MAIDENHOOD.
1770-1775
First emotions of love.--A youthful artist.--Maiden timidity.--Number
of suitors.--Jane as a letter writer.--Her sentiments adopted by
the French ministry.--A rich meat merchant proposes for Jane's
hand.--Conversation between Jane and her father about
matrimony.--Views of Jane in regard to marriage.--Jane's objections
to a tradesman.--She is immovable.--The young physician as a
lover.--Curious interview.--The physician taken on trial.--The
connection broken off.--Illness of Jane's mother.--The jeweler.--Jane's
views of congeniality between man and wife.--Her mother's death.--Jane's
father becomes dissipated.--Meekness of her mother.--Excursion to
the country.--Delusive hopes.--Death of Madame Phlippon.--Effects
upon Jane.--Recovery of Jane.--Character of her mother.--Jane's
melancholy.--She resorts to writing.--Development of character.--Letter
from M. Boismorel.--Reply to M. De Boismorel.--Translation.--Character
of M. De Boismorel.--Jane introduced to the nobility.--Jane's contempt
for the aristocracy.--Her good taste.--M. Phlippon's progress
in dissipation.--Jane's painful situation.--Jane secures a small
income.--Consolations of literature.
A soul so active, so imaginative, and so full of feeling as that of
Jane, could not long slumber unconscious of the emotion of love. In
the unaffected and touching narrative which she gives of her own
character, in the Journal which she subsequently wrote in the gloom of
a prison, she alludes to the first rising of that mysterious passion
in her bosom. With that frankness which ever marked her character, she
describes the strange fluttering of her heart, the embarrassment, the
attraction, and the instinctive diffidence she experienced when in the
presence of a young man who had, all unconsciously, interested her
affections. It seems that there was a youthful painter named Taboral,
of pale, and pensive, and intellectual countenance--an artist with
soul-inspired enthusiasm beaming from his eye--who occasionally called
upon her father. Jane had just been reading the Heloise of Rousseau,
that gushing fountain of sentimentality. Her young heart took fire.
His features mingled insensibly in her dreamings and her visions, and
dwelt, a welcome guest, in her castles in the air. The diffident young
man, with all the sensitiveness of genius, could not speak to the
daughter, of whose accomplishments the father was so justly proud,
without blushing like a girl. When Jane heard him in the shop, she
always contrived to make some errand to go in. There was a pencil or
something else to be sought for. But the moment she was in the
presence of Taboral, instinctive embarrassment drove her away, and she
retired more rapidly than she entered, and with a palpitating heart
ran to hide herself in her little chamber.
This emotion, however, was fleeting and transient, and soon forgotten.
Indeed, highly imaginative as was Jane, her imagination was vigorous
and intellectual, and her tastes led her far away from those
enervating love-dreams in which a weaker mind would have indulged. A
young lady so fascinating in mind and person could not but attract
much attention. Many suitors began to appear, one after another, but
she manifested no interest in any of them. The customs of society in
France were such at that time, that it was difficult for any one who
sought the hand of Jane to obtain an introduction to her.
Consequently, the expedient was usually adopted of writing first to
her parents. These letters were always immediately shown to Jane. She
judged of the character of the writer by the character of the
epistles. Her father, knowing her intellectual superiority, looked to
her as his secretary to reply to all these letters. She consequently
wrote the answers, which her father carefully copied, and sent in his
own name. She was often amused with the gravity with which she, as the
father of herself, with parental prudence discussed her own interests.
In subsequent years she wrote to kings and to cabinets in the name of
her husband; and the sentiments which flowed from her pen, adopted by
the ministry of France as their own, guided the councils of nations.
Her father, regarding commerce as the source of wealth, and wealth as
the source of power and dignity, was very anxious that his daughter
should accept some of the lucrative offers she was receiving from
young men of the family acquaintance who were engaged in trade. But
Jane had no such thought. Her proud spirit revolted from such a
connection. From her sublimated position among the ancient heroes,
and her ambitious aspirings to dwell in the loftiest regions of
intellect, she could not think of allying her soul with those whose
energies were expended in buying and selling; and she declared that
she would have no husband but one with whom she could cherish
congenial sympathies.
At one time a rich meat merchant of the neighborhood solicited her
hand. Her father, allured by his wealth, was very anxious that his
daughter should accept the offer. In reply to his urgency Jane firmly
replied,
"I can not, dear father, descend from my noble imaginings. What I want
in a husband is a _soul_, not a _fortune_. I will die single rather
than prostitute my own mind in a union with a being with whom I have
no sympathies. Brought up from my infancy in connection with the great
men of all ages--familiar with lofty ideas and illustrious
examples--have I lived with Plato, with all the philosophers, all the
poets, all the politicians of antiquity, merely to unite myself with a
shop-keeper, who will neither appreciate nor feel any thing as I do?
