LITERARY WORK.
1788-1791.
As has been stated, Mary Wollstonecraft began her literary career by
writing a small pamphlet on the subject of education. Its title, in full,
is "Thoughts on the Education of Daughters: with Reflections on Female
Conduct in the more Important Duties of Life." It is interesting as her
first work. Otherwise it is of no great value. Though Mr. Johnson saw in
it the marks of genius, there is really little originality in its
contents or striking merit in the method of treating them. The ideas it
sets forth, while eminently commendable, are remarkable only because it
was unusual in the eighteenth century for women, especially the young and
unmarried, to have any ideas to which to give expression.
The pamphlet consists of a number of short treatises, indicating certain
laws and principles which Mary thought needed to be more generally
understood and more firmly established. That a woman should not shirk the
functions, either physical or moral, of maternity; that artificial
manners and exterior accomplishments should not be cultivated in lieu of
practical knowledge and simplicity of conduct; that matrimony is to be
considered seriously and not entered into capriciously; that the
individual owes certain duties to humanity as well as to his or her own
family,--all these are truths which it is well to repeat frequently. But
if their repetition be not accompanied by arguments which throw new light
on ethical science, or else if it be not made with the vigor and power
born of a thorough knowledge of humanity and its wants and shortcomings,
it will not be remembered by posterity. The "Education of Daughters"
certainly bears no relation to such works as the "Imitation" on the one
hand, or the "Data of Ethics" on the other. It is not a book for all
time.
However, much in it is significant to readers interested in the study of
Mary Wollstonecraft's life and character. Every sentence reveals the
earnestness of her nature. Many passages show that as early as 1787 she
had seriously considered the problems which, in 1791, she attempted to
solve. She was even then perplexed by the unfortunate situation of women
of the upper classes who, having received but the pretence of an
education, eventually become dependent on their own exertions. Her sad
experience probably led her to these thoughts. Reflection upon them made
her the champion of her sex. Already in this little pamphlet she declares
her belief that, by a rational training of their intellectual powers,
women can be prepared at one and the same time to meet any emergencies of
fortune and to fulfil the duties of wife and mother. She demonstrates
that good mental discipline, instead of interfering with feminine
occupations, increases a woman's fitness for them. Thus she writes:--
"No employment of the mind is a sufficient excuse for neglecting
domestic duties; and I cannot conceive that they are incompatible.
A woman may fit herself to be the companion and friend of a man of
sense, and yet know how to take care of his family."
The intense love of sincerity in conduct and belief which is a leading
characteristic in the "Rights of Women" is also manifested in these early
essays. Mary exclaims in one place,--
"How many people are like whitened sepulchres, and careful only
about appearances! Yet if we are too anxious to gain the
approbation of the world, we must often forfeit our own."
And again she says, as if in warning:--
"... Let the manners arise from the mind, and let there be no
disguise for the genuine emotions of the heart.
"Things merely ornamental are soon disregarded, and disregard can
scarcely be borne when there is no internal support."
Another marked feature of the pamphlet is the extremely puritanical
tendency of its sentiments. It was written at the period when Mary was
sending sermon-like letters to George Blood, and breathes the same spirit
of stern adherence to religious principles, though not to special dogma.
But perhaps the most noteworthy passage which occurs in the treatise is
one on love, and in which, strangely enough, she establishes a belief
which she was destined some years later to confirm by her actions. When
the circumstances of her union with Godwin are remembered, her words seem
prophetic.
"It is too universal a maxim with novelists," she says, "that love
is felt but once; though it appears to me that the heart which is
capable of receiving an impression at all, and can distinguish,
will turn to a new object when the first is found unworthy. I am
convinced it is practicable, when a respect for goodness has the
first place in the mind, and notions of perfection are not affixed
to constancy."
Though not very wonderful in itself, the "Education of Daughters" is, in
its choice of subject and the standards it upholds, a worthy prelude to
the riper work by which it was before very long followed.
The next work Mary published was a volume called "Original Stories from
Real Life; with Conversations calculated to regulate the Affections and
form the Mind to Truth and Goodness." This was written while her
experience as school-mistress and governess was still fresh in her
memory. As she explains in her Preface, her object was to make up in some
measure for the defective education or moral training which, as a rule,
children in those days received from their parents.
