SUCH was her state of mind when the dogs of law were let loose on her.
Maria took the task of conducting Darnford's defence upon herself. She
instructed his counsel to plead guilty to the charge of adultery; but to
deny that of seduction.
The counsel for the plaintiff opened the cause, by observing, "that his
client had ever been an indulgent husband, and had borne with several
defects of temper, while he had nothing criminal to lay to the charge of
his wife. But that she left his house without assigning any cause. He
could not assert that she was then acquainted with the defendant; yet,
when he was once endeavouring to bring her back to her home, this man
put the peace-officers to flight, and took her he knew not whither. After
the birth of her child, her conduct was so strange, and a melancholy
malady having afflicted one of the family, which delicacy forbade the
dwelling on, it was necessary to confine her. By some means the defendant
enabled her to make her escape, and they had lived together, in despite
of all sense of order and decorum. The adultery was allowed, it was not
necessary to bring any witnesses to prove it; but the seduction, though
highly probable from the circumstances which he had the honour to state,
could not be so clearly proved.--It was of the most atrocious kind, as
decency was set at defiance, and respect for reputation, which shows
internal compunction, utterly disregarded."
A strong sense of injustice had silenced every emotion, which a mixture
of true and false delicacy might otherwise have excited in Maria's bosom.
She only felt in earnest to insist on the privilege of her nature. The
sarcasms of society, and the condemnation of a mistaken world, were
nothing to her, compared with acting contrary to those feelings which
were the foundation of her principles. [She therefore eagerly put herself
forward, instead of desiring to be absent, on this memorable occasion.]
Convinced that the subterfuges of the law were disgraceful, she wrote a
paper, which she expressly desired might be read in court:
"Married when scarcely able to distinguish the nature of the engagement,
I yet submitted to the rigid laws which enslave women, and obeyed the man
whom I could no longer love. Whether the duties of the state are
reciprocal, I mean not to discuss; but I can prove repeated infidelities
which I overlooked or pardoned. Witnesses are not wanting to establish
these facts. I at present maintain the child of a maid servant, sworn to
him, and born after our marriage. I am ready to allow, that education and
circumstances lead men to think and act with less delicacy, than the
preservation of order in society demands from women; but surely I may
without assumption declare, that, though I could excuse the birth, I
could not the desertion of this unfortunate babe:--and, while I despised
the man, it was not easy to venerate the husband. With proper
restrictions however, I revere the institution which fraternizes the
world. I exclaim against the laws which throw the whole weight of the
yoke on the weaker shoulders, and force women, when they claim
protectorship as mothers, to sign a contract, which renders them
dependent on the caprice of the tyrant, whom choice or necessity has
appointed to reign over them. Various are the cases, in which a woman
ought to separate herself from her husband; and mine, I may be allowed
emphatically to insist, comes under the description of the most
aggravated.
"I will not enlarge on those provocations which only the individual can
estimate; but will bring forward such charges only, the truth of which is
an insult upon humanity. In order to promote certain destructive
speculations, Mr. Venables prevailed on me to borrow certain sums of a
wealthy relation; and, when I refused further compliance, he thought of
bartering my person; and not only allowed opportunities to, but urged, a
friend from whom he borrowed money, to seduce me. On the discovery of
this act of atrocity, I determined to leave him, and in the most decided
manner, for ever. I consider all obligation as made void by his conduct;
and hold, that schisms which proceed from want of principles, can never
be healed.
"He received a fortune with me to the amount of five thousand pounds. On
the death of my uncle, convinced that I could provide for my child, I
destroyed the settlement of that fortune. I required none of my property
to be returned to me, nor shall enumerate the sums extorted from me
during six years that we lived together.
"After leaving, what the law considers as my home, I was hunted like a
criminal from place to place, though I contracted no debts, and demanded
no maintenance--yet, as the laws sanction such proceeding, and make women
the property of their husbands, I forbear to animadvert. After the birth
of my daughter, and the death of my uncle, who left a very considerable
property to myself and child, I was exposed to new persecution; and,
because I had, before arriving at what is termed years of discretion,
pledged my faith, I was treated by the world, as bound for ever to a man
whose vices were notorious. Yet what are the vices generally known, to
the various miseries that a woman may be subject to, which, though
deeply felt, eating into the soul, elude description, and may be glossed
over! A false morality is even established, which makes all the virtue of
women consist in chastity, submission, and the forgiveness of injuries.