Why have you suffered me, father, to contract these intellectual
habits and tastes, if you wish me to form such an alliance? I know not
whom I may marry; but it must be one who can share my thoughts and
sympathize with my pursuits."
"But, my daughter, there are many men of business who have extensive
information and polished manners."
"That may be," Jane answered, "but they do not possess the kind of
information, and the character of mind, and the intellectual tastes
which I wish any one who is my husband to possess."
"Do you not suppose," rejoined her father, "that Mr. ---- and his wife
are happy? He has just retired from business with an ample fortune.
They have a beautiful house, and receive the best of company."
"I am no judge," was the reply, "of other people's happiness. But my
own heart is not fixed on riches. I conceive that the strictest union
of affection is requisite to conjugal felicity. I can not connect
myself with any man whose tastes and sympathies are not in accordance
with my own. My husband must be my superior. Since both nature and the
laws give him the pre-eminence, I should be ashamed if he did not
really deserve it."
"I suppose, then, you want a counselor for your husband. But ladies
are seldom happy with these learned gentlemen. They have a great deal
of pride, and very little money."
"Father," Jane earnestly replied, "I care not about the profession. I
wish only to marry a man whom I can love."
"But you persist in thinking such a man will never be found in trade.
You will find it, however, a very pleasant thing to sit at ease in
your own parlor while your husband is accumulating a fortune. Now
there is Madame Dargens: she understands diamonds as well as her
husband. She can make good bargains in his absence, and could carry on
all his business perfectly well if she were left a widow. You are
intelligent. You perfectly understand that branch of business since
you studied the treatise on precious stones. You might do whatever you
please. You would have led a very happy life if you could but have
fancied Delorme, Dabrieul, or--"
"Father," earnestly exclaimed Jane, "I have discovered that the only
way to make a fortune in trade is by selling dear that which has been
bought cheap; by overcharging the customer, and beating down the poor
workman. I could never descend to such practices; nor could I respect
a man who made them his occupation from morning till night."
"Do you then suppose that there are no honest tradesmen?"
"I presume that there are," was the reply; "but the number is not
large; and among them I am not likely to find a husband who will
sympathize with me."
"And what will you do if you do not find the idol of your
imagination?"
"I will live single."
"Perhaps you will not find that as pleasant as you imagine. You may
think that there is time enough yet. But weariness will come at last.
The crowd of lovers will soon pass away and you know the fable."
"Well, then, by meriting happiness, I will take revenge upon the
injustice which would deprive me of it."
"Oh! now you are in the clouds again, my child. It is very pleasant to
soar to such a height, but it is not easy to keep the elevation."
The judicious mother of Jane, anxious to see her daughter settled in
life, endeavored to form a match for her with a young physician. Much
maneuvering was necessary to bring about the desired result. The young
practitioner was nothing loth to lend his aid. The pecuniary
arrangements were all made, and the bargain completed, before Jane
knew any thing of the matter. The mother and daughter went out one
morning to make a call upon a friend, at whose house the prospective
husband of Jane, by previous appointment, was accidentally to be. It
was a curious interview. The friends so overacted their part, that
Jane immediately saw through the plot. Her mother was pensive and
anxious. Her friends were voluble, and prodigal of sly intimations.
The young gentleman was very lavish of his powers of pleasing, loaded
Jane with flippant compliments, devoured confectionary with high
relish, and chattered most flippantly in the most approved style of
fashionable inanition. The high-spirited girl had no idea of being
thus disposed of in the matrimonial bazaar. The profession of the
doctor was pleasing to her, as it promised an enlightened mind, and
she was willing to consent to make his acquaintance. Her mother urged
her to decide at once.
"What, mother!" she exclaimed, "would you have me take one for my
husband upon the strength of a single interview?"
"It is not exactly so," she replied. "This young gentleman's intimacy
with our friends enables us to judge of his conduct and way of life.
We know his disposition. These are the main points. You have attained
the proper age to be settled in the world. You have refused many
offers from tradesmen, and it is from that class alone that you are
likely to receive addresses. You seem fully resolved never to marry a
man in business. You may never have another such offer. The present
match is very eligible in every external point of view. Beware how you
reject it too lightly."
Jane, thus urged, consented to see the young physician at her father's
house, that she might become acquainted with him. She, however,
determined that no earthly power should induce her to marry him,
unless she found in him a congenial spirit. Fortunately, she was saved
all further trouble in the matter by a dispute which arose between her
lover and her father respecting the pecuniary arrangements, and which
broke off all further connection between the parties.
