Mary Wollstonecraft's Original Stories

You must in life observe the most apparently insignificant duties – the great ones are the pillars of virtue; but the constant concurrence of trifling things, makes it necessary that reason and conscience should always preside, to keep the heart steady. Many people make promises, and appointments, which they scruple not to break, if a more inviting pleasure occurs, not remembering that the slightest duty should be performed before a mere amusement is pursued – for any neglect of this kind embitters play. Nothing, believe me, can long be pleasant, that is not innocent.

As I usually endeavour to recollect some persons of my acquaintance, who have suffered by the faults, or follies, I wish you to avoid; I will describe two characters, that will, if I mistake not, very strongly enforce what I have been saying.

Last week you saw Lady Sly, who came to pay me a morning visit. Did you ever see such a fine carriage, or such beautiful horses? How they pawed the ground, and displayed their rich harnesses! Her servants wore elegant liveries, and her own clothes suited the equipage. Her house is equal to her carriage; the rooms are lofty, and hung with silk; noble glasses and pictures adorn them: and the pleasure-grounds are large and well laid out; beside the trees and shrubs, they contain a variety of summer-houses and temples, as they are called. – Yet my young friends, this is state, not dignity.

This woman has a little soul, she never attended to truth, and obtaining great part of her fortune by falsehood, it has blighted all her enjoyments. She inhabits that superb house, wears the gayest clothes, and rides in that beautiful carriage, without feeling pleasure. Suspicion, and the cares it has given birth to, have wrinkled her countenance, and banished every trace of beauty, which paint in vain endeavours to repair. Her suspicious temper arises from a knowledge of her own heart, and the want of rational employments.

She imagines that every person she converses with means to deceive her; and when she leaves a company, supposes all the ill they may say of her, because she recollects her own practice. She listens about her house, expecting to discover the designs of her servants, none of whom she can trust; and in consequence of this anxiety her sleep is unsound, and her food tasteless. She walks in her paradise of a garden, and smells not the flowers, nor do the birds inspire her with cheerfulness. – These pleasures are true and simple, they lead to the love of God, and all the creatures whom He hath made – and cannot warm a heart which a malicious story can please.

She cannot pray to God; – He hates a liar! She is neglected by her husband, whose only motive for marrying her was to clear an incumbered estate. Her son, her only child, is undutiful; the poor never have cause to bless her; nor does she contribute to the happiness of any human being.

To kill time, and drive away the pangs of remorse, she goes from one house to another, collecting and propagating scandalous tales, to bring others on a level with herself. Even those who resemble her are afraid of her; she lives alone in the world, its good things are poisoned by her vices, and neither inspire joy nor gratitude.

Before I tell you how she acquired these vicious habits, and enlarged her fortune by disregarding truth, I must desire you to think of Mrs. Trueman, the curate’s wife, who lives in yonder white house, close to the church; it is a small one, yet the woodbines and jessamins that twine about the windows give it a pretty appearance. Her voice is sweet, her manners not only easy, but elegant; and her simple dress makes her person appear to the greatest advantage.

She walks to visit me, and her little ones hang on her hands, and cling to her clothes, they are so fond of her. If any thing terrifies them, they run under her apron, and she looks like the hen taking care of her young brood. The domestic animals play with the children, finding her a mild attentive mistress; and out of her scanty fortune she contrives to feed and clothe many a hungry shivering wretch; who bless her as she passes along.

Though she has not any outward decorations, she appears superior to her neighbours, who call her the Gentlewoman; indeed every gesture shews an accomplished and dignified mind, that relies on itself; when deprived of the fortune which contributed to polish and give it consequence.

Drawings, the amusement of her youth, ornament her neat parlour; some musical instruments stand in one corner; for she plays with taste, and sings sweetly.

All the furniture, not forgetting a book-case, full of well-chosen books, speak the refinement of the owner, and the pleasures a cultivated mind has within its own grasp, independent of prosperity.

Her husband, a man of taste and learning, reads to her, while she makes clothes for her children, whom she teaches in the tenderest, and most persuasive manner, important truths and elegant accomplishments.

When you have behaved well for some time you shall visit her, and ramble in her little garden; there are several pretty seats in it, and the nightingales warble their sweetest songs, undisturbed, in the shade.

I have now given you an account of the present situation of both, and of their characters; listen to me whilst I relate in what manner these characters were formed, and the consequence of each adhering to a different mode of conduct.

Lady Sly, when she was a child, used to say pert things, which the injudicious people about her laughed at, and called very witty. Finding that her prattle pleased, she talked incessantly, and invented stories, when adding to those that had some foundation, was not sufficient to entertain the company. If she stole sweetmeats, or broke any thing, the cat, or the dog, was blamed, and the poor animals were corrected for her faults; nay, sometimes the servants lost their places in consequence of her assertions. Her parents died and left her a large fortune, and an aunt, who had a still larger, adopted her.

