Stor|ito. #in del.
82 : : MEMOIRS small pretensions indeed to explicitness; but they sufficiently told, that the case admitted not of remedy.
Mary was incapable of sustaining her equa- nimity in this pressing emergency. ‘ Love, dear, delusive love!’ as she expressed herself to a friend some time afterwards, ‘‘ rigorous reason had forced her to resign; and now her rational prospects were blasted, just as she had learned to be contented with rational enjoyments.”” Thus situated, life became an intolerable burthen. While she was absent from Mr. Imlay, she could talk of purposes of separation and independence. But, now that they were in the same house, she could not withhold herself from endeavours to revive their mutual cordiality; and unsuccessful endeavours continually added fuel to the fire that destroyed her. She formed a desperate purpose to die.
This part of the story of Mary is involved in considerable obscurity. I only know, that Mr. Imlay became acquainted with her pur- pose, at a moment when he was uncertain whether or no it were * already executed, and that his feelings were roused by the intelli- gence. It was perhaps owing to his activity and representations, that her life, was, at this time, saved. She determined to continue to exist. Actuated by this purpose, she took a resolution, worthy both of the strength and affectionateness of her mind. Mr. Imlay was 5 or no it were] it was. 6 exist] live.
83 MEMOIRS involved in a question of considerable difh- culty, respecting a mercantile adventure in Norway. It seemed to require the presence of some very? judicious agent, to conduct the business to its desired termination. Mary determined to make the voyage, and take the business into her own hands. Such a voyage seemed the most desireable thing ® to recruit her health, and, if possible, her spirits, in the present crisis. It was also gratifying to her feelings, to be employed in promoting the interest of a man, from whom she had experienced such severe unkindness, but to whom she ardently desired to be reconciled. The moment of desperation I have mentioned, occurred in the close of May, and, in about a week after, she set out upon this new expedi- tion.
The narrative of this voyage is before the world, and perhaps a book of travels that so irresistably seizes on the heart, never, in any other instance, found its way from the press. The occasional harshness and ruggedness of character, that diversify her Vindication of the Rights of Woman, here totally disappear. If ever there was a book calculated to make a man in love with its author, this appears to me to be the book. She speaks of her sorrows, in a way that fills us with melancholy, and dissolves us in tenderness, at the same time that she displays a genius which commands ? very] particularly.
8 the most desireable thing] well calculated. 84 MEMOIRS all our admiration. Affliction had tempered her heart to a softness almost more than human; and the gentleness of her spirit seems precisely to accord with all the romance of unbounded attachment.?® Thus softened?! and improved, thus fraught with imagination and sensibility, with all, and more than all, ‘“‘that youthful poets fancy, when they love,’’? she returned to England, and, if he had so pleased, to the arms of her lover. Her return was hastened by the ambiguity, to her apprehension, of Mr. Imlay’s conduct. He had promised to meet her upon her return from Norway,‘ probably at Ham- burgh; and they were then to pass some time in Switzerland. The style however of his letters to her during her tour, was not such as to inspire confidence; and she wrote to him very urgently, to explain himself, relative to the footing upon which they were hereafter to stand to each other. In his answer, which reached her at Hamburgh, he treated her questions as ‘‘ extraordinary and unnecessary,” and desired her to be at the pains to decide for herself. Feeling herself unable to accept this as an explanation, she instantly deter- mined to sail for London by the very first opportunity, that she might thus bring to a ® Affliction had tempered...attachment del. 1 softened] awakened.
2 with all, and more...they love,”’ del. Sand, if he...lover. del.
4 return from Norway] journey home.
