A Brief Life of Mary Wollstonecraft

M. Wollstonecraft was born in 1759. Her father was so great a wanderer, that the place of her birth is uncertain; she supposed, however, it was London, or Epping Forest: at the latter place she spent the first five years of her life. In early youth she exhibited traces of exquisite sensibility, soundness of understanding, and decision of character; but her father being a despot in his family, and her mother one of his subjects, Mary, derived little benefit from their parental training. She received no literary instructions but such as were to be had in ordinary day schools. Before her sixteenth year she became acquainted with Mr. Clare a clergyman, and Miss Frances Blood; the latter, two years older than herself; who possessing good taste and some knowledge of the fine arts, seems to have given the first impulse to the formation of her character. At the age of nineteen, she left her parents, and resided with a Mrs. Dawson for two years; when she returned to the parental roof to give attention to her mother, whose ill health made her presence necessary. On the death of her mother, Mary bade a final adieu to her father's house, and became the inmate of F. Blood; thus situated, their intimacy increased, and a strong attachment was reciprocated. In 1783 she commenced a day school at Newington green, in conjunction with her friend, F. Blood. At this place she became acquainted with Dr. Price, to whom she became strongly attached; the regard was mutual.

M. Wollstonecraft was born in 1759. Her father moved so often that her birthplace is uncertain. She believed, however, that she was born in London or Epping Forest. She spent her first five years in Epping Forest. As a young girl, she showed signs of great sensitivity, sound judgment, and a decisive character. But her father ruled his family like a tyrant, and her mother was one of his subjects. Mary benefited little from her parents’ guidance. She received no literary education beyond what ordinary day schools offered. Before she was sixteen, she met Mr. Clare, a clergyman, and Miss Frances Blood. Frances was two years older than Mary. She had good taste and some knowledge of the fine arts. She seems to have given Mary the first impulse toward forming her character. At nineteen, Mary left her parents and lived with Mrs. Dawson for two years. She then returned to her parents’ home to care for her mother, whose poor health made Mary’s presence necessary. After her mother died, Mary left her father’s house for the last time and went to live with F. Blood. Their friendship grew closer, and they became deeply attached to each other. In 1783, she and F. Blood opened a day school at Newington green. There she met Dr. Price and became deeply attached to him. He felt the same regard for her.

It is said that she became a teacher from motives of benevolence, or rather philanthropy, and during the time she continued in the profession, she gave proof of superior qualification for the performance of its arduous and important duties. Her friend and coadjutor married and removed to Lisbon, in Portugal, where she died of a pulmonary disease; the symptoms of which were visible before her marriage. So true was Mary's attachment to her, that she entrusted her school to the care of others, for the purpose of attending Frances in her closing scene. She aided, as did Dr. Young, in "Stealing Narcissa a grave." Her mind was expanded by this residence in a foreign country, and though clear of religious bigotry before, she took some instructive lessons on the evils of superstition, and intolerance.

It is said that she became a teacher out of kindness, or rather, philanthropy. During her time as a teacher, she proved exceptionally well qualified for its demanding and important duties. Her friend and fellow worker married and moved to Lisbon, Portugal. There she died of a lung disease, whose symptoms had appeared before her marriage. Mary was so devoted to Frances that she left her school in others’ care to be with her as she died. She helped, as Dr. Young did, in "Stealing Narcissa a grave." Her time in a foreign country broadened her mind. Though she had already been free of religious bigotry, she learned some instructive lessons about the evils of superstition and intolerance.

On her return she found the school had suffered by her absence, and having previously decided to apply herself to literature, she now resolved to commence. In 1787 she made, or received, proposals from Johnson, a publisher in London, who was already acquainted with her talents as an author. During the three subsequent years, she was actively engaged, more in translating, condensing, and compiling, than in the production of original works. At this time she laboured under much depression of spirits, for the loss of her friend; this rather increased, perhaps, by the publication of "Mary, a novel," which was mostly composed of incidents and reflections connected with their intimacy.

When she returned, she found that the school had suffered during her absence. She had already decided to devote herself to writing, and now she resolved to begin. In 1787, she made or received proposals from Johnson, a London publisher who already knew of her talent as a writer. Over the next three years, she worked actively, mostly translating, condensing, and compiling rather than producing original works. During this time, she was deeply depressed by the loss of her friend. Her depression was perhaps made worse by the publication of "Mary, a novel," which consisted mostly of incidents and reflections connected with their close friendship.

The pecuniary concerns of her father becoming embarrassed, Mary practised a rigid economy in her expenditures, and with her savings was enabled to procure her sisters and brothers situations, to which without her aid, they could not have had access; her father was sustained at length from her funds; she even found means to take under her protection an orphan child.