"I pardon my oppressor--bitterly as I lament the loss of my child, torn
from me in the most violent manner. But nature revolts, and my soul
sickens at the bare supposition, that it could ever be a duty to pretend
affection, when a separation is necessary to prevent my feeling hourly
aversion.
"To force me to give my fortune, I was imprisoned--yes; in a private
mad-house.--There, in the heart of misery, I met the man charged with
seducing me. We became attached--I deemed, and ever shall deem, myself
free. The death of my babe dissolved the only tie which subsisted
between me and my, what is termed, lawful husband.
"To this person, thus encountered, I voluntarily gave myself, never
considering myself as any more bound to transgress the laws of moral
purity, because the will of my husband might be pleaded in my excuse,
than to transgress those laws to which [the policy of artificial society
has] annexed [positive] punishments.----While no command of a husband can
prevent a woman from suffering for certain crimes, she must be allowed to
consult her conscience, and regulate her conduct, in some degree, by her
own sense of right. The respect I owe to myself, demanded my strict
adherence to my determination of never viewing Mr. Venables in the light
of a husband, nor could it forbid me from encouraging another. If I am
unfortunately united to an unprincipled man, am I for ever to be shut out
from fulfilling the duties of a wife and mother?--I wish my country to
approve of my conduct; but, if laws exist, made by the strong to oppress
the weak, I appeal to my own sense of justice, and declare that I will
not live with the individual, who has violated every moral obligation
which binds man to man.
"I protest equally against any charge being brought to criminate the man,
whom I consider as my husband. I was six-and-twenty when I left Mr.
Venables' roof; if ever I am to be supposed to arrive at an age to direct
my own actions, I must by that time have arrived at it.--I acted with
deliberation.--Mr. Darnford found me a forlorn and oppressed woman, and
promised the protection women in the present state of society want.--But
the man who now claims me--was he deprived of my society by this conduct?
The question is an insult to common sense, considering where Mr. Darnford
met me.--Mr. Venables' door was indeed open to me--nay, threats and
intreaties were used to induce me to return; but why? Was affection or
honour the motive?--I cannot, it is true, dive into the recesses of the
human heart--yet I presume to assert, [borne out as I am by a variety of
circumstances,] that he was merely influenced by the most rapacious
avarice.
"I claim then a divorce, and the liberty of enjoying, free from
molestation, the fortune left to me by a relation, who was well aware of
the character of the man with whom I had to contend.--I appeal to the
justice and humanity of the jury--a body of men, whose private judgment
must be allowed to modify laws, that must be unjust, because definite
rules can never apply to indefinite circumstances--and I deprecate
punishment upon the man of my choice, freeing him, as I solemnly do, from
the charge of seduction.]
"I did not put myself into a situation to justify a charge of adultery,
till I had, from conviction, shaken off the fetters which bound me to Mr.
Venables.--While I lived with him, I defy the voice of calumny to sully
what is termed the fair fame of woman.--Neglected by my husband, I never
encouraged a lover; and preserved with scrupulous care, what is termed my
honour, at the expence of my peace, till he, who should have been its
guardian, laid traps to ensnare me. From that moment I believed myself,
in the sight of heaven, free--and no power on earth shall force me to
renounce my resolution."
The judge, in summing up the evidence, alluded to "the fallacy of letting
women plead their feelings, as an excuse for the violation of the
marriage-vow. For his part, he had always determined to oppose all
innovation, and the new-fangled notions which incroached on the good old
rules of conduct. We did not want French principles in public or private
life--and, if women were allowed to plead their feelings, as an excuse or
palliation of infidelity, it was opening a flood-gate for immorality.
What virtuous woman thought of her feelings?--It was her duty to love and
obey the man chosen by her parents and relations, who were qualified by
their experience to judge better for her, than she could for herself. As
to the charges brought against the husband, they were vague, supported by
no witnesses, excepting that of imprisonment in a private mad-house. The
proofs of an insanity in the family, might render that however a prudent
measure; and indeed the conduct of the lady did not appear that of a
person of sane mind. Still such a mode of proceeding could not be
justified, and might perhaps entitle the lady [in another court] to a
sentence of separation from bed and board, during the joint lives of the
parties; but he hoped that no Englishman would legalize adultery, by
enabling the adulteress to enrich her seducer. Too many restrictions
could not be thrown in the way of divorces, if we wished to maintain the
sanctity of marriage; and, though they might bear a little hard on a few,
very few individuals, it was evidently for the good of the whole."
