misfortunes only give a more orderly course. The manner, rather than the
expostulations, of Maria made a slight suspicion dart into her mind with
corresponding sympathy, which various other avocations, and the habit
of banishing compunction, prevented her, for the present, from examining
more minutely.

But when she was told that no person, excepting the physician appointed
by her family, was to be permitted to see the lady at the end of the
gallery, she opened her keen eyes still wider, and uttered a--"hem!"
before she enquired--"Why?" She was briefly told, in reply, that the
malady was hereditary, and the fits not occurring but at very long and
irregular intervals, she must be carefully watched; for the length
of these lucid periods only rendered her more mischievous, when any
vexation or caprice brought on the paroxysm of phrensy.

Had her master trusted her, it is probable that neither pity nor
curiosity would have made her swerve from the straight line of her
interest; for she had suffered too much in her intercourse with
mankind, not to determine to look for support, rather to humouring
their passions, than courting their approbation by the integrity of her
conduct. A deadly blight had met her at the very threshold of existence;
and the wretchedness of her mother seemed a heavy weight fastened on her
innocent neck, to drag her down to perdition. She could not heroically
determine to succour an unfortunate; but, offended at the bare
supposition that she could be deceived with the same ease as a common
servant, she no longer curbed her curiosity; and, though she never
seriously fathomed her own intentions, she would sit, every moment she
could steal from observation, listening to the tale, which Maria was
eager to relate with all the persuasive eloquence of grief.

It is so cheering to see a human face, even if little of the divinity
of virtue beam in it, that Maria anxiously expected the return of
the attendant, as of a gleam of light to break the gloom of idleness.
Indulged sorrow, she perceived, must blunt or sharpen the faculties to
the two opposite extremes; producing stupidity, the moping melancholy of
indolence; or the restless activity of a disturbed imagination. She
sunk into one state, after being fatigued by the other: till the want
of occupation became even more painful than the actual pressure or
apprehension of sorrow; and the confinement that froze her into a
nook of existence, with an unvaried prospect before her, the most
insupportable of evils. The lamp of life seemed to be spending itself
to chase the vapours of a dungeon which no art could dissipate.--And
to what purpose did she rally all her energy?--Was not the world a vast
prison, and women born slaves?

Though she failed immediately to rouse a lively sense of injustice
in the mind of her guard, because it had been sophisticated into
misanthropy, she touched her heart. Jemima (she had only a claim to a
Christian name, which had not procured her any Christian privileges)
could patiently hear of Maria's confinement on false pretences; she had
felt the crushing hand of power, hardened by the exercise of injustice,
and ceased to wonder at the perversions of the understanding, which
systematize oppression; but, when told that her child, only four
months old, had been torn from her, even while she was discharging the
tenderest maternal office, the woman awoke in a bosom long estranged
from feminine emotions, and Jemima determined to alleviate all in her
power, without hazarding the loss of her place, the sufferings of a
wretched mother, apparently injured, and certainly unhappy. A sense of
right seems to result from the simplest act of reason, and to preside
over the faculties of the mind, like the master-sense of feeling, to
rectify the rest; but (for the comparison may be carried still farther)
how often is the exquisite sensibility of both weakened or destroyed by
the vulgar occupations, and ignoble pleasures of life?

The preserving her situation was, indeed, an important object to Jemima,
who had been hunted from hole to hole, as if she had been a beast of
prey, or infected with a moral plague. The wages she received, the
greater part of which she hoarded, as her only chance for independence,
were much more considerable than she could reckon on obtaining any
where else, were it possible that she, an outcast from society, could
be permitted to earn a subsistence in a reputable family. Hearing Maria
perpetually complain of listlessness, and the not being able to beguile
grief by resuming her customary pursuits, she was easily prevailed on,
by compassion, and that involuntary respect for abilities, which those
who possess them can never eradicate, to bring her some books and
implements for writing. Maria's conversation had amused and interested
her, and the natural consequence was a desire, scarcely observed
by herself, of obtaining the esteem of a person she admired. The
remembrance of better days was rendered more lively; and the sentiments
then acquired appearing less romantic than they had for a long period, a
spark of hope roused her mind to new activity.

How grateful was her attention to Maria! Oppressed by a dead weight of
existence, or preyed on by the gnawing worm of discontent, with what
eagerness did she endeavour to shorten the long days, which left no
traces behind! She seemed to be sailing on the vast ocean of life,
without seeing any land-mark to indicate the progress of time; to find
employment was then to find variety, the animating principle of nature.





CHAPTER 2


EARNESTLY as Maria endeavoured to soothe, by reading, the anguish of her
wounded mind, her thoughts would often wander from the subject she was
led to discuss, and tears of maternal tenderness obscured the reasoning
page. She descanted on "the ills which flesh is heir to," with
bitterness, when the recollection of her babe was revived by a tale
of fictitious woe, that bore any resemblance to her own; and her
imagination was continually employed, to conjure up and embody the
various phantoms of misery, which folly and vice had let loose on the
world. The loss of her babe was the tender string; against other cruel
remembrances she laboured to steel her bosom; and even a ray of hope,
in the midst of her gloomy reveries, would sometimes gleam on the dark
horizon of futurity, while persuading herself that she ought to cease
to hope, since happiness was no where to be found.--But of her child,
debilitated by the grief with which its mother had been assailed before
it saw the light, she could not think without an impatient struggle.