85 MEMOIRS termination the suspense that preyed upon her soul.
It was not long after her arrival in London in the commencement of October, that she attained the certainty she sought. Mr. Imlay procured her a lodging. But the neglect she experienced from him after she entered it, flashed conviction upon her, in spite of his asseverations. She made further inquiries, and at length was informed by a servant, of the real state of the case. Under the imme- diate shock which the painful certainty gave her, her first impression was to repair to him at the ready-furnished house he had provided for his new mistress. [The characteristic of her mind upon all trying occasions, was energy; but it was a concentrated energy, active in resolution, and not the unresisting slave of feeling; disdaining to waste itself in the empty war of words; and never hurried into any thing incompatible with the eleva- tion of her character.| What was the par- ticular nature of their conference I am unable to relate. It is sufficient to say that the wretchedness of the night which succeeded this fatal discovery, impressed her with the feeling, that she would sooner suffer a thousand deaths, than pass another of equal misery.
The agony of her mind determined her; and that determination gave her a sort of5 desperate serenity. She resolved to plunge 5 sort of del. 86 MEMOIRS herself in the Thames; and, not being satisfied with any spot nearer to London, she took a boat, and rowed to Putney.® Her first thought had led her to Battersea-bridge, but she found it too public, [and accordingly proceeded further up the river.] It was night when she arrived at Putney, and by that time it had begun to rain with great violence. The rain suggested to her the idea of walking up and down the bridge, till her clothes were thoroughly drenched and heavy with the wet, which she did for half an hour without meeting -a human being. She then leaped’ from the top of the bridge, but still seemed to find a difficulty in sinking, which she endeavoured to counteract by pressing her clothes closely round her. After some time she became insensible; but she always spoke of the pain she underwent as such, that, though she could afterwards have determined upon almost any other species of voluntary death, it would have been impossible for her to resolve upon encountering the same sensations again. Iam doubtful, whether this is to be ascribed to the mere nature of suffocation, or was not rather owing to the preternatural action of a desperate spirit.
[How strange is the condition of our nature! The whole scene of human life may at last be pronounced a delusion! Speculation for ever 6 and, not being satisfied...rowed to Putney.] and took a boat for that purpose.
7 leaped] threw herself. 87 MEMOTRS deceives us, and is the appropriate office of castle-builders; but the active concerns of life cheat us still more! Mary was in the first instance mistaken in the object of her attach- ment, imputing to him qualities which, in the trial, proved to be imaginary. By insensible degrees she proceeded to stake her life upon the consequences of her error: and, for the disappointment of this choice, for a considera- tion so foreign to the true end of her powers and cultivation, she was willing to consign those powers and that cultivation, pregnant as they were with pleasure to herself and gratification to others, formed to adorn society, and give a relish the most delicate and un- rivalled to domestic life, as well as, through the medium of the press, to delight, instruct, and reform mankind—she was willing, I say, to consign all these to premature destruction! How often is the sagacity of our moral judg- ment reserved for the hour of meditation, and how little does it sometimes bestead us in the time of our greatest need!]
After having been for a considerable time insensible, Mary ® was recovered by the exertions of those by whom she was taken from the water.° She had sought, with cool and deliberate firmness, to put a period to her existence, and yet she lived to have every prospect of a long possession of enjoyment 8’Mary] she 1st ed.
* she was taken from the water.] the body was found. Ist ed. 88 ry Mee BS MEMOIRS and happiness. It is perhaps not an un- frequent case with suicides, that we find reason to suppose, if they had survived their gloomy purpose, that they would, at a subse- quent period, have been considerably happy. It arises indeed, in some measure, out of the very nature of a spirit of self-destruction; which implies a degree of anguish, that the constitution of the human mind will not suffer to remain long undiminished. This is a serious reflection. Probably no man would destroy himself from an impatience of present pain, if he felt a moral certainty that there were years of enjoyment still in reserve for him. It is perhaps a futile attempt, to think of reasoning with a man in that state of mind which precedes suicide. Moral reasoning is nothing but the awakening of certain feelings; and the feelings by which he is actuated, is too strong to leave us much chance of impressing him with other feelings, that should have force enough to counter-balance it. But, if the prospect of future tranquillity and pleasure cannot be expected to have much weight with a man under an immediate purpose of suicide, it is so much the more to be wished, that men would impress their minds, in their sober moments, with a con- ception, which, being rendered habitual, seems to promise to act as a successful antidote in a paroxysm of desperation.