CONCLUSION,
BY THE EDITOR.
VERY few hints exist respecting the plan of the remainder of the work. I
find only two detached sentences, and some scattered heads for the
continuation of the story. I transcribe the whole.
I.
"Darnford's letters were affectionate; but circumstances occasioned
delays, and the miscarriage of some letters rendered the reception of
wished-for answers doubtful: his return was necessary to calm Maria's
mind."
II.
"As Darnford had informed her that his business was settled, his delaying
to return seemed extraordinary; but love to excess, excludes fear or
suspicion."
* * * * *
The scattered heads for the continuation of the story, are as
follow[159-A].
I.
"Trial for adultery--Maria defends herself--A separation from bed and
board is the consequence--Her fortune is thrown into chancery--Darnford
obtains a part of his property--Maria goes into the country."
II.
"A prosecution for adultery commenced--Trial--Darnford sets out for
France--Letters--Once more pregnant--He returns--Mysterious
behaviour--Visit--Expectation--Discovery--Interview--Consequence."
III.
"Sued by her husband--Damages awarded to him--Separation from bed and
board--Darnford goes abroad--Maria into the country--Provides for her
father--Is shunned--Returns to London--Expects to see her lover--The
rack of expectation--Finds herself again with child--Delighted--A
discovery--A visit--A miscarriage--Conclusion."
IV.
"Divorced by her husband--Her lover
unfaithful--Pregnancy--Miscarriage--Suicide."
* * * * *
[The following passage appears in some respects to deviate from the
preceding hints. It is superscribed]
"THE END.
"She swallowed the laudanum; her soul was calm--the tempest had
subsided--and nothing remained but an eager longing to forget
herself--to fly from the anguish she endured to escape from thought--from
this hell of disappointment.
"Still her eyes closed not--one remembrance with frightful velocity
followed another--All the incidents of her life were in arms, embodied to
assail her, and prevent her sinking into the sleep of death.--Her
murdered child again appeared to her, mourning for the babe of which she
was the tomb.--'And could it have a nobler?--Surely it is better to die
with me, than to enter on life without a mother's care!--I cannot
live!--but could I have deserted my child the moment it was born?--thrown
it on the troubled wave of life, without a hand to support it?'--She
looked up: 'What have I not suffered!--may I find a father where I am
going!'--Her head turned; a stupor ensued; a faintness--'Have a little
patience,' said Maria, holding her swimming head (she thought of her
mother), 'this cannot last long; and what is a little bodily pain to the
pangs I have endured?'
"A new vision swam before her. Jemima seemed to enter--leading a little
creature, that, with tottering footsteps, approached the bed. The voice
of Jemima sounding as at a distance, called her--she tried to listen, to
speak, to look!
"'Behold your child!' exclaimed Jemima. Maria started off the bed, and
fainted.--Violent vomiting followed.
"When she was restored to life, Jemima addressed her with great
solemnity: '------ led me to suspect, that your husband and brother had
deceived you, and secreted the child. I would not torment you with
doubtful hopes, and I left you (at a fatal moment) to search for the
child!--I snatched her from misery--and (now she is alive again) would
you leave her alone in the world, to endure what I have endured?'
"Maria gazed wildly at her, her whole frame was convulsed with emotion;
when the child, whom Jemima had been tutoring all the journey, uttered
the word 'Mamma!' She caught her to her bosom, and burst into a passion
of tears--then, resting the child gently on the bed, as if afraid of
killing it,--she put her hand to her eyes, to conceal as it were the
agonizing struggle of her soul. She remained silent for five minutes,
crossing her arms over her bosom, and reclining her head,--then
exclaimed: 'The conflict is over!--I will live for my child!'"