"I, alone, by my active tenderness, could have saved," she would
exclaim, "from an early blight, this sweet blossom; and, cherishing it,
I should have had something still to love."

In proportion as other expectations were torn from her, this tender one
had been fondly clung to, and knit into her heart.

The books she had obtained, were soon devoured, by one who had no
other resource to escape from sorrow, and the feverish dreams of
ideal wretchedness or felicity, which equally weaken the intoxicated
sensibility. Writing was then the only alternative, and she wrote some
rhapsodies descriptive of the state of her mind; but the events of her
past life pressing on her, she resolved circumstantially to relate them,
with the sentiments that experience, and more matured reason, would
naturally suggest. They might perhaps instruct her daughter, and shield
her from the misery, the tyranny, her mother knew not how to avoid.

This thought gave life to her diction, her soul flowed into it, and she
soon found the task of recollecting almost obliterated impressions
very interesting. She lived again in the revived emotions of youth,
and forgot her present in the retrospect of sorrows that had assumed an
unalterable character.

Though this employment lightened the weight of time, yet, never losing
sight of her main object, Maria did not allow any opportunity to slip
of winning on the affections of Jemima; for she discovered in her a
strength of mind, that excited her esteem, clouded as it was by the
misanthropy of despair.

An insulated being, from the misfortune of her birth, she despised and
preyed on the society by which she had been oppressed, and loved not her
fellow-creatures, because she had never been beloved. No mother had ever
fondled her, no father or brother had protected her from outrage; and
the man who had plunged her into infamy, and deserted her when she stood
in greatest need of support, deigned not to smooth with kindness the
road to ruin. Thus degraded, was she let loose on the world; and
virtue, never nurtured by affection, assumed the stern aspect of selfish
independence.

This general view of her life, Maria gathered from her exclamations and
dry remarks. Jemima indeed displayed a strange mixture of interest
and suspicion; for she would listen to her with earnestness, and then
suddenly interrupt the conversation, as if afraid of resigning, by
giving way to her sympathy, her dear-bought knowledge of the world.

Maria alluded to the possibility of an escape, and mentioned a
compensation, or reward; but the style in which she was repulsed made
her cautious, and determine not to renew the subject, till she knew
more of the character she had to work on. Jemima's countenance, and
dark hints, seemed to say, "You are an extraordinary woman; but let me
consider, this may only be one of your lucid intervals." Nay, the very
energy of Maria's character, made her suspect that the extraordinary
animation she perceived might be the effect of madness. "Should her
husband then substantiate his charge, and get possession of her estate,
from whence would come the promised annuity, or more desired protection?
Besides, might not a woman, anxious to escape, conceal some of the
circumstances which made against her? Was truth to be expected from one
who had been entrapped, kidnapped, in the most fraudulent manner?"

In this train Jemima continued to argue, the moment after compassion
and respect seemed to make her swerve; and she still resolved not to be
wrought on to do more than soften the rigour of confinement, till she
could advance on surer ground.

Maria was not permitted to walk in the garden; but sometimes, from her
window, she turned her eyes from the gloomy walls, in which she pined
life away, on the poor wretches who strayed along the walks, and
contemplated the most terrific of ruins--that of a human soul. What
is the view of the fallen column, the mouldering arch, of the most
exquisite workmanship, when compared with this living memento of the
fragility, the instability, of reason, and the wild luxuriancy of
noxious passions? Enthusiasm turned adrift, like some rich stream
overflowing its banks, rushes forward with destructive velocity,
inspiring a sublime concentration of thought. Thus thought Maria--These
are the ravages over which humanity must ever mournfully ponder, with a
degree of anguish not excited by crumbling marble, or cankering brass,
unfaithful to the trust of monumental fame. It is not over the decaying
productions of the mind, embodied with the happiest art, we grieve most
bitterly. The view of what has been done by man, produces a melancholy,
yet aggrandizing, sense of what remains to be achieved by human
intellect; but a mental convulsion, which, like the devastation of an
earthquake, throws all the elements of thought and imagination into
confusion, makes contemplation giddy, and we fearfully ask on what
ground we ourselves stand.

Melancholy and imbecility marked the features of the wretches allowed to
breathe at large; for the frantic, those who in a strong imagination
had lost a sense of woe, were closely confined. The playful tricks and
mischievous devices of their disturbed fancy, that suddenly broke out,
could not be guarded against, when they were permitted to enjoy any
portion of freedom; for, so active was their imagination, that every new
object which accidentally struck their senses, awoke to phrenzy their
restless passions; as Maria learned from the burden of their incessant
ravings.