The present situation of Mary, of necessity produced some further intercourse between 89 MEMOIRS 89 MEMOIRS her and Mr. Imlay. He sent a physician to her; and Mrs. Christie, at his desire, prevailed on her to remove to her house in Finsbury- square. In the mean time Mr. Imlay assured her that his present was merely a casual, sensual connection; and, of course, fostered in her mind the idea that it would be once more in her choice to live with him. With whatever intention the idea was suggested, it was certainly calculated to increase the agita- tion of her mind. In one respect however it produced an effect unlike that which might most obviously have been looked for. It roused within her the characteristic energy of mind, which she seemed partially to have forgotten. She saw the necessity of bringing the affair to a point, and not suffering months and years to roll on in uncertainty and suspence. This idea inspired her with an extraordinary resolution. The language she employed, was, in effect, as follows: ‘If we are ever to live together again, it must be now. We meet now, or we part for ever. You say, You cannot abruptly break off the connection you have formed. It is unworthy of my courage and character, to wait the uncertain issue of that connection. I am determined to come to a decision. I consent then, for the present, to live with you, and the woman to whom you have associated yourself. I think it important that you should learn habitually to feel for your child the affection of a father. But, if you reject this proposal, 90 MEMOIRS here we end. You are now free. We will correspond no more. We will have no inter- course of any kind. I will be to you as a person that is dead.”
The proposal she made, extraordinary and injudicious as it was, was at first accepted; and Mr. Imlay took her accordingly, to look at a house he was upon the point of hiring, that she might judge whether it was calculated to please her. Upon second thoughts however he retracted his concession.
In the following month, Mr. Imlay, and the woman with whom he was at present con- nected, went to Paris, where they remained three months. Mary had, previously to this, fixed herself in a lodging in Finsbury-place, where, for some time, she saw scarcely any one but Mrs. Christie, for the sake of whose neighbourhood she had chosen this situation; ‘““ existing,’ as she expressed it, “in a living tomb, and her life but an exercise of fortitude, continually on the stretch.”
Thus circumstanced, it was unavoidable for her thoughts to brood upon a passion, which all that she had suffered had not yet been able to extinguish. Accordingly, as soon as Mr. Imlay returned to England, she could not restrain herself from making another effort, and desiring to see him once more. ‘“ During his absence, affection had led her to make numberless excuses for his conduct,’’ and she probably wished to believe that his present connection was, as he represented it, purely QI MEMOIRS QI MEMOIRS of a casual nature. To this application, she observes, that ‘‘ he returned no other answer, except declaring, with unjustifiable passion, that he would not see her.”’
This answer, though, at the moment, highly irritating to Mary, was not the ultimate end? of the affair. Mr. Christie was connected in business with Mr. Imlay, at the same time that the house of Mr. Christie was the only one at which Mary habitually visited. The conse- quence of this was, that, when Mr. Imlay? had been already more than a fortnight in town, Mary called at Mr. Christie’s one evening, at a time when Mr. Imlay was in the parlour. The room was full of company. Mrs. Christie heard Mary’s voice in the passage,? and hastened to her, to intreat her not to make her appearance.*’ Mary however was not to be controlled. She thought, as she afterwards told me, that it was not consistent with conscious rectitude, that she should shrink, as if abashed, from the presence of one by whom she deemed herself injured. Her child was with her. She entered; and, ina firm manner, immediately led up the child, now near two years of age, to the knees of its father. [While she sought relief for the anguish of her mind, the mother was still uppermost in her gestures and manner; and 1 end] close. 2 Mr. Imlay] he. ® passage] hall.
*intreat her not to make her appearance.] prevent her from entering.
Q2 MEMOIRS the appeal her action appeared to make, or rather the sentence it inforced, would, one would have thought, have proved irresistible. ] Mr. Imlay® retired with Mary into another apartment, and promised to dine with her at her lodging, I believe, the next day.