* * * * *
A few readers perhaps, in looking over these hints, will wonder how it
could have been practicable, without tediousness, or remitting in any
degree the interest of the story, to have filled, from these slight
sketches, a number of pages, more considerable than those which have been
already presented. But, in reality, these hints, simple as they are, are
pregnant with passion and distress. It is the refuge of barren authors
only, to crowd their fictions with so great a number of events, as to
suffer no one of them to sink into the reader's mind. It is the province
of true genius to develop events, to discover their capabilities, to
ascertain the different passions and sentiments with which they are
fraught, and to diversify them with incidents, that give reality to the
picture, and take a hold upon the mind of a reader of taste, from which
they can never be loosened. It was particularly the design of the author,
in the present instance, to make her story subordinate to a great moral
purpose, that "of exhibiting the misery and oppression, peculiar to
women, that arise out of the partial laws and customs of society.--This
view restrained her fancy[166-A]." It was necessary for her, to place in
a striking point of view, evils that are too frequently overlooked, and
to drag into light those details of oppression, of which the grosser and
more insensible part of mankind make little account.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES:
[159-A] To understand these minutes, it is necessary the reader should
consider each of them as setting out from the same point in the story,
_viz._ the point to which it is brought down in the preceding chapter.
[166-A] See author's preface.
LESSONS.
ADVERTISEMENT,
BY THE EDITOR.
THE following pages will, I believe, be judged by every reader of taste
to have been worth preserving, among the other testimonies the author
left behind her, of her genius and the soundness of her understanding.
To such readers I leave the task of comparing these lessons, with other
works of the same nature previously published. It is obvious that the
author has struck out a path of her own, and by no means intrenched upon
the plans of her predecessors.
It may however excite surprise in some persons to find these papers
annexed to the conclusion of a novel. All I have to offer on this
subject, consists in the following considerations:
First, something is to be allowed for the difficulty of arranging the
miscellaneous papers upon very different subjects, which will frequently
constitute an author's posthumous works.
* * * * *
Secondly, the small portion they occupy in the present volume, will
perhaps be accepted as an apology, by such good-natured readers (if any
such there are), to whom the perusal of them shall be a matter of perfect
indifference.
* * * * *
Thirdly, the circumstance which determined me in annexing them to the
present work, was the slight association (in default of a strong one)
between the affectionate and pathetic manner in which Maria Venables
addresses her infant, in the Wrongs of Woman; and the agonising and
painful sentiment with which the author originally bequeathed these
papers, as a legacy for the benefit of her child.
LESSONS.
_The first book of a series which I intended to have written for my
unfortunate girl[175-A]._
LESSON I.
CAT. Dog. Cow. Horse. Sheep. Pig. Bird. Fly.
Man. Boy. Girl. Child.
Head. Hair. Face. Nose. Mouth. Chin. Neck. Arms. Hand. Leg. Foot. Back.
Breast.
House. Wall. Field. Street. Stone. Grass.
Bed. Chair. Door. Pot. Spoon. Knife. Fork. Plate. Cup. Box. Boy. Bell.
Tree. Leaf. Stick. Whip. Cart. Coach.
Frock. Hat. Coat. Shoes. Shift. Cap.
Bread. Milk. Tea. Meat. Drink. Cake.
LESSON II.
Come. Walk. Run. Go. Jump. Dance. Ride. Sit. Stand. Play. Hold. Shake.
Speak. Sing. Cry. Laugh. Call. Fall.
Day. Night. Sun. Moon. Light. Dark. Sleep. Wake.
Wash. Dress. Kiss. Comb.
Fire. Hot. Burn. Wind. Rain. Cold.
Hurt. Tear. Break. Spill.
Book. See. Look.
Sweet. Good. Clean.
Gone. Lost. Hide. Keep. Give. Take.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
White. Black. Red. Blue. Green. Brown.
LESSON III.
STROKE the cat. Play with the Dog. Eat the bread. Drink the milk. Hold
the cup. Lay down the knife.
Look at the fly. See the horse. Shut the door. Bring the chair. Ring the
bell. Get your book.
Hide your face. Wipe your nose. Wash your hands. Dirty hands. Why do you
cry? A clean mouth. Shake hands. I love you. Kiss me now. Good girl.
The bird sings. The fire burns. The cat jumps. The dog runs. The bird
flies. The cow lies down. The man laughs. The child cries.
LESSON IV.