Her mother's health now began rapidly to decline. A stroke of palsy
deprived her of her accustomed elasticity of spirits, and, secluding
herself from society, she became silent and sad. In view of
approaching death, she often lamented that she could not see her
daughter well married before she left the world. An offer which Jane
received from a very honest, industrious, and thrifty jeweler, aroused
anew a mother's maternal solicitude.
"Why," she exclaimed, with melancholy earnestness, "will you reject
this young man? He has an amiable disposition, and high reputation for
integrity and sobriety. He is already in easy circumstances, and is in
a fair way of soon acquiring a brilliant fortune. He knows that you
have a superior mind. He professes great esteem for you, and will be
proud of following your advice. You might lead him in any way you
like."
"But, my dear mother, I do not want a husband who is to be led. He
would be too cumbersome a child for me to take care of."
"Do you know that you are a very whimsical girl, my child? And how do
you think you would like a husband who was your master and tyrant?"
"I certainly," Jane replied, "should not like a man who assumed airs
of authority, for that would only provoke me to resist. But I am sure
that I could never love a husband whom it was necessary for me to
govern. I should be ashamed of my own power."
"I understand you, Jane. You would like to have a man _think_ himself
the master, while he obeyed you in every particular."
"No, mother, it is not that either. I hate servitude; but empire would
only embarrass me. I wish to gain the affections of a man who would
make his happiness consist in contributing to mine, as his good sense
and regard for me should dictate."
"But, my daughter, there would be hardly such a thing in the world as
a happy couple, if happiness could not exist without that perfect
congeniality of taste and opinions which you imagine to be so
necessary."
"I do not know, mother, of a single person whose happiness I envy."
"Very well; but among those matches which you do not envy, there may
be some far preferable to remaining always single. I may be called out
of the world sooner than you imagine. Your father is still young. I
can not tell you all the disagreeable things my fondness for you makes
me fear. I should be indeed happy, could I see you united to some
worthy man before I die."
This was the first time that the idea of her mother's death ever
seriously entered the mind of Jane. With an eager gaze, she fixed her
eye upon her pale and wasted cheek and her emaciate frame, and the
dreadful truth, with the suddenness of a revelation, burst upon her.
Her whole frame shook with emotion, and she burst into a flood of
tears. Her mother, much moved, tried to console her.
"Do not be alarmed, my dear child," said she, tenderly. "I am not
dangerously ill. But in forming our plans, we should take into
consideration all chances. A worthy man offers you his hand. You have
now attained your twentieth year. You can not expect as many suitors
as you have had for the last five years. I may be suddenly taken from
you. Do not, then, reject a husband who, it is true, has not all the
refinement you could desire, but who will love you, and with whom you
can be happy."
"Yes, my dear mother," exclaimed Jane, with a deep and impassioned
sigh, "as happy as _you_ have been."
The expression escaped her in the excitement of the moment. Never
before had she ventured in the remotest way to allude to the total
want of congeniality which she could not but perceive existed between
her father and her mother. Indeed, her mother's character for patience
and placid submission was so remarkable, that Jane did not know how
deeply she had suffered, nor what a life of martyrdom she was leading.
The effect of Jane's unpremeditated remark opened her eyes to the sad
reality. Her mother was greatly disconcerted. Her cheek changed color.
Her lip trembled. She made no reply. She never again opened her lips
upon the subject of the marriage of her child.
The father of Jane, with no religious belief to control his passions
or guide his conduct, was gradually falling into those habits of
dissipation to which he was peculiarly exposed by the character of the
times. He neglected his business. He formed disreputable
acquaintances. He became irritable and domineering over his wife, and
was often absent from home, with convivial clubs, until a late hour of
the night. Neither mother nor daughter ever uttered one word to each
other in reference to the failings of the husband and father. Jane,
however, had so powerful an influence over him, that she often, by her
persuasive skill, averted the storm which was about to descend upon
her meek and unresisting parent.
The poor mother, in silence and sorrow, was sinking to the tomb far
more rapidly than Jane imagined. One summer's day, the father, mother,
and daughter took a short excursion into the country. The day was warm
and beautiful. In a little boat they glided over the pleasant waters
of the Seine, feasting their eyes with the beauties of nature and art
which fringed the shores. The pale cheek of the dying wife became
flushed with animation as she once again breathed the invigorating air
of the country, and the daughter beguiled her fears with the delusive
hope that it was the flush of returning health. When they reached
their home, Madame Phlippon, fatigued with the excursion, retired to
her chamber for rest. Jane, accompanied by her maid, went to the
convent to call upon her old friends the nuns. She made a very short
call.