"Good habits," she writes, "are infinitely preferable to the
precepts of reason; but as this task requires more judgment than
generally falls to the lot of parents, substitutes must be sought
for, and medicines given, when regimen would have answered the
purpose much better.
"... To wish that parents would, themselves, mould the ductile
passions is a chimerical wish, as the present generation have their
own passions to combat with, and fastidious pleasures to pursue,
neglecting those nature points out. We must then pour premature
knowledge into the succeeding one; and, teaching virtue, explain
the nature of vice."
In addressing a youthful audience, Mary was as deeply inspired by her
love of goodness _per se_, and her detestation of conventional
conceptions of virtue, as she was afterwards in appealing to older
readers. She represents, in her book, two little girls, aged respectively
twelve and fourteen, who have been sadly neglected during their early
years, but who, fortunately, have at this period fallen under the care of
a Mrs. Mason, who at once undertakes to form their character and train
their intellect. This good lady, in whose name Mary sermonizes, seizes
upon every event of the day to teach her charges a moral lesson. The
defects she attacks are those most common to childhood. Cruelty to
animals, peevishness, lying, greediness, indolence, procrastination, are
in turn censured, and their opposite virtues praised. Some of the
definitions of the qualities commended are excellent. For example, Mrs.
Mason says to the two children:--
"Do you know the meaning of the word goodness? I see you are
unwilling to answer. I will tell you. It is, first, to avoid
hurting anything; and then to contrive to give as much pleasure as
you can."
Again, she warns them thus:--
"Remember that idleness must always be intolerable, as it is the
most irksome consciousness of existence."
This latter definition is a little above the comprehension of children of
twelve and fourteen. But then Mary is careful to explain in the Preface
that she writes to assist teachers. She wishes to give them hints which
they must apply to the children under their care as they think best. The
religious tone of the "Stories" is even more pronounced than that of the
"Education of Daughters." The following is but one of many proofs of
Mary's honest endeavors to make children understand the importance of
religious devotion. In one of her conversational sermons Mrs. Mason says:
"Recollect that from religion your chief comfort must spring, and
never neglect the duty of prayer. Learn from experience the comfort
that arises from making known your wants and sorrows to the wisest
and best of Beings, in whose hands are the issues, not only of this
life, but of that which is to come."
To strengthen the effect of Mrs. Mason's words, an example or story is in
every chapter added to her remarks. They are all appropriate, and many of
the tales are beautiful. As the book is so little known, one of these may
with advantage be given here. The story selected is that of Crazy Robin.
Mrs. Mason tells it to Mary and Caroline, the two little girls, to
explain to them how much wretchedness can be produced by unkindness to
men and beasts. It is interesting because it shows the quality of the
mental food which Mary thought best fitted for the capacity of children.
She was evidently an advocate for strong nourishment. Besides, the story,
despite some unpleasant defects of style, is very powerful. It is full of
dramatic force, and is related with great simplicity and pathos:--
"In yonder cave lived a poor man, who generally went by the name of
Crazy Robin. In his youth he was very industrious, and married my
father's dairy-maid, a girl deserving of such a good husband. For
some time they continued to live very comfortably; their daily
labor procured their daily bread; but Robin, finding it was likely
he should have a large family, borrowed a trifle to add to the
small pittance they had saved in service, and took a little farm
in a neighboring county. I was then a child.
"Ten or twelve years after, I heard that a crazy man, who appeared
very harmless, had by the side of the brook piled a great number of
stones; he would wade into the river for them, followed by a cur
dog, whom he would frequently call his Jacky, and even his Nancy;
and then mumble to himself, 'Thou wilt not leave me. We will dwell
with the owl in the ivy.' A number of owls had taken shelter in it.
The stones he waded for he carried to the mouth of the hole, and
only left just room enough to go in. Some of the neighbors at last
recollected him; and I sent to inquire what misfortune had reduced
him to such a deplorable state.
"The information I received from different persons I will
communicate to you in as few words as I can.
