"By watching my only viſitor, my uncle's friend, or by ſome other means, Mr. Venables diſcovered my reſidence, and came to enquire for me. The maid-ſervant aſſured him there was no ſuch perſon in the houſe. A buſtle enſued—I caught the alarm—liſtened—diſtinguiſhed his voice, and immediately locked the door. They ſuddenly grew ſtill; and I waited near a quarter of an hour, before I heard him open the parlour door, and mount the ſtairs with the miſtreſs of the houſe, who obſequiouſly declared that ſhe knew nothing of me.
"Finding my door locked, ſhe requeſted me to 'open it, and prepare to[89] go home with my huſband, poor gentleman! to whom I had already occaſioned ſufficient vexation.' I made no reply. Mr. Venables then, in an aſſumed tone of ſoftneſs, intreated me, 'to conſider what he ſuffered, and my own reputation, and get the better of childiſh reſentment.' He ran on in the ſame ſtrain, pretending to addreſs me, but evidently adapting his diſcourſe to the capacity of the landlady; who, at every pauſe, uttered an exclamation of pity; or 'Yes, to be ſure—Very true, ſir.'
"Sick of the farce, and perceiving that I could not avoid the hated interview, I opened the door, and he entered. Advancing with eaſy aſſurance to take my hand, I ſhrunk from his touch, with an involuntary ſtart, as I ſhould have done from a noiſome reptile,[90] with more diſguſt than terror. His conductreſs was retiring, to give us, as ſhe ſaid, an opportunity to accommodate matters. But I bade her come in, or I would go out; and curioſity impelled her to obey me.
"Mr. Venables began to expoſtulate; and this woman, proud of his confidence, to ſecond him. But I calmly ſilenced her, in the midſt of a vulgar harangue, and turning to him, aſked, 'Why he vainly tormented me? declaring that no power on earth ſhould force me back to his houſe.'
"After a long altercation, the particulars of which, it would be to no purpoſe to repeat, he left the room. Some time was ſpent in loud converſation in the parlour below, and I diſcovered that he had brought his friend, an attorney, with him.
[91]
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* * The tumult on the landing place, brought out a gentleman, who had recently taken apartments in the houſe; he enquired why I was thus aſſailed[91-A]? The voluble attorney inſtantly repeated the trite tale. The ſtranger turned to me, obſerving,[92] with the moſt ſoothing politeneſs and manly intereſt, that 'my countenance told a very different ſtory.' He added, 'that I ſhould not be inſulted, or forced out of the houſe, by any body.'
"'Not by her huſband?' aſked the attorney.
"'No, ſir, not by her huſband.' Mr. Venables advanced towards him—But there was a deciſion in his attitude, that ſo well ſeconded that of his voice,
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* * They left the houſe: at the ſame time proteſting, that any one that ſhould dare to protect me, ſhould be proſecuted with the utmoſt rigour.
"They were ſcarcely out of the houſe, when my landlady came up to me again, and begged my pardon, in a very different tone. For, though[93] Mr. Venables had bid her, at her peril, harbour me, he had not attended, I found, to her broad hints, to diſcharge the lodging. I inſtantly promiſed to pay her, and make her a preſent to compenſate for my abrupt departure, if ſhe would procure me another lodging, at a ſufficient diſtance; and ſhe, in return, repeating Mr. Venables' plauſible tale, I raiſed her indignation, and excited her ſympathy, by telling her briefly the truth.
"She expreſſed her commiſeration with ſuch honeſt warmth, that I felt ſoothed; for I have none of that faſtidious ſenſitiveneſs, which a vulgar accent or geſture can alarm to the diſregard of real kindneſs. I was ever glad to perceive in others the humane feelings I delighted to exerciſe; and the recollection of ſome ridiculous charac[94]teriſtic circumſtances, which have occurred in a moment of emotion, has convulſed me with laughter, though at the inſtant I ſhould have thought it ſacrilegious to have ſmiled. Your improvement, my deareſt girl, being ever preſent to me while I write, I note theſe feelings, becauſe women, more accuſtomed to obſerve manners than actions, are too much alive to ridicule. So much ſo, that their boaſted ſenſibility is often ſtifled by falſe delicacy. True ſenſibility, the ſenſibility which is the auxiliary of virtue, and the ſoul of genius, is in ſociety ſo occupied with the feelings of others, as ſcarcely to regard its own ſenſations. With what reverence have I looked up at my uncle, the dear parent of my mind! when I have ſeen the ſenſe of his own ſufferings, of mind and body, abſorbed[95] in a deſire to comfort thoſe, whoſe miſfortunes were comparatively trivial. He would have been aſhamed of being as indulgent to himſelf, as he was to others. 'Genuine fortitude,' he would aſſert, 'conſiſted in governing our own emotions, and making allowance for the weakneſſes in our friends, that we would not tolerate in ourſelves.' But where is my fond regret leading me!
"'Women muſt be ſubmiſſive,' ſaid my landlady. 'Indeed what could moſt women do? Who had they to maintain them, but their huſbands? Every woman, and eſpecially a lady, could not go through rough and ſmooth, as ſhe had done, to earn a little bread.'