When her father ran into financial difficulties, Mary spent as little as possible. With her savings, she helped her sisters and brothers obtain positions they could not have secured without her help. Eventually, she supported her father with her own money. She even found a way to take an orphaned child under her protection.

She had acquired a facility in the arrangement and expression of thoughts, in her avocation of translator, and compiler, which was no doubt of great use to her afterward. It was not long until she had occasion for them. The eminent Burke produced his celebrated "Reflections on the Revolution in France." Mary full of sentiments of liberty, and indignant at what she thought subversive of it, seized her pen and produced the first attack upon that famous work. It succeeded well, for though intemperate and contemptuous, it was vehemently and impetuously eloquent; and though Burke was beloved by the enlightened friends of freedom, they were dissatisfied and disgusted with what they deemed an outrage upon it.

Through her work as a translator and compiler, she had learned to organize and express her thoughts with ease. This skill was no doubt very useful to her later. It was not long before she had occasion to use it. The eminent Burke published his celebrated "Reflections on the Revolution in France." Mary was full of devotion to liberty and indignant at what she thought undermined it. She took up her pen and wrote the first attack on that famous work. Her attack was well received. Though excessive and contemptuous, it was passionately and forcefully eloquent. And though enlightened friends of freedom loved Burke, they were dissatisfied and disgusted by what they saw as his outrage against freedom.

It is said that Mary, had not wanted confidence in her own powers before, but the reception this work met from the public, gave her an opportunity of judging what those powers were, in the estimation of others. It was shortly after this, that she commenced the work to which these remarks are prefixed. What are its merits will be decided in the judgment of each reader; suffice it to say she appears to have stept forth boldly, and singly, in defence of that half of the human race, which by the usages of all society, whether savage or civilized, have been kept from attaining their proper dignity—their equal rank as rational beings. It would appear that the disguise used in placing on woman the silken fetters which bribed her into endurance, and even love of slavery, but increased the opposition of our authoress: she would have had more patience with rude, brute coercion, than with that imposing gallantry, which, while it affects to consider woman as the pride, and ornament of creation, degrades her to a toy—an appendage—a cypher. The work was much reprehended, and as might well be expected, found its greatest enemies in the pretty soft creatures—the spoiled children of her own sex. She accomplished it in six weeks.

It is said that Mary had already been confident in her abilities. But the public’s response to this work allowed her to judge how others valued them. Shortly afterward, she began the work to which these remarks serve as a preface. Each reader will judge its merits. It is enough to say that she appears to have stepped forward boldly and alone to defend half the human race. The customs of every society, savage or civilized, have kept women from attaining their proper dignity and equal standing as rational beings. Women were bound in silken fetters, disguised to tempt them into enduring and even loving their slavery. This disguise seems only to have increased the author’s opposition. She would have had more patience with crude, brutal force than with that impressive show of gallantry. Such gallantry pretends to regard woman as the pride and ornament of creation. Yet it reduces her to a toy, an accessory, a nobody. The work was widely criticized. As might well be expected, its greatest enemies were the pretty, soft creatures, the spoiled children of her own sex. She completed it in six weeks.

In 1792 she removed to Paris, where she became acquainted with Gilbert Imlay, of the United States. And from this acquaintance grew an attachment, which brought the parties together, without legal formalities, to which she objected on account of some family embarrassments, in which he would thereby become involved. The engagement was however considered by her of the most sacred nature, and they formed the plan of emigrating to America, where they should be enabled to accomplish it. These were the days of Robespierrean cruelty, and Imlay left Paris for Havre, whither after a time Mary followed him. They continued to reside there, until he left Havre for London, under pretence of business, and with a promise of rejoining her soon at Paris, which however he did not, but in 1795 sent for her to London. In the mean time she had become the mother of a female child, whom she called Frances in commemoration of her early friendship.

In 1792, she moved to Paris, where she met Gilbert Imlay, from the United States. Their acquaintance grew into an attachment, and they began living together without marrying. She objected to a legal marriage because it would involve him in some family difficulties. However, she considered their commitment sacred. They planned to emigrate to America, where they would be able to marry. These were the days of Robespierre’s cruelty, and Imlay left Paris for Havre. Mary followed him there after some time. They lived in Havre until he left for London, claiming he had business there. He promised to rejoin her soon in Paris, but he did not. Instead, in 1795, he sent for her to come to London. Meanwhile, she had given birth to a daughter, whom she named Frances in memory of her early friendship.