"Several of his children died in their infancy; and, two years
before he came to his native place, he had been overwhelmed by a
torrent of misery. Through unavoidable misfortunes he was long in
arrears to his landlord; who, seeing that he was an honest man, and
endeavored to bring up his family, did not distress him; but when
his wife was lying-in of her last child, the landlord died, and his
heir sent and seized the stock for the rent; and the person he had
borrowed some money of, exasperated to see all gone, arrested him,
and he was hurried to jail. The poor woman, endeavoring to assist
her family before she had gained sufficient strength, found herself
very ill; and the illness, through neglect and the want of proper
nourishment, turned to a putrid fever, which two of the children
caught from her, and died with her. The two who were left, Jacky
and Nancy, went to their father, and took with them a cur dog that
had long shared their frugal meals.
"The children begged in the day, and at night slept with their
wretched father. Poverty and dirt soon robbed their cheeks of the
roses which the country air made bloom with a peculiar freshness.
Their blood had been tainted by the putrid complaint that destroyed
their mother; in short, they caught the small-pox, and died. The
poor father, who was now bereft of all his children, hung over
their bed in speechless anguish; not a groan or a tear escaped from
him while he stood, two or three hours, in the same attitude,
looking at the dead bodies of his little darlings. The dog licked
his hands, and strove to attract his attention; but for a while he
seemed not to observe his caresses; when he did, he said
mournfully, 'Thou wilt not leave me;' and then he began to laugh.
The bodies were removed; and he remained in an unsettled state,
often frantic; at length the frenzy subsided, and he grew
melancholy and harmless. He was not then so closely watched; and
one day he contrived to make his escape, the dog followed him, and
came directly to his native village.
"After I received this account, I determined he should live in the
place he had chosen, undisturbed. I sent some conveniences, all of
which he rejected except a mat, on which he sometimes slept; the
dog always did. I tried to induce him to eat, but he constantly
gave the dog whatever I sent him, and lived on haws and
blackberries and every kind of trash. I used to call frequently on
him; and he sometimes followed me to the house I now live in, and
in winter he would come of his own accord, and take a crust of
bread. He gathered water-cresses out of the pool, and would bring
them to me, with nosegays of wild thyme, which he plucked from the
sides of the mountain. I mentioned before, that the dog was a cur;
it had the tricks of curs, and would run after horses' heels and
bark. One day, when his master was gathering water-cresses, the dog
ran after a young gentleman's horse, and made it start, and almost
throw the rider. Though he knew it was the poor madman's dog, he
levelled his gun at it, shot it, and instantly rode off. Robin came
to him; he looked at his wounds, and, not sensible that he was
dead, called him to follow him; but when he found that he could
not, he took him to the pool, and washed off the blood before it
began to clot, and then brought him home and laid him on the mat.
"I observed that I had not seen him pacing up the hills, and sent
to inquire about him. He was found sitting by the dog, and no
entreaties could prevail on him to quit it, or receive any
refreshment. I went to him myself, hoping, as I had always been a
favorite, that I should be able to persuade him. When I came to
him, I found the hand of death was upon him. He was still
melancholy; but there was not such a mixture of wildness in it. I
pressed him to take some food; but, instead of answering me, or
turning away, he burst into tears, a thing I had never seen him do
before, and, in inarticulate accents, he said, 'Will any one be
kind to me? You will kill me! I saw not my wife die--no!--they
dragged me from her, but I saw Jacky and Nancy die; and who pitied
me, but my dog?' He turned his eyes to the body. I wept with him.
He would then have taken some nourishment, but nature was
exhausted, and he expired."
The book is, on the whole, well written, and was popular enough in its
day. The first edition, published in 1788, was followed by a second in
1791, and a third in 1796. To make it still more attractive, Mr. Johnson
engaged Blake, whom he was then befriending, to illustrate it. But
children of the present day object to the tales with a moral which were
the delight of the nursery in Mary's time. They have lost all faith in
the bad boy who invariably meets with the evil fate which is his due; and
they are sceptical as to the good little girl who always receives the
cakes and ale--metaphorically speaking--her virtues deserve. And so it
has come to pass that the "Original Stories" are remembered chiefly on
account of their illustrations.
The drawings contributed by Blake were more in number than were required,
and only six were printed. A copy of one of those rejected is given in
Gilchrist's Life of the artist. None of them rank with his best work.
"The designs," his biographer says, "can hardly be pronounced a
successful competition with Stothard, though traces of a higher feeling
are visible in the graceful female forms,--benevolent heroine, or
despairing, famishing peasant group. The artist evidently moves in
constraint, and the accessories of these domestic scenes are simply
generalized as if by a child: the result of an inobservant eye for such
things." But of those published there are two at least which, as Mr.