In the interview which took place in consequence of this appointment, he expressed himself to her in friendly terms, and in a manner calculated to sooth her despair. Though he could conduct himself,* when absent from her, in a way which she censured as unfeeling; this species of sternness constantly expired when he came into her presence. Mary was prepared at this moment to catch at every phantom of happiness; and the gentleness of his carriage, was to her as a sun-beam, awakening the hope of returning day. For an instant she gave herself up to delusive visions; and, even after the period of delirium expired, she still dwelt, with an aching eye, upon the air-built and unsub- stantial prospect of a reconciliation.
At his particular request, she retained the name of Imlay, which, a short time before, he had seemed to dispute with her. “It was not,’ as she expresses herself ina letter to a friend, ‘‘ for the world that she did so—not in the least—but she was unwilling to cut the Gordian knot, or tear herself away in appear- ance, when she could not in reality.’
The day after this interview, she set out 5 Mr. Imlay] he 1st ed. 6 conduct himself,| act. 93 MEMOIRS upon a visit to the country,’ where she spent nearly the whole of the month of March. It was, I believe, while she was upon this visit, that some epistolary communication with Mr. Imlay, induced her resolutely to expel from her mind, all remaining doubt as to the issue of the affair.
Mary was now aware that every demand of forbearance towards him, of duty to her child, and even of indulgence to her own deep-rooted predilection, was discharged. She determined to rouse herself, and cast off for ever an attach- ment, which to her had been a spring of inexhaustible bitterness. Her present resi- dence among the scenes of nature, was favourable to this purpose. She was at the house of an old and intimate friend, a lady of the name of Cotton, whose partiality for her was strong and sincere. Mrs. Cotton’s nearest neighbour was Sir William East, baronet; and, from the joint effect of the kindness of her friend, and the hospitable and distinguish- ing attentions of this respectable family, she derived considerable benefit. She had been amused and interested in her journey to Norway; but with this difference, that, at that time, her mind perpetually returned with trembling anxiety to conjectures respecting Mr. Imlay’s future conduct, whereas now, with a lofty and undaunted spirit, she threw aside every thought that recurred to him, while 7 the country] Berkshire.
8 She was at the house...considerable benefit. del. 94 “ae MEMOIRS she felt herself called upon to make one more effort for life and happiness.
Once after this, to my knowledge, she saw Mr. Imlay; probably, not long after her return to town. They met by accident upon the New Road; he alighted from his horse, and walked with her for some time; and the rencounter passed, as she assured me, without producing in her any oppressive emotion.
Be it observed, by the way, and I may be supposed best to have known the real state of the case, she never spoke of Mr. Imlay ® with acrimony, and was displeased when any person, in her hearing, expressed contempt of him. She was characterised by a strong sense of indignation; but her emotions of this sort, [however great might be the pro- vocation that roused them,] were short-lived, and in no long time subsided into a dignified sereneness and equanimity.
The question of her connection with Mr. Imlay,? as we have seen, was not completely dismissed, till March 1796. But it is worthy to be observed, that she did not, like ordinary persons under extreme anguish of mind, suffer her understanding, in the mean time, to sink into littleness and debility. The most in- apprehensive reader may conceive what was the mental torture she endured, when he considers, that she was twice, with an interval of four months, from the end of May to the ®Mr. Imlay] this person. 1 person] one. 2 her connection with Mr. Imlay] their connection.
95 MEMOIRS beginning of October, prompted by it to purposes of suicide. Yet in this period she wrote her Letters from Norway. Shortly after its expiration she prepared them for the press, and they were published in the close of that year. In January 1796, she finished the sketch? of a comedy, which turns, in the serious scenes, upon the incidents of her own story. It was offered to both the winter- managers, and# remained among her papers at the period of her decease; but it appeared to me to be in so crude and imperfect a state, that I judged it most respectful to her memory to commit it to the flames. To understand this extraordinary degree of activity, we must recollect however the entire solitude, in which most of her hours at that time were consumed.
3 sketch] draught. 4+ was offered to both the winter-managers, and del.