"Why are you in such haste?" inquired Sister Agatha.
"I am anxious to return to my mother."
"But you told me that she was better."
"She is much better than usual. But I have a strange feeling of
solicitude about her. I shall not feel easy until I see her again."
She hurried home, and was met at the door by a little girl, who
informed her that her mother was very dangerously ill. She flew to the
room, and found her almost lifeless. Another stroke of paralysis had
done its work, and she was dying. She raised her languid eyes to her
child, but her palsied tongue could speak no word of tenderness. One
arm only obeyed the impulse of her will. She raised it, and
affectionately patted the cheek of her beloved daughter, and wiped the
tears which were flowing down her cheeks. The priest came to
administer the last consolations of religion. Jane, with her eyes
riveted upon her dying parent, endeavored to hold the light.
Overpowered with anguish, the light suddenly dropped from her hand,
and she fell senseless upon the floor. When she recovered from this
swoon her mother was dead.
Jane was entirely overwhelmed with uncontrollable and delirious
sorrow. For many days it was apprehended that her own life would fall
a sacrifice to the blow which her affections had received. Instead of
being a support to the family in this hour of trial, she added to the
burden and the care. The Abbé Legrand, who stood by her bedside as her
whole frame was shaken by convulsions, very sensibly remarked, "It is
a good thing to possess sensibility. It is very unfortunate to have so
much of it." Gradually Jane regained composure, but life, to her, was
darkened. She now began to realize all those evils which her fond
mother had apprehended. Speaking of her departed parent, she says,
"The world never contained a better or a more amiable woman. There was
nothing brilliant in her character, but she possessed every quality to
endear her to all by whom she was known. Naturally endowed with the
sweetest disposition, virtue seemed never to cost her any effort. Her
pure and tranquil spirit pursued its even course like the docile
stream that bathes with equal gentleness, the foot of the rock which
holds it captive, and the valley which it at once enriches and adorns.
With her death was concluded the tranquillity of my youth, which till
then was passed in the enjoyment of blissful affections and beloved
occupations."
Jane soon found her parental home, indeed, a melancholy abode. She was
truly alone in the world. Her father now began to advance with more
rapid footsteps in the career of dissipation. A victim to that
infidelity which presents no obstacle to crime, he yielded himself a
willing captive to the dominion of passion, and disorder reigned
through the desolated household. Jane had the mortification of seeing
a woman received into the family to take her mother's place, in a
union unsanctified by the laws of God. A deep melancholy settled down
upon the mind of the wounded girl, and she felt that she was desolate
and an alien in her own home. She shut herself up in her chamber with
her thoughts and her books. All the chords of her sensitive nature now
vibrated only responsive to those melancholy tones which are the
dirges of the broken heart. As there never was genius untinged by
melancholy, so may it be doubted whether there ever was greatness of
character which had not been nurtured in the school of great
affliction. Her heart now began to feel irrepressible longings for the
sympathy of some congenial friend, upon whose supporting bosom she
could lean her aching head. In lonely musings she solaced herself, and
nurtured her own thoughts by writing. Her pen became her friend, and
the resource of every weary hour. She freely gave utterance in her
diary to all her feelings and all her emotions. Her manuscripts of
abstracts, and extracts, and original thoughts, became quite
voluminous. In this way she was daily cultivating that power of
expression and that force of eloquence which so often, in subsequent
life, astonished and charmed her friends.
In every development of character in her most eventful future career,
one can distinctly trace the influence of these vicissitudes of early
life, and of these impressions thus powerfully stamped upon her
nature. Philosophy, romance, and religious sentiment, an impassioned
mind and a glowing heart, admiration of heroism, and emulation of
martyrdom in some noble cause, all conspired to give her sovereignty
over the affections of others, and to enable her to sway human wills
almost at pleasure.
M. Boismorel, husband of the aristocratic lady to whom Jane once paid
so disagreeable a visit, called one day at the shop of M. Phlippon,
and the proud father could not refrain from showing him some of the
writings of Jane. The nobleman had sense enough to be very much
pleased with the talent which they displayed, and wrote her a very
flattering letter, offering her the free use of his very valuable
library, and urging her to devote her life to literary pursuits, and
at once to commence authorship. Jane was highly gratified by this
commendation, and most eagerly availed herself of his most valuable
offer. In reply to his suggestion respecting authorship, she inclosed
the following lines:
"Aux hommes ouvrant la carrière
Des grands et des nobles talents,
Ils n'ont mis aucune barrière
A leurs plus sublimes èlans.