Kegan Paul has already pointed out, make a deep impression on all who see
them. One is the frontispiece, which illustrates this sentence of the
text: "Look what a fine morning it is. Insects, birds, and animals are
all enjoying existence." The posing of the three female figures standing
in reverential attitudes, and the creeping vine by the doorway, are
conceived and executed in Blake's true decorative spirit. The other
represents Crazy Robin by the bedside of his two dead children, the
faithful dog by his side. The grief, horror, and despair expressed in the
man's face cannot be surpassed, while the pathos and strength of the
scene are heightened by the simplicity of the drawing.
Of the several translations Mary made at this period, but the briefest
mention is necessary. It often happens that the book translated is in a
great degree indicative of the mental calibre of its translator. Thus it
is characteristic of Carlyle that he translated Goethe, of Swinburne that
he selected the verses of Villon or Theophile Gautier for the same
purpose. But Mary's case was entirely different. The choice of foreign
works rendered into English was not hers, but Mr. Johnson's. By adhering
to it she was simply fulfilling the contract she had entered into with
him. There were times when she had but a poor opinion of the books he put
into her hands. Thus of one of the principal of these, Necker on the
"Importance of Religion," she says in her "French Revolution:"--
"Not content with the fame he [Necker] acquired by writing on a
subject which his turn of mind and profession enabled him to
comprehend, he wished to obtain a higher degree of celebrity by
forming into a large book various metaphysical shreds of arguments,
which he had collected from the conversation of men fond of
ingenious subtilties; and the style, excepting some declamatory
passages, was as inflated and confused as the thoughts were far
fetched and unconnected."
But though she was so far from approving of the original, her
translation, published in London in 1788, was declared by the "European
Magazine" to be just and spirited, though apparently too hastily
executed; and it was sufficiently appreciated by the English-speaking
public to be republished in Philadelphia in 1791. There was at least one
book, the translation of which must have been a pleasure to her. This was
the Rev. C. G. Salzmann's "Elements of Morality, for the Use of
Children." Its object, like that of the "Original Stories," was to teach
the young, by practical illustration, why virtue is good, why vice is
evil. It was written much in the same style, and was for many years
highly popular. Johnson brought out the first edition in 1790 and a
second in 1793. It was published in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1811, and in
Edinburgh in 1821, and a still newer edition was prepared for the
present generation by Miss Yonge. The "Analytical Review" thought it upon
its first appearance worthy of two notices.
Mary never pretended to produce perfectly literal translations. Her
version of Lavater's "Physiognomy," now unknown, was but an abridgment.
She purposely "naturalized" the "Elements of Morality," she explains, in
order not to "puzzle children by pointing out modifications of manners,
when the grand principles of morality were to be fixed on a broad basis."
She made free with the originals that they might better suit English
readers, and this she frankly confesses in her Prefaces. Her translations
are, in consequence, proofs of her industry and varied talents and not
demonstrations of her own mental character.
The novel "Mary," like Godwin's earlier stories, has disappeared. There
are a few men and women of the present generation who remember having
seen it, but it is now not to be found either in public libraries or in
bookstores. It was the record of a happy friendship, and to write it had
been a labor of love. As Mary always wrote most eloquently on subjects
which were of heartfelt interest, its disappearance is to be regretted.
However, after she had been in London about two years, constant writing
and translating having by that time made her readier with her pen, she
undertook another task, in which her feelings were as strongly
interested. This was her answer to Burke's "Reflections on the French
Revolution." Love of humanity was an emotion which moved her quite as
deeply as affection for individual friends. Burke, by his disregard for
the sufferings of that portion of the human race which especially
appealed to her, excited her wrath. Carried away by the intensity of her
indignation, she at once set about proving to him and the world that the
reasoning which led to such insensibility was, plausible as it might
seem, wholly unsound. She never paused for reflection, but her chief
arguments, the result of previous thought, being already prepared, she
wrote before her excitement had time to cool. As she explains in the
Advertisement to her "Letter" to Burke, the "Reflections" had first
engaged her attention as the transient topic of the day. Commenting upon
it as she read, her remarks increased to such an extent that she decided
to publish them as a short "Vindication of the Rights of Man."
