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<h2> CHAPTER 10 </h2>
<p>"MY FATHER'S situation was now so distressing, that I prevailed on my
uncle to accompany me to visit him; and to lend me his assistance, to
prevent the whole property of the family from becoming the prey of my
brother's rapacity; for, to extricate himself out of present difficulties,
my father was totally regardless of futurity. I took down with me some
presents for my step-mother; it did not require an effort for me to treat
her with civility, or to forget the past.</p>
<p>"This was the first time I had visited my native village, since my
marriage. But with what different emotions did I return from the busy
world, with a heavy weight of experience benumbing my imagination, to
scenes, that whispered recollections of joy and hope most eloquently to my
heart! The first scent of the wild flowers from the heath, thrilled
through my veins, awakening every sense to pleasure. The icy hand of
despair seemed to be removed from my bosom; and—forgetting my
husband—the nurtured visions of a romantic mind, bursting on me with
all their original wildness and gay exuberance, were again hailed as sweet
realities. I forgot, with equal facility, that I ever felt sorrow, or knew
care in the country; while a transient rainbow stole athwart the cloudy
sky of despondency. The picturesque form of several favourite trees, and
the porches of rude cottages, with their smiling hedges, were recognized
with the gladsome playfulness of childish vivacity. I could have kissed
the chickens that pecked on the common; and longed to pat the cows, and
frolic with the dogs that sported on it. I gazed with delight on the
windmill, and thought it lucky that it should be in motion, at the moment
I passed by; and entering the dear green lane, which led directly to the
village, the sound of the well-known rookery gave that sentimental tinge
to the varying sensations of my active soul, which only served to heighten
the lustre of the luxuriant scenery. But, spying, as I advanced, the
spire, peeping over the withered tops of the aged elms that composed the
rookery, my thoughts flew immediately to the churchyard, and tears of
affection, such was the effect of my imagination, bedewed my mother's
grave! Sorrow gave place to devotional feelings. I wandered through the
church in fancy, as I used sometimes to do on a Saturday evening. I
recollected with what fervour I addressed the God of my youth: and once
more with rapturous love looked above my sorrows to the Father of nature.
I pause—feeling forcibly all the emotions I am describing; and
(reminded, as I register my sorrows, of the sublime calm I have felt, when
in some tremendous solitude, my soul rested on itself, and seemed to fill
the universe) I insensibly breathe soft, hushing every wayward emotion, as
if fearing to sully with a sigh, a contentment so extatic.</p>
<p>"Having settled my father's affairs, and, by my exertions in his favour,
made my brother my sworn foe, I returned to London. My husband's conduct
was now changed; I had during my absence, received several affectionate,
penitential letters from him; and he seemed on my arrival, to wish by his
behaviour to prove his sincerity. I could not then conceive why he acted
thus; and, when the suspicion darted into my head, that it might arise
from observing my increasing influence with my uncle, I almost despised
myself for imagining that such a degree of debasing selfishness could
exist.</p>
<p>"He became, unaccountable as was the change, tender and attentive; and,
attacking my weak side, made a confession of his follies, and lamented the
embarrassments in which I, who merited a far different fate, might be
involved. He besought me to aid him with my counsel, praised my
understanding, and appealed to the tenderness of my heart.</p>
<p>"This conduct only inspired me with compassion. I wished to be his friend;
but love had spread his rosy pinions and fled far, far away; and had not
(like some exquisite perfumes, the fine spirit of which is continually
mingling with the air) left a fragrance behind, to mark where he had shook
his wings. My husband's renewed caresses then became hateful to me; his
brutality was tolerable, compared to his distasteful fondness. Still,
compassion, and the fear of insulting his supposed feelings, by a want of
sympathy, made me dissemble, and do violence to my delicacy. What a task!</p>
<p>"Those who support a system of what I term false refinement, and will not
allow great part of love in the female, as well as male breast, to spring
in some respects involuntarily, may not admit that charms are as necessary
to feed the passion, as virtues to convert the mellowing spirit into
friendship. To such observers I have nothing to say, any more than to the
moralists, who insist that women ought to, and can love their husbands,
because it is their duty. To you, my child, I may add, with a heart
tremblingly alive to your future conduct, some observations, dictated by
my present feelings, on calmly reviewing this period of my life. When
novelists or moralists praise as a virtue, a woman's coldness of
constitution, and want of passion; and make her yield to the ardour of her
lover out of sheer compassion, or to promote a frigid plan of future
comfort, I am disgusted. They may be good women, in the ordinary
acceptation of the phrase, and do no harm; but they appear to me not to
have those 'finely fashioned nerves,' which render the senses exquisite.