Mrs. Trueman, her cousin, was, some years after, adopted by the same lady; but her parents could not leave their estate to her, as it descended to the male heir. She had received the most liberal education, and was in every respect the reverse of her cousin; who envied her merit, and could not bear to think of her dividing the fortune which she had long expected to inherit entirely herself. She therefore practised every mean art to prejudice her aunt against her, and succeeded.

A faithful old servant endeavoured to open her mistress’s eyes; but the cunning niece contrived to invent the most infamous story of the old domestic, who was in consequence of it dismissed. Mrs. Trueman supported her, when she could not succeed in vindicating her, and suffered for her generosity; for her aunt dying soon after, left only five hundred pounds to this amiable woman, and fifty thousand to Lady Sly.

They both of them married shortly after. One, the profligate Lord Sly, and the other a respectable clergyman, who had been disappointed in his hopes of preferment. This last couple, in spite of their mutual disappointments, are contented with their lot; and are preparing themselves and children for another world, where truth, virtue and happiness dwell together.

For believe me, whatever happiness we attain in this life, must faintly resemble what God Himself enjoys, whose truth and goodness produce a sublime degree, such as we cannot conceive, it is so far above our limited capacities.

I did not intend to detain you so long, said Mrs. Mason; have you finished Mrs. Trimmer’s Fabulous Histories? Indeed we have, answered Caroline, mournfully, and I was very sorry to come to the end. I never read such a pretty book; may I read it over again to Mrs. Trueman’s little Fanny? Certainly, said Mrs. Mason, if you can make her understand that birds never talk. Go and run about the garden, and remember the next lie I detect, I shall punish; because lying is a vice; – and I ought to punish you if you are guilty of it, to prevent your feeling Lady Sly’s misery.

CHAPTER VI

Anger. – Folly produces Self-contempt, and the Neglect of others.

Mrs. Mason had a number of visitors one afternoon, who conversed in the usual thoughtless manner which people often fall into who do not consider before they speak; they talked of Caroline’s beauty, and she gave herself many affected airs to make it appear to the best advantage. But Mary, who had not a face to be proud of, was observing some peculiarities in the dress or manners of the guests; and one very respectable old lady, who had lost her teeth, afforded her more diversion than any of the rest.

The children went to bed without being reproved, though Mrs. Mason, when she dismissed them, said gravely, I give you to-night a kiss of peace, an affectionate one you have not deserved. They therefore discovered by her behaviour that they had done wrong, and waited for an explanation to regain her favour.

She was never in a passion, but her quiet steady displeasure made them feel so little in their own eyes, they wished her to smile that they might be something; for all their consequence seemed to arise from her approbation. I declare, said Caroline, I do not know what I have done, and yet I am sure I never knew Mrs. Mason find fault without convincing me that I had done wrong. Did you, Mary, ever see her in a passion? No, said Mary, I do believe that she was never angry in her life; when John threw down all the china, and stood trembling, she was the first to say that the carpet made him stumble. Yes, now I do remember, when we first came to her house, John forgot to bring the cow and her young calf into the cow-house; I heard her bid him do it directly, and the poor calf was almost frozen to death – she spoke then in a hurry, and seemed angry. Now you mention it, I do recollect, replied Caroline, that she was angry, when Betty did not carry the poor sick woman the broth she ordered her to take to her. But this is not like the passion I used to see nurse in, when any thing vexed her. She would scold us, and beat the girl who waited on her. Poor little Jenny, many a time was she beaten, when we vexed nurse; I would tell her she was <not> to blame now if I saw her – and I would not tease her any more.

I declare I cannot go to sleep, said Mary, I am afraid of Mrs. Mason’s eyes – would you think, Caroline, that she who looks so very good-natured sometimes, could frighten one so? I wish I were as wise and as good as she is. The poor woman with the six children, whom we met on the common, said she was an angel, and that she had saved her’s and her children’s lives. My heart is in my mouth, indeed, replied Caroline, when I think of to-morrow morning, and yet I am much happier than I was when we were at home. I cried, I cannot now tell for what, all day; I never wished to be good – nobody told me what it was to be good. I wish to be a woman, said Mary, and to be like Mrs. Mason, or Mrs. Trueman, – we are to go to see her if we behave well.

Sleep soon over-powered them, and they forgot their apprehensions. In the morning they awoke refreshed, and took care to learn their lessons, and feed the chickens, before Mrs. Mason left her chamber.

CHAPTER VII

Virtue the Soul of Beauty. – The Tulip and the Rose. – The Nightingale. – External Ornaments. – Characters.