A sermon preached by Dr. Richard Price was the immediate reason which
moved Burke to write the "Reflections." The Revolutionists were in the
habit of meeting every 4th of November, the anniversary of the arrival of
the Prince of Orange in England, to commemorate the Revolution of 1688.
Dr. Price was, in 1789, the orator of the day. He, on this occasion,
expressed his warm approbation of the actions of the French Republicans,
in which sentiment he was warmly seconded by all the other members of the
society. Burke seized upon these demonstrations as a pretext for
expounding his own views upon the proceedings in France. The sermon and
orations were really not of enough importance to evoke the long essay
with which he favored them. But though he began by denouncing the English
Revolutionists in particular, the subject so inflamed him that before he
had finished, he had written without restraint his opinion of the social
struggle of the French people, and given his definition of the word
Liberty, then in everybody's mouth. As he wrote, news came pouring into
England of later political developments in France which increased instead
of lessening his hatred and distrust of the Revolution. It was a year
before he had finished his work, and it had then grown into a lengthy and
elaborate treatise.
The "Reflections" gives a careful exposition of the errors of the French
Republican party, and the shortcomings of the National Assembly; and, to
add to this the force of antithesis, it extols the merits and virtues of
the English Constitution. Furthermore, it points out the evil
consequences which must follow the realization of the French attempts at
reform. But the real question at issue is the nature of the rights of
men. It was to gain for their countrymen the justice which they thought
their due, that the revolutionary leaders curtailed the power of the
king, lowered the nobility, and disgraced the clergy. If it could be
proved that their conception of human justice was wholly wrong, the very
foundation of their political structure would be destroyed. Burke's
arguments, therefore, are all intended to achieve this end.
In her detestation of his insensibility to the natural equality of
mankind, Mary was too impatient to consider the minor points of his
reasoning. She announces in her Advertisement that she intends to confine
her strictures, in a great measure, to the grand principles at which he
levels his ingenious arguments. Her object, therefore, as well as
Burke's, is to demonstrate what are the rights of men, but she reasons
from a very different stand-point. Burke defends the claims of those who
inherit rights from long generations of ancestors; Mary cries aloud in
defence of men whose one inheritance is the deprivation of all rights.
Burke is moved by the misery of a Marie Antoinette, shorn of her
greatness; Mary, by the wretchedness of the poor peasant woman who has
never possessed even its shadow. The former knows no birthright for
individuals save that which results from the prescription of centuries;
the latter contends that every man has a right, as a human being, to
"such a degree of liberty, civil and religious, as is compatible with the
liberty of the other individuals with whom he is united in social
compact." Burke asserts that the present rights of man cannot be decided
by reason alone, since they are founded on laws and customs long
established. But Mary asks, How far back are we to go to discover their
first foundation? Is it in England to the reign of Richard II., whose
incapacity rendered him a mere cipher in the hands of the Barons; or to
that of Edward III., whose need for money forced him to concede certain
privileges to the commons? Is social slavery to be encouraged because it
was established in semi-barbarous days? Does Burke, she continues,--
"... recommend night as the fittest time to analyze a ray of light?
"Are we to seek for the rights of men in the ages when a few marks
were the only penalty imposed for the life of a man, and death for
death when the property of the rich was touched?--when--I blush to
discover the depravity of our nature--a deer was killed! Are these
the laws that it is natural to love, and sacrilegious to invade?
Were the rights of men understood when the law authorized or
tolerated murder?--or is power and right the same?"
Burke's contempt for the poor, which Mary thought the most conspicuous
feature of his treatise, was the chief cause of her indignation. She
could not endure silently his admonitions to the laboring class to
respect the property which they could not possess, and his exhortations
to them to find their consolation for ill-rewarded labor in the "final
proportions of eternal justice." "It is, sir, possible," she tells him
with some dignity, "to render the poor happier in this world, without
depriving them of the consolation which you gratuitously grant them in
the next." To her mind, the oppression which the lower classes had
endured for ages, until they had become in the end beings scarcely above
the brutes, made the losses of the French nobility and clergy seem by
comparison very insignificant evils. The horrors of the 6th of October,
the discomforts and degradation of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, and
the destitution to which many French refugees had been reduced, blinded
Burke to the long-suffering of the multitude which now rendered the
distress of the few imperative. But Mary's feelings were all stirred in
the opposite cause.