"De mon sexe foible et sensible,
Ils ne veulent que des vertus;
Nous pouvons imiter Titus,
Mais dans un sentier moins penible.
"Joussiez du bien d'être admis
A toutes ces sortes de glorie
Pour nous le temple de mémoire
Est dans le coeurs de nos amis."
These lines have been thus vigorously translated in the interesting
sketch given by Mrs. Child of Madame Roland:
"To man's aspiring sex 'tis given
To climb the highest hill of fame;
To tread the shortest road to heaven,
And gain by death a deathless name.
"Of well-fought fields and trophies won
The memory lives while ages pass;
Graven on everlasting stone,
Or written on retentive brass.
"But to poor feeble womankind
The meed of glory is denied;
Within a narrow sphere confined.
The lowly virtues are their pride.
"Yet not deciduous is their fame,
Ending where frail existence ends;
A sacred temple holds their name--
The heart of their surviving friends."
A friendly correspondence ensued between Jane and M. De Boismorel,
which continued through his life. He was a very worthy and intelligent
man, and became so much interested in his young friend, that he wished
to connect her in marriage with his son. This young man was indolent
and irresolute in character, and his father thought that he would be
greatly benefited by a wife of decision and judgment. Jane, however,
was no more disposed to fall in love with rank than with wealth, and
took no fancy whatever to the characterless young nobleman. The
judicious father saw that it would be utterly unavailing to urge the
suit, and the matter was dropped.
Through the friendship of M. De Boismorel, she was often introduced to
the great world of lords and ladies. Even his formal and haughty wife
became much interested in the fascinating young lady, and her
brilliant talents and accomplishments secured her invitations to many
social interviews to which she would not have been entitled by her
birth. This slight acquaintance with the nobility of France did not,
however, elevate them in her esteem. She found the conversation of
the old marquises and antiquated dowagers who frequented the salons of
Madame De Boismorel more insipid and illiterate than that of the
tradespeople who visited her father's shop, and upon whom those nobles
looked down with such contempt. Jane was also disgusted with the many
indications she saw, not only of indolence and voluptuousness, but of
dissipation and utter want of principle. Her good sense enabled her to
move among these people as a studious observer of this aspect of human
nature, neither adopting their costume nor imitating their manners.
She was very unostentatious and simple in her style of dress, and
never, in the slightest degree, affected the mannerism of mindless and
heartless fashion.
Madame De Boismorel, at one time eulogizing her taste in these
respects, remarked,
"You do not love feathers, do you, Miss Phlippon? How very different
you are from the giddy-headed girls around us!"
"I never wear feathers," Jane replied, "because I do not think that
they would correspond with the condition in life of an artist's
daughter who is going about on foot."
"But, were you in a different situation in life, would you then wear
feathers?"
"I do not know what I should do in that case. I attach very slight
importance to such trifles. I merely consider what is suitable for
myself, and should be very sorry to judge of others by the superficial
information afforded by their dress."
M. Phlippon now began to advance more rapidly in the career of
dissipation. Jane did every thing in her power to lure him to love his
home. All her efforts were entirely unavailing. Night after night he
was absent until the latest hours at convivial clubs and card-parties.
He formed acquaintance with those with whom Jane could not only have
no congeniality of taste, but who must have excited in her emotions of
the deepest repugnance. These companions were often at his house; and
the comfortable property which M. Phlippon possessed, under this
course of dissipation was fast melting away. Jane's situation was now
painful in the extreme. Her mother, who had been the guardian angel of
her life, was sleeping in the grave. Her father was advancing with the
most rapid strides in the road to ruin. Jane was in danger of soon
being left an orphan and utterly penniless. Her father was daily
becoming more neglectful and unkind to his daughter, as he became more
dissatisfied with himself and with the world. Under these
circumstances, Jane, by the advice of friends, had resort to a legal
process, by which there was secured to her, from the wreck of her
mother's fortune, an annual income of about one hundred dollars.
In these gloomy hours which clouded the morning of life's tempestuous
day, Jane found an unfailing resource and solace in her love of
literature. With pen in hand, extracting beautiful passages and
expanding suggested thoughts, she forgot her griefs and beguiled many
hours, which would otherwise have been burdened with intolerable
wretchedness. Maria Antoinette, woe-worn and weary, in tones of
despair uttered the exclamation, "Oh! what a resource, amid the
casualties of life, must there be in a highly-cultivated mind." The
plebeian maiden could utter the same exclamation in accents of
joyfulness.