They may possess tenderness; but they want that fire of the imagination,
which produces <i>active</i> sensibility, and <i>positive</i> <i>virtue</i>.
How does the woman deserve to be characterized, who marries one man, with
a heart and imagination devoted to another? Is she not an object of pity
or contempt, when thus sacrilegiously violating the purity of her own
feelings? Nay, it is as indelicate, when she is indifferent, unless she be
constitutionally insensible; then indeed it is a mere affair of barter;
and I have nothing to do with the secrets of trade. Yes; eagerly as I wish
you to possess true rectitude of mind, and purity of affection, I must
insist that a heartless conduct is the contrary of virtuous. Truth is the
only basis of virtue; and we cannot, without depraving our minds,
endeavour to please a lover or husband, but in proportion as he pleases
us. Men, more effectually to enslave us, may inculcate this partial
morality, and lose sight of virtue in subdividing it into the duties of
particular stations; but let us not blush for nature without a cause!</p>
<p>"After these remarks, I am ashamed to own, that I was pregnant. The
greatest sacrifice of my principles in my whole life, was the allowing my
husband again to be familiar with my person, though to this cruel act of
self-denial, when I wished the earth to open and swallow me, you owe your
birth; and I the unutterable pleasure of being a mother. There was
something of delicacy in my husband's bridal attentions; but now his
tainted breath, pimpled face, and blood-shot eyes, were not more repugnant
to my senses, than his gross manners, and loveless familiarity to my
taste.</p>
<p>"A man would only be expected to maintain; yes, barely grant a
subsistence, to a woman rendered odious by habitual intoxication; but who
would expect him, or think it possible to love her? And unless 'youth, and
genial years were flown,' it would be thought equally unreasonable to
insist, [under penalty of] forfeiting almost every thing reckoned valuable
in life, that he should not love another: whilst woman, weak in reason,
impotent in will, is required to moralize, sentimentalize herself to
stone, and pine her life away, labouring to reform her embruted mate. He
may even spend in dissipation, and intemperance, the very intemperance
which renders him so hateful, her property, and by stinting her expences,
not permit her to beguile in society, a wearisome, joyless life; for over
their mutual fortune she has no power, it must all pass through his hand.
And if she be a mother, and in the present state of women, it is a great
misfortune to be prevented from discharging the duties, and cultivating
the affections of one, what has she not to endure?—But I have
suffered the tenderness of one to lead me into reflections that I did not
think of making, to interrupt my narrative—yet the full heart will
overflow.</p>
<p>"Mr. Venables' embarrassments did not now endear him to me; still, anxious
to befriend him, I endeavoured to prevail on him to retrench his expences;
but he had always some plausible excuse to give, to justify his not
following my advice. Humanity, compassion, and the interest produced by a
habit of living together, made me try to relieve, and sympathize with him;
but, when I recollected that I was bound to live with such a being for
ever—my heart died within me; my desire of improvement became
languid, and baleful, corroding melancholy took possession of my soul.
Marriage had bastilled me for life. I discovered in myself a capacity for
the enjoyment of the various pleasures existence affords; yet, fettered by
the partial laws of society, this fair globe was to me an universal blank.</p>
<p>"When I exhorted my husband to economy, I referred to himself. I was
obliged to practise the most rigid, or contract debts, which I had too
much reason to fear would never be paid. I despised this paltry privilege
of a wife, which can only be of use to the vicious or inconsiderate, and
determined not to increase the torrent that was bearing him down. I was
then ignorant of the extent of his fraudulent speculations, whom I was
bound to honour and obey.</p>
<p>"A woman neglected by her husband, or whose manners form a striking
contrast with his, will always have men on the watch to soothe and flatter
her. Besides, the forlorn state of a neglected woman, not destitute of
personal charms, is particularly interesting, and rouses that species of
pity, which is so near akin, it easily slides into love. A man of feeling
thinks not of seducing, he is himself seduced by all the noblest emotions
of his soul. He figures to himself all the sacrifices a woman of
sensibility must make, and every situation in which his imagination places
her, touches his heart, and fires his passions. Longing to take to his
bosom the shorn lamb, and bid the drooping buds of hope revive,
benevolence changes into passion: and should he then discover that he is
beloved, honour binds him fast, though foreseeing that he may afterwards
be obliged to pay severe damages to the man, who never appeared to value
his wife's society, till he found that there was a chance of his being
indemnified for the loss of it.</p>
<p>"Such are the partial laws enacted by men; for, only to lay a stress on
the dependent state of a woman in the grand question of the comforts
arising from the possession of property, she is [even in this article]
much more injured by the loss of the husband's affection, than he by that
of his wife; yet where is she, condemned to the solitude of a deserted
home, to look for a compensation from the woman, who seduces him from her?