Before she went to England, she had some gloomy forebodings that the affections of Imlay, had waned, if they were not estranged from her; on her arrival, those forebodings were sorrowfully confirmed. His attentions were too formal and constrained to pass unobserved by her penetration, and though he ascribed his manner, and his absence, to business duties, she saw his affection for her was only something to be remembered. To use her own expression, "Love, dear delusion! Rigorous reason has forced me to resign; and now my rational prospects are blasted, just as I have learned to be contented with rational enjoyments." To pretend to depict her misery at this time would be futile; the best idea can be formed of it from the fact that she had planned her own destruction, from which Imlay prevented her. She conceived the idea of suicide a second time, and threw herself into the Thames; she remained in the water, until consciousness forsook her, but she was taken up and resuscitated. After divers attempts to revive the affections of Imlay, with sundry explanations and professions on his part, through the lapse of two years, she resolved finally to forgo all hope of reclaiming him, and endeavour to think of him no more in connexion with her future prospects. In this she succeeded so well, that she afterwards had a private interview with him, which did not produce any painful emotions.

Before she went to England, she feared that Imlay’s affection for her had weakened, if not disappeared altogether. When she arrived, her fears were sadly confirmed. His attentions were too formal and strained to escape her notice. Though he blamed his manner and his absences on business duties, she saw that his love for her was only a memory. In her own words, "Love, dear illusion! Stern reason has forced me to give you up. And now my reasonable hopes are ruined, just as I have learned to be content with reasonable pleasures." It would be futile to try to describe her misery at this time. The clearest indication of it is that she planned to take her own life, but Imlay stopped her. She thought of suicide a second time and threw herself into the Thames. She remained in the water until she lost consciousness, but she was pulled out and revived. Over the next two years, she made several attempts to win back Imlay’s affection. He offered various explanations and assurances. Finally, she resolved to give up all hope of winning him back and to stop thinking of him as part of her future. She succeeded so well that she later met him in private without feeling any pain.

In 1796 she revived or improved an acquaintance which commenced years before with Wm. Godwin, author of "Political Justice," and other works of great notoriety. Though they had not been favourably impressed with each other on their former acquaintance, they now met under circumstances which permitted a mutual and just appreciation of character. Their intimacy increased by regular and almost imperceptible degrees. The partiality they conceived for each other was, according to her biographer, "In the most refined 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, or who 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. Neither party could 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 to disclose to the other."

In 1796 she renewed or deepened an acquaintance with Wm. Godwin that had begun years earlier. He was the author of "Political Justice" and other widely known works. Although they had not initially been impressed with each other, they now met under circumstances that allowed them to appreciate each other's character fairly. Their closeness grew steadily and almost imperceptibly. According to her biographer, their affection for each other was "love of the most refined kind. It grew at the same pace in each of them. Even the most careful observer could not have said who fell in love first. Neither sex took the lead that long established custom had given it. Nor did either overstep the modesty so strictly required of it. Neither could claim to have been the pursuer or the pursued, the trapper or the prey. When the time came for them to reveal their feelings, there was, in a way, nothing left for either to reveal."

Mary lived but a few months after her marriage, and died in child-bed; having given birth to a daughter who is now known to the literary world as Mrs. Shelly, the widow of Percy Bysche Shelly.

Mary lived only a few months after her marriage and died in childbirth. She had given birth to a daughter now known in the literary world as Mrs. Shelly, the widow of Percy Bysche Shelly.

We can scarcely avoid regret that one of such splendid talents, and high toned feelings, should, after the former seemed to have been fully developed, and the latter had found an object in whom they might repose, after their eccentric and painful efforts to find a resting place—that such an one should at such a time, be cut off from life is something which we cannot contemplate without feeling regret; we can scarcely repress the murmur that she had not been removed ere clouds darkened her horizon, or that she had remained to witness the brightness and serenity which might have succeeded. But thus it is; we may trace the cause to anti-social arrangements; it is not individuals but society which must change it, and that not by enactments, but by a change in public opinion.

We can hardly avoid regretting that someone with such brilliant talents and deep feelings was cut off from life. Her talents seemed fully developed, and her feelings had found someone in whom they could rest. They had struggled painfully and unpredictably to find a resting place. We cannot think of her death at such a time without regret. We can hardly help wishing that she had died before clouds darkened her horizon. Or we wish she had lived to see the brightness and peace that might have followed. But this is how things stand. We may trace the cause to social arrangements that work against people. Individuals cannot change this, society must change it. And society must change it not through laws, but through a change in public opinion.

That there may be no doubt regarding the facts in this sketch, they are taken from a memoir written by her afflicted husband. In addition to many kind things he has said of her, (he was not blinded to imperfections in her character) is, that she was "Lovely in her person, and in the best and most engaging sense feminine in her manners."

So there can be no doubt about the facts in this account, they are taken from a memoir written by her grieving husband. He said many kind things about her, although he was not blind to flaws in her character. Among them, he said that she was "Lovely in her person, and in the best and most engaging sense feminine in her manners."