"She was in a talking mood, and proceeded to inform me how ſhe had been uſed in the world. 'She knew[96] what it was to have a bad huſband, or ſhe did not know who ſhould.' I perceived that ſhe would be very much mortified, were I not to attend to her tale, and I did not attempt to interrupt her, though I wiſhed her, as ſoon as poſſible, to go out in ſearch of a new abode for me, where I could once more hide my head.
"She began by telling me, 'That ſhe had ſaved a little money in ſervice; and was over-perſuaded (we muſt all be in love once in our lives) to marry a likely man, a footman in the family, not worth a groat. My plan,' ſhe continued, 'was to take a houſe, and let out lodgings; and all went on well, till my huſband got acquainted with an impudent ſlut, who choſe to live on other people's means—and then all went to rack and ruin. He ran in[97] debt to buy her fine clothes, ſuch clothes as I never thought of wearing myſelf, and—would you believe it?—he ſigned an execution on my very goods, bought with the money I worked ſo hard to get; and they came and took my bed from under me, before I heard a word of the matter. Aye, madam, theſe are miſfortunes that you gentlefolks know nothing of,—but ſorrow is ſorrow, let it come which way it will.
"'I ſought for a ſervice again—very hard, after having a houſe of my own!—but he uſed to follow me, and kick up ſuch a riot when he was drunk, that I could not keep a place; nay, he even ſtole my clothes, and pawned them; and when I went to the pawnbroker's, and offered to take my oath that they were not bought with a farthing of his[98] money, they ſaid, 'It was all as one, my huſband had a right to whatever I had.'
"'At laſt he liſted for a ſoldier, and I took a houſe, making an agreement to pay for the furniture by degrees; and I almoſt ſtarved myſelf, till I once more got before-hand in the world.
"'After an abſence of ſix years (God forgive me! I thought he was dead) my huſband returned; found me out, and came with ſuch a penitent face, I forgave him, and clothed him from head to foot. But he had not been a week in the houſe, before ſome of his creditors arreſted him; and, he ſelling my goods, I found myſelf once more reduced to beggary; for I was not as well able to work, go to bed late, and riſe early, as when I quitted ſervice; and then I thought it hard[99] enough. He was ſoon tired of me, when there was nothing more to be had, and left me again.
"'I will not tell you how I was buffeted about, till, hearing for certain that he had died in an hoſpital abroad, I once more returned to my old occupation; but have not yet been able to get my head above water: ſo, madam, you muſt not be angry if I am afraid to run any riſk, when I know ſo well, that women have always the worſt of it, when law is to decide.'
"After uttering a few more complaints, I prevailed on my landlady to go out in queſt of a lodging; and, to be more ſecure, I condeſcended to the mean ſhift of changing my name.
"But why ſhould I dwell on ſimilar incidents!—I was hunted, like an infected beaſt, from three different apartments, and ſhould not have been al[100]lowed to reſt in any, had not Mr. Venables, informed of my uncle's dangerous ſtate of health, been inſpired with the fear of hurrying me out of the world as I advanced in my pregnancy, by thus tormenting and obliging me to take ſudden journeys to avoid him; and then his ſpeculations on my uncle's fortune muſt prove abortive.
"One day, when he had purſued me to an inn, I fainted, hurrying from him; and, falling down, the ſight of my blood alarmed him, and obtained a reſpite for me. It is ſtrange that he ſhould have retained any hope, after obſerving my unwavering determination; but, from the mildneſs of my behaviour, when I found all my endeavours to change his diſpoſition unavailing, he formed an erroneous opinion of my character, imagining that, were we once more together, I ſhould part with the money he[101] could not legally force from me, with the ſame facility as formerly. My forbearance and occaſional ſympathy he had miſtaken for weakneſs of character; and, becauſe he perceived that I diſliked reſiſtance, he thought my indulgence and compaſſion mere ſelfiſhneſs, and never diſcovered that the fear of being unjuſt, or of unneceſſarily wounding the feelings of another, was much more painful to me, than any thing I could have to endure myſelf. Perhaps it was pride which made me imagine, that I could bear what I dreaded to inflict; and that it was often eaſier to ſuffer, than to ſee the ſufferings of others.
"I forgot to mention that, during this perſecution, I received a letter from my uncle, informing me, 'that he only found relief from continual change of air; and that he intended to[102] return when the ſpring was a little more advanced (it was now the middle of February), and then we would plan a journey to Italy, leaving the fogs and cares of England far behind.' He approved of my conduct, promiſed to adopt my child, and ſeemed to have no doubt of obliging Mr. Venables to hear reaſon. He wrote to his friend, by the ſame poſt, deſiring him to call on Mr. Venables in his name; and, in conſequence of the remonſtrances he dictated, I was permitted to lie-in tranquilly.