She cannot drive an unfaithful husband from his house, nor separate, or
tear, his children from him, however culpable he may be; and he, still the
master of his own fate, enjoys the smiles of a world, that would brand her
with infamy, did she, seeking consolation, venture to retaliate.</p>
<p>"These remarks are not dictated by experience; but merely by the
compassion I feel for many amiable women, the <i>outlaws</i> of the world.
For myself, never encouraging any of the advances that were made to me, my
lovers dropped off like the untimely shoots of spring. I did not even
coquet with them; because I found, on examining myself, I could not coquet
with a man without loving him a little; and I perceived that I should not
be able to stop at the line of what are termed <i>innocent</i> <i>freedoms</i>,
did I suffer any. My reserve was then the consequence of delicacy. Freedom
of conduct has emancipated many women's minds; but my conduct has most
rigidly been governed by my principles, till the improvement of my
understanding has enabled me to discern the fallacy of prejudices at war
with nature and reason.</p>
<p>"Shortly after the change I have mentioned in my husband's conduct, my
uncle was compelled by his declining health, to seek the succour of a
milder climate, and embark for Lisbon. He left his will in the hands of a
friend, an eminent solicitor; he had previously questioned me relative to
my situation and state of mind, and declared very freely, that he could
place no reliance on the stability of my husband's professions. He had
been deceived in the unfolding of his character; he now thought it fixed
in a train of actions that would inevitably lead to ruin and disgrace.</p>
<p>"The evening before his departure, which we spent alone together, he
folded me to his heart, uttering the endearing appellation of 'child.'—My
more than father! why was I not permitted to perform the last duties of
one, and smooth the pillow of death? He seemed by his manner to be
convinced that he should never see me more; yet requested me, most
earnestly, to come to him, should I be obliged to leave my husband. He had
before expressed his sorrow at hearing of my pregnancy, having determined
to prevail on me to accompany him, till I informed him of that
circumstance. He expressed himself unfeignedly sorry that any new tie
should bind me to a man whom he thought so incapable of estimating my
value; such was the kind language of affection.</p>
<p>"I must repeat his own words; they made an indelible impression on my
mind:</p>
<p>"'The marriage state is certainly that in which women, generally speaking,
can be most useful; but I am far from thinking that a woman, once married,
ought to consider the engagement as indissoluble (especially if there be
no children to reward her for sacrificing her feelings) in case her
husband merits neither her love, nor esteem. Esteem will often supply the
place of love; and prevent a woman from being wretched, though it may not
make her happy. The magnitude of a sacrifice ought always to bear some
proportion to the utility in view; and for a woman to live with a man, for
whom she can cherish neither affection nor esteem, or even be of any use
to him, excepting in the light of a house-keeper, is an abjectness of
condition, the enduring of which no concurrence of circumstances can ever
make a duty in the sight of God or just men. If indeed she submits to it
merely to be maintained in idleness, she has no right to complain bitterly
of her fate; or to act, as a person of independent character might, as if
she had a title to disregard general rules.</p>
<p>"But the misfortune is, that many women only submit in appearance, and
forfeit their own respect to secure their reputation in the world. The
situation of a woman separated from her husband, is undoubtedly very
different from that of a man who has left his wife. He, with lordly
dignity, has shaken of a clog; and the allowing her food and raiment, is
thought sufficient to secure his reputation from taint. And, should she
have been inconsiderate, he will be celebrated for his generosity and
forbearance. Such is the respect paid to the master-key of property! A
woman, on the contrary, resigning what is termed her natural protector
(though he never was so, but in name) is despised and shunned, for
asserting the independence of mind distinctive of a rational being, and
spurning at slavery.'</p>
<p>"During the remainder of the evening, my uncle's tenderness led him
frequently to revert to the subject, and utter, with increasing warmth,
sentiments to the same purport. At length it was necessary to say
'Farewell!'—and we parted—gracious God! to meet no more."</p>
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