LET me comb your head. Ask Betty to wash your face. Go and see for some
bread. Drink milk, if you are dry. Play on the floor with the ball. Do
not touch the ink; you will black your hands.
What do you want to say to me? Speak slow, not so fast. Did you fall? You
will not cry, not you; the baby cries. Will you walk in the fields?
LESSON V.
COME to me, my little girl. Are you tired of playing? Yes. Sit down and
rest yourself, while I talk to you.
Have you seen the baby? Poor little thing. O here it comes. Look at him.
How helpless he is. Four years ago you were as feeble as this very little
boy.
See, he cannot hold up his head. He is forced to lie on his back, if his
mamma do not turn him to the right or left side, he will soon begin to
cry. He cries to tell her, that he is tired with lying on his back.
LESSON VI.
PERHAPS he is hungry. What shall we give him to eat? Poor fellow, he
cannot eat. Look in his mouth, he has no teeth.
How did you do when you were a baby like him? You cannot tell. Do you
want to know? Look then at the dog, with her pretty puppy. You could not
help yourself as well as the puppy. You could only open your mouth, when
you were lying, like William, on my knee. So I put you to my breast, and
you sucked, as the puppy sucks now, for there was milk enough for you.
LESSON VII.
WHEN you were hungry, you began to cry, because you could not speak. You
were seven months without teeth, always sucking. But after you got one,
you began to gnaw a crust of bread. It was not long before another came
pop. At ten months you had four pretty white teeth, and you used to bite
me. Poor mamma! Still I did not cry, because I am not a child, but you
hurt me very much. So I said to papa, it is time the little girl should
eat. She is not naughty, yet she hurts me. I have given her a crust of
bread, and I must look for some other milk.
The cow has got plenty, and her jumping calf eats grass very well. He has
got more teeth than my little girl. Yes, says papa, and he tapped you on
the cheek, you are old enough to learn to eat? Come to me, and I will
teach you, my little dear, for you must not hurt poor mamma, who has
given you her milk, when you could not take any thing else.
LESSON VIII.
YOU were then on the carpet, for you could not walk well. So when you
were in a hurry, you used to run quick, quick, quick, on your hands and
feet, like the dog.
Away you ran to papa, and putting both your arms round his leg, for your
hands were not big enough, you looked up at him, and laughed. What did
this laugh say, when you could not speak? Cannot you guess by what you
now say to papa?--Ah! it was, Play with me, papa!--play with me!
Papa began to smile, and you knew that the smile was always--Yes. So you
got a ball, and papa threw it along the floor--Roll--roll--roll; and you
ran after it again--and again. How pleased you were. Look at William, he
smiles; but you could laugh loud--Ha! ha! ha!--Papa laughed louder than
the little girl, and rolled the ball still faster.
Then he put the ball on a chair, and you were forced to take hold of the
back, and stand up to reach it. At last you reached too far, and down you
fell: not indeed on your face, because you put out your hands. You were
not much hurt; but the palms of your hands smarted with the pain, and you
began to cry, like a little child.
It is only very little children who cry when they are hurt; and it is to
tell their mamma, that something is the matter with them. Now you can
come to me, and say, Mamma, I have hurt myself. Pray rub my hand: it
smarts. Put something on it, to make it well. A piece of rag, to stop the
blood. You are not afraid of a little blood--not you. You scratched your
arm with a pin: it bled a little; but it did you no harm. See, the skin
is grown over it again.
LESSON IX.
TAKE care not to put pins in your mouth, because they will stick in your
throat, and give you pain. Oh! you cannot think what pain a pin would
give you in your throat, should it remain there: but, if you by chance
swallow it, I should be obliged to give you, every morning, something
bitter to drink. You never tasted any thing so bitter! and you would grow
very sick. I never put pins in my mouth; but I am older than you, and
know how to take care of myself.
My mamma took care of me, when I was a little girl, like you. She bade me
never put any thing in my mouth, without asking her what it was.
When you were a baby, with no more sense than William, you put every
thing in your mouth to gnaw, to help your teeth to cut through the skin.
Look at the puppy, how he bites that piece of wood. William presses his
gums against my finger. Poor boy! he is so young, he does not know what
he is doing. When you bite any thing, it is because you are hungry.
LESSON X.