96 CHAPTER IX 1790-1797 I AM now led, by the progress of the story, to the last branch of her history, the connection between Mary and myself. And this I shall relate with the same simplicity that has pervaded every other part of my narrative. If there ever were any motives of prudence or delicacy, that could impose a qualification upon the story, they are now over. They could have no relation but to factitious rules of decorum. There are no circumstances of her life, that, in the judgment of honour and reason, could brand her with disgrace. [She had errors; but her errors, which were not those of a sordid mind, were connected and interwoven with the qualities most charac- teristic of her disposition and genius.] Never did there exist a human being, that needed, with less fear, expose all their actions, and call upon the universe to judge them. An event of the most deplorable sort, has awfully im- posed silence upon the gabble of frivolity.
We renewed our acquaintance in January 1796, but with no particular effect, except so far as sympathy in her anguish, added in my M.W. 97 G MEMOIRS mind to the respect I had always entertained ~ for her talents. It was in the close of that month that I read her Letters from Norway; and the impression that book? produced upon me has been already related.
It was on the fourteenth of April that I first saw her after her excursion into Berkshire. On that day she called upon me in Somers Town, she having, since her return, taken a lodging in Cumming-street, Pentonville, at no great distance from the place of my habitation. From that time our intimacy increased, by regular, but almost imperceptible degrees.’
[Her visit, it seems, is to be deemed a deviation from etiquette; but she had through life trampled on those rules which are built on the assumption of the imbecility of her sex; and had trusted to the clearness of her spirit for the direction of her conduct, and to the integrity of her views for the vindication of her character. _Nor was she deceived in her trust. If, in the latter part of her life, she departed from the morality of vulgar minds too decidedly to be forgiven by its abettors, be it remembered that, till this offense was given, calumny itself had not dared to utter an insinuation against her.]
The partiality we conceived for each other, was in that mode, which I have always regarded as the purest and most refined 1 that book] they.
* From that time our intimacy...imperceptible degrees. del.
98 MEMOIRS style of love. It grew with equal advances in the mind of each. It would have been impossible for the most minute observer to have said who was before, and who was after. One sex did not take the priority which long-established custom has awarded it, nor the other overstep that delicacy which is so severely imposed. I am not conscious that either party can assume to have been the agent or the patient, the toil-spreader or the prey, in the affair? When, in the course of things, the disclosure came, there was nothing, in a manner, for either party to disclose to the other.
In July 1796 I made an excursion into the county of Norfolk, which occupied nearly the whole of that month. During this period Mary removed, from Cumming-street, Penton- ville, to Judd-place West, which may be considered as the extremity of Somers Town. In the former situation, she had occupied a furnished lodging. She had meditated a tour to Italy or Switzerland, and knew not how soon she should set out with that view. Now however she felt herself reconciled to a longer abode in England, probably without exactly knowing why this change had taken place in her mind. She had a quantity of furniture locked up at a broker’s ever since her residence in Store-street, and she now found it advise- able to bring it into use. This circumstance occasioned her present removal.
3 in the affair del.
99 MEMOIRS The temporary separation attendant on my > little journey, had its effect on the mind of © both parties. It gave a space for the maturing of inclination. I believe that, during this interval, each furnished to the other the principal topic of solitary and daily con- templation. Absence bestows a refined and aerial delicacy upon affection, which it with difficulty acquires in any other way. The sentiment produced,‘ seems to resemble the communication of spirits, without the medium, or the impediment, of this earthly frame.
When we met again, we met with new pleasure, and, I may add, with a more decisive preference for each other. It was however three weeks longer, before the sentiment which trembled upon the tongue, burst from the lips of either. There was, as I have already said, no period of throes and resolute explana- tion attendant on the tale. It was friendship melting into love. Previously to our mutual declaration, each felt half-assured, yet each felt a certain trembling® anxiety to have assurance complete.
[The sort of connection of which I am here speaking, between parties of whom the inter- course of mind, and not sordid and casual gratification, is the object proposed, is cer- tainly the most important choice in the departments of private life.] Mary rested 4 The sentiment produced,] It rst ed.
