Читать книгу Posthumous Works of the Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman - Mary Wollstonecraft - Страница 6

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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 recal 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 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.