"What," she asks in righteous indignation,--"what were the outrages
of the day to these continual miseries? Let those sorrows hide
their diminished heads before the tremendous mountain of woe that
thus defaces our globe! Man preys on man, and you mourn for the
idle tapestry that decorated a Gothic pile, and the dronish bell
that summoned the fat priest to prayer. You mourn for the empty
pageant of a name, when slavery flaps her wing, and the sick heart
retires to die in lonely wilds, far from the abodes of man. Did the
pangs you felt for insulted nobility, the anguish which rent your
heart when the gorgeous robes were torn off the idol human weakness
had set up, deserve to be compared with the long-drawn sigh of
melancholy reflection, when misery and vice thus seem to haunt our
steps, and swim on the top of every cheering prospect? Why is our
fancy to be appalled by terrific perspectives of a hell beyond the
grave? Hell stalks abroad: the lash resounds on a slave's naked
sides; and the sick wretch, who can no longer earn the sour bread
of unremitting labor, steals to a ditch to bid the world a long
good-night, or, neglected in some ostentatious hospital, breathes
its last amidst the laugh of mercenary attendants."
Occasionally Mary interrupts the main drift of her "Letter" to refute
some of the incidental statements in the "Reflections." But in doing this
she is more eager to show the evils of English political and social laws,
which Burke praises so unreservedly, than to prove that many existed in
the old French government, a fact which he obstinately refuses to
recognize. This may have been because she then knew little more than
Burke of the real state of affairs in France, and would not take the time
to collect her proofs. This is very likely, for the chief fault of her
"Letter" is undue haste in its composition. It was written on the spur of
the moment, and is without the method indispensable to such a work. There
is no order in the arguments advanced, and too often reasoning gives
place to exhortation and meditation. Another serious error is the
personal abuse with which her "Letter" abounds. She treats Burke in the
very same manner with which she reproves him for treating Dr. Price.
Instead of confining herself to denunciation of his views, she attacks
his character, she accuses him of vanity and susceptibility to the charms
of rank, of insincerity and affectation. She calls him a slave of
impulse, and tells him he is too full of himself, and even compares his
love for the English Constitution to the brutal affection of weakness
built on blind, indolent tenderness, rather than on rational grounds.
Sometimes she grows eloquent in her sarcasm.
"... On what principle you, sir," she observes, "can justify the
Reformation, which tore up by the roots an old establishment, I
cannot guess,--but I beg your pardon, perhaps you do not wish to
justify it, and have some mental reservation to excuse you to
yourself, for not openly avowing your reverence. Or, to go further
back, had you been a Jew, you must have joined in the cry, 'Crucify
him! Crucify him!' The promulgator of a new doctrine, and the
violator of old laws and customs, that did not, like ours, melt
into darkness and ignorance, but rested on Divine authority, must
have been a dangerous innovator in your eyes, particularly if you
had not been informed that the Carpenter's Son was of the stock and
lineage of David."
But vituperation is not argument, and abuse proves nothing. This is a
fault, however, into which youth readily falls. Mary was young when she
wrote the "Vindication of the Rights of Man," and feeling was still too
strong to be forgotten in calm discussion. It was a mistake, too, to
dwell, as she did, on the inconsistency between Burke's earlier and
present policy. This was a powerful weapon against him at the time, but
posterity has recognized the consistency which, in reality, underlay his
seemingly diverse political creeds. Besides, the demonstration that
sentiments in the "Reflections" were at variance with others expressed
some years previously, did not prove them to be unsound.
Because of these faults of youth and haste, Mary's "Letter" is not very
powerful when considered as a reply to Burke; but its intrinsic merits
are many. It is a simple, uncompromising expression of honest opinions.
It is noble in its fearlessness, and it manifests a philosophical insight
into the meaning and basis of morality wonderful in a woman of Mary's
age. It really deserves the praise bestowed upon it in the "Analytical
Review," where the critic says that, "notwithstanding it may be the
'effusion of the moment,' [it] yet evidently abounds with just sentiments
and lively and animated remarks, expressed in elegant and nervous
language, and which may be read with pleasure and improvement when the
controversy which gave rise to them is over."