> trembling del. 100 MEMOIRS her head upon the shoulder of her lover,® hoping ” to find a heart with which she might safely treasure her world of affection; fearing to commit a mistake, yet, in spite of her melancholy experience, fraught with that generous confidence, which, in a great soul,® is never extinguished. I had never loved till now; or, at least, had never nourished a passion to the same growth, or met with an object so consummately worthy.
We did not marry. It is difficult to recommend any thing to indiscriminate adop- tion, contrary to the established rules and prejudices of mankind; but certainly nothing can be so ridiculous upon the face of it, or so contrary to the genuine march of sentiment, as to require the overflowing of the soul to wait upon a ceremony, and that at which, wherever delicacy and imagination exist, is of all things most sacredly private, to blow a trumpet before it, and to record the moment when it has arrived at its climax.® ® rested her head upon the shoulder of her lover, del.
7 hoping] trusted.
§ great soul] liberal spirit. _ ® We did not marry...its climax.] ~We did not immedi- ately marry. Ideas which I am now willing’to denominate prejudices, made me by no means eager to conform to a ceremony as an individual, which, coupled with the condi- tions our laws annex to it, I should undoubtedly, as a citizen, be desirous to abolish. Fuller examination however has since taught me to rank this among those cases, where an accurate morality will direct us to comply with customs and institutions, which, if we had had a voice in their introduction, it would have been incumbent on us to negative.
IOI MEMOIRS There were however other reasons why wé did not immediately marry. Mary? felt an_ entire conviction of the propriety of her conduct [in forming this connection]. It would be absurd to suppose that, with a heart withered by desertion, she was not right to give way to the emotions of kindness which our intimacy produced, and to seek for that support in friendship and affection, which could alone give pleasure to her heart, and peace to her meditations. It was only about six months since she had resolutely banished every thought of Mr. Imlay; but it was at least eighteen that he ought to have been banished, and would have been banished, had it not been for her scrupulous pertinacity in determining to leave no measure untried to regain him. Add to this, that the laws of etiquette ordinarily laid down in these cases, are essentially absurd, and that the sentiments of the heart cannot submit to be directed by the rule and square.2 But Mary® had an extreme aversion to be made the topic of vulgar discussion; and, if there be any weakness in this, the dreadful trials through which she had recently passed, may well plead in* its excuse. She felt that she had been too much, and too rudely spoken of, in the former 1 There were...marry. Mary] The motives of Mary, were not precisely those which influenced my judgment. She.
2 It was only about six months...rule and square. del.
3 Mary] she. 4 in del. 102 5 MEMOIRS instance; and she could not resolve to do any thing that should immediately revive that painful topic.
For myself, it is certain that I had for many years regarded marriage with so well-grounded an apprehension, that, notwithstanding the’ partiality for Mary that had taken possession of my soul, I should have felt it very difficult, at least in the present stage of our intercourse, to have resolved on such a measure. Thus, partly from similar, and partly from different motives, we felt alike in this, as we did perhaps in every other circumstance that related to our intercourse.® I have nothing further that I find it neces- sary to record, till the commencement of April 1797. We then judged it proper to declare our marriage, which had taken place a little before. The principal motive for complying with this ceremony, was the cir- cumstance of Mary being in a state of preg- nancy. She was unwilling, and perhaps with reason, to incur that exclusion from the society of many valuable and excellent individuals, which custom awards in cases of this sort. I should have felt an extreme repugnance to the having caused her such an inconvenience. And, after the experiment of seven months of as intimate an intercourse as our respec- tive modes of living would admit, there was certainly less hazard to either, in the subjecting ourselves to those consequences which the MEMOIRS laws of England annex to the relations of husband and wife. On the sixth of April we entered into possession of a house, which had been taken by us in concert.