"The two or three weeks previous, I had been allowed to reſt in peace; but, ſo accuſtomed was I to purſuit and alarm, that I ſeldom cloſed my eyes without being haunted by Mr. Venables' image, who ſeemed to aſſume terrific or hateful forms to torment me, wherever[103] I turned.—Sometimes a wild cat, a roaring bull, or hideous aſſaſſin, whom I vainly attempted to fly; at others he was a demon, hurrying me to the brink of a precipice, plunging me into dark waves, or horrid gulfs; and I woke, in violent fits of trembling anxiety, to aſſure myſelf that it was all a dream, and to endeavour to lure my waking thoughts to wander to the delightful Italian vales, I hoped ſoon to viſit; or to picture ſome auguſt ruins, where I reclined in fancy on a mouldering column, and eſcaped, in the contemplation of the heart-enlarging virtues of antiquity, from the turmoil of cares that had depreſſed all the daring purpoſes of my ſoul. But I was not long allowed to calm my mind by the exerciſe of my imagination; for the third day after your birth, my child, I was[104] ſurpriſed by a viſit from my elder brother; who came in the moſt abrupt manner, to inform me of the death of my uncle. He had left the greater part of his fortune to my child, appointing me its guardian; in ſhort, every ſtep was taken to enable me to be miſtreſs of his fortune, without putting any part of it in Mr. Venables' power. My brother came to vent his rage on me, for having, as he expreſſed himſelf, 'deprived him, my uncle's eldeſt nephew, of his inheritance;' though my uncle's property, the fruit of his own exertion, being all in the funds, or on landed ſecurities, there was not a ſhadow of juſtice in the charge.
"As I ſincerely loved my uncle, this intelligence brought on a fever, which I ſtruggled to conquer with all the[105] energy of my mind; for, in my deſolate ſtate, I had it very much at heart to ſuckle you, my poor babe. You ſeemed my only tie to life, a cherub, to whom I wiſhed to be a father, as well as a mother; and the double duty appeared to me to produce a proportionate increaſe of affection. But the pleaſure I felt, while ſuſtaining you, ſnatched from the wreck of hope, was cruelly damped by melancholy reflections on my widowed ſtate—widowed by the death of my uncle. Of Mr. Venables I thought not, even when I thought of the felicity of loving your father, and how a mother's pleaſure might be exalted, and her care ſoftened by a huſband's tenderneſs.—'Ought to be!' I exclaimed; and I endeavoured to drive away the tenderneſs that ſuffo[106]cated me; but my ſpirits were weak, and the unbidden tears would flow. 'Why was I,' I would aſk thee, but thou didſt not heed me,—'cut off from the participation of the ſweeteſt pleaſure of life?' I imagined with what extacy, after the pains of child-bed, I ſhould have preſented my little ſtranger, whom I had ſo long wiſhed to view, to a reſpectable father, and with what maternal fondneſs I ſhould have preſſed them both to my heart!—Now I kiſſed her with leſs delight, though with the moſt endearing compaſſion, poor helpleſs one! when I perceived a ſlight reſemblance of him, to whom ſhe owed her exiſtence; or, if any geſture reminded me of him, even in his beſt days, my heart heaved, and I preſſed the innocent to my boſom, as if to[107] purify it—yes, I bluſhed to think that its purity had been ſullied, by allowing ſuch a man to be its father.
"After my recovery, I began to think of taking a houſe in the country, or of making an excurſion on the continent, to avoid Mr. Venables; and to open my heart to new pleaſures and affection. The ſpring was melting into ſummer, and you, my little companion, began to ſmile—that ſmile made hope bud out afreſh, aſſuring me the world was not a deſert. Your geſtures were ever preſent to my fancy; and I dwelt on the joy I ſhould feel when you would begin to walk and liſp. Watching your wakening mind, and ſhielding from every rude blaſt my tender bloſſom, I recovered my ſpirits—I dreamed not of the froſt[108]—'the killing froſt,' to which you were deſtined to be expoſed.—But I loſe all patience—and execrate the injuſtice of the world—folly! ignorance!—I ſhould rather call it; but, ſhut up from a free circulation of thought, and always pondering on the ſame griefs, I writhe under the torturing apprehenſions, which ought to excite only honeſt indignation, or active compaſſion; and would, could I view them as the natural conſequence of things. But, born a woman—and born to ſuffer, in endeavouring to repreſs my own emotions, I feel more acutely the various ills my ſex are fated to bear—I feel that the evils they are ſubject to endure, degrade them ſo far below their oppreſſors, as almoſt to juſtify their tyranny; leading at the ſame[109] time ſuperficial reaſoners to term that weakneſs the cauſe, which is only the conſequence of ſhort-ſighted deſpotiſm.
FOOTNOTES:
[91-A] The introduction of Darnford as the deliverer of Maria, in an early ſtage of the hiſtory, is already ſtated (Chap. III.) to have been an after-thought of the author. This has probably cauſed the imperfectneſs of the manuſcript in the above paſſage; though, at the ſame time, it muſt be acknowledged to be ſomewhat uncertain, whether Darnford is the ſtranger intended in this place. It appears from Chap. XVII. that an interference of a more deciſive nature was deſigned to be attributed to him.
editor.
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