In this place I have a very curious circum- ‘stance to notice, which I am happy to have occasion to mention, as it tends to expose certain regulations of polished society, of which the absurdity vies with the odiousness. Mary had long possessed the advantage of an acquaintance with many persons of genius, and with others whom the effects of an inter- course with elegant society, combined with a certain portion of information and good sense, sufficed to render amusing companions. She had lately extended the circle of her acquaint- ance in this respect; and her mind, trembling between the opposite impressions of past anguish and renovating tranquillity, found ease in this species of recreation. Wherever Mary appeared, admiration attended upon ° her. She had always displayed talents for conversation; but maturity of understanding, her travels, her long residence in France, the discipline of affliction, and the smiling, new- born peace which awaked a corresponding smile in her animated countenance, inex- pressibly increased them. The way in which the story of Mr. Imlay was treated in these polite circles, was probably the result of the partiality she excited. These elegant per- sonages were divided between their cautious ® upon del.
® upon del.
104 MEMOIRS adherence to forms, and the desire to seek their own gratification. Mary made no secret of the nature of her connection with Mr. Imlay; and in one instance, I well know, she put herself to the trouble of explaining it to a person totally indifferent to her, because he never failed to publish every thing he knew, and, she was sure, would repeat her explana- tion to his numerous acquaintance. She was of too proud and generous a spirit to stoop to hypocrisy. These persons however, in spite of all that could be said, persisted in shutting their eyes, and pretending they took her for a married woman.
Observe the consequence of this! While she was, and constantly professed to be, an unmarried mother; she was fit society for the squeamish and the formal. The moment she acknowledged herself a wife, and that by a marriage perhaps unexceptionable,’ the case was altered. Mary and myself, ignorant as we were of these elevated refinements, supposed that our marriage would place her upon a surer footing in the calendar of polished society, than ever. But it forced these people to see the truth, and to confess their belief of what they had carefully been told; and this they could not forgive. Be it remarked, that the date of our marriage had nothing to do with this, that question being never once mentioned during this period. Mary indeed had, till now, retained the name 7and that by a marriage perhaps unexceptionable, del. 105 MEMOIRS of Imlay which had first been assumed from necessity in France; but its being retained thus long, was purely from the awkwardness that attends the introduction of a change, and not from an apprehension of consequences of this sort. Her scrupulous explicitness as to the nature of her situation, surely sufficed to make the name she bore perfectly immaterial.
It is impossible to relate the particulars of such a story, but in the language of con- tempt and ridicule. A serious reflection how- ever upon the whole, ought to awaken emotions of a different sort. Mary retained the most numerous portion of her acquaint- ance, and the majority of those whom she principally valued. It was only the sup- porters and the subjects of the unprincipled manners of a court, that she lost. This however is immaterial. The tendency of the proceeding, strictly considered, and uniformly acted upon, would have been to proscribe her from all valuable society. And who was the person proscribed? The firmest cham- pion, and, as I strongly suspect, the greatest ornament her sex ever had to boast! A woman, with sentiments as pure, as refined, and as delicate, as ever inhabited a human heart! It is fit that such persons should stand by, that we may have room enough for the dull and insolent dictators, the gamblers and demireps of polished society.
Two of the persons, the loss of whose acquaintance Mary principally regretted upon 106 MEMOIRS this occasion, were Mrs. Inchbald and Mrs. Siddons. Their acquaintance, it is perhaps fair to observe, is to be ranked among her recent acquisitions. Mrs. Siddons, I am sure, regretted the necessity, which she conceived to be imposed on her by the peculiarity of her situation, to conform to the rules I have described. She is endowed with that rich and generous sensibility, which should best enable its possessor completely to feel the merits of her deceased friend. She very truly observes, in a letter now before me, that the Travels in Norway were read by no one, who was in possession of ‘“‘ more reciprocity of feeling, or more deeply impressed with admiration of the writer's extraordinary powers.”
Mary felt a transitory pang, when the conviction reached her of so unexpected a circumstance, that was rather exquisite. But she disdained to sink under the injustice (as this, when traced to its source will be found to be) § of the supercilious and the foolish, and presently shook off the impression of the first surprize. That once subsided, I well knew that the event was thought of, with no emotions, but those of superiority to the injustice she sustained; and was not of force enough to diminish a happiness, which seemed hourly to become more vigorous and firm.
I think I may venture to say, that no two persons ever found in each other’s society, a