The next morning Mrs. Mason met them first in the garden; and she desired Caroline to look at a bed of tulips, that were then in their highest state of perfection. I, added she, choose to have every kind of flower in my garden, as the succession enables me to vary my daily prospect, and gives it the charm of variety; yet these tulips afford me less pleasure than most of the other sort which I cultivate – and I will tell you why – they are only beautiful. Listen to my distinction; – good features, and a fine complexion, I term bodily beauty. Like the streaks in the tulip, they please the eye for a moment; but this uniformity soon tires, and the active mind flies off to something else. The soul of beauty, my dear children, consists in the body gracefully exhibiting the emotions and variations of the informing mind. If truth, humanity, and knowledge inhabit the breast, the eyes will beam with a mild lustre, modesty will suffuse the cheeks, and smiles of innocent joy play over all the features. At first sight, regularity and colour will attract, and have the advantage, because the hidden springs are not directly set in motion; but when internal goodness is reflected, every other kind of beauty, the shadow of it, withers away before it – as the sun obscures a lamp.

You are certainly handsome, Caroline; I mean, have good features; but you must improve your mind to give them a pleasing expression, or they will only serve to lead your understanding astray. I have seen some foolish people take great pains to decorate the outside of their houses, to attract the notice of strangers, who gazed, and passed on; whilst the inside, where they received their friends, was dark and inconvenient. Apply this observation to mere personal attractions. They may, it is true, for a few years, charm the superficial part of your acquaintance, whose notions of beauty are not built on any principle of utility. Such persons might look at you, as they would glance their eye over these tulips, and feel for a moment the same pleasure that a view of the variegated rays of light would convey to an uninformed mind. The lower class of mankind, and children, are fond of finery; gaudy, dazzling appearances catch their attention; but the discriminating judgment of a person of sense requires, besides colour, order, proportion, grace and usefulness, to render the idea of beauty complete.

Observe that rose, it has all the perfections I speak of; colour, grace, and sweetness – and even when the fine tints fade, the smell is grateful to those who have before contemplated its beauties. I have only one bed of tulips, though my garden is large, but, in every part of it, roses attract the eye.

You have seen Mrs. Trueman, and think her a very fine woman; yet her skin and complexion have only the clearness that temperance gives; and her features, strictly speaking, are not regular: Betty, the housemaid, has, in both these respects, much the superiority over her. But, though it is not easy to define in what her beauty consists, the eye follows her whenever she moves; and every person of taste listens for the modulated sounds which proceed out of her mouth, to be improved and pleased. It is conscious worth, truth, that gives dignity to her walk, and simple elegance to her conversation. She has, indeed, a most excellent understanding, and a feeling heart; sagacity and tenderness, the result of both, are happily blended in her countenance; and taste is the polish, which makes them appear to the best advantage. She is more than beautiful; and you see her varied excellencies again and again, with increasing pleasure. They are not obtruded on you, for knowledge has taught her true humility: she is not like the flaunting tulip, that forces itself forward into notice; but resembles the modest rose, you see yonder, retiring under its elegant foliage.

I have mentioned flowers – the same order is observed in the higher departments of nature. Think of the birds; those that sing best have not the finest plumage; indeed just the contrary; God divides His gifts, and amongst the feathered race the nightingale (sweetest of warblers, who pours forth her varied strain when sober eve comes on) you would seek in vain in the morning, if you expected that beautiful feathers should point out the songstress: many who incessantly twitter, and are only tolerable in the general concert, would surpass her, and attract your attention.

I knew, some time before you were born, a very fine, a very handsome girl; I saw she had abilities, and I saw with pain that she attended to the most obvious, but least valuable gift of heaven. Her ingenuity slept, whilst she tried to render her person more alluring. At last she caught the small-pox – her beauty vanished, and she was for a time miserable; but the natural vivacity of youth overcame her unpleasant feelings. In consequence of the disorder, her eyes became so weak that she was obliged to sit in a dark room. To beguile the tedious day she applied to music, and made a surprising proficiency. She even began to think, in her retirement, and when she recovered her sight grew fond of reading.

Large companies did not now amuse her, she was no longer the object of admiration, or if she was taken notice of, it was to be pitied, to hear her former self praised, and to hear them lament the depredation that dreadful disease had made in a fine face. Not expecting or wishing to be observed, she lost her affected airs, and attended to the conversation, in which she was soon able to bear a part. In short, the desire of pleasing took a different turn, and as she improved her mind, she discovered that virtue, internal beauty, was valuable on its own account, and not like that of the person, which resembles a toy, that pleases the observer, but does not render the possessor happy.

She found, that in acquiring knowledge, her mind grew tranquil, and the noble desire of acting conformably to the will of God succeeded, and drove out the immoderate vanity which before actuated her, when her equals were the objects she thought most of, and whose approbation she sought with such eagerness. And what had she sought? To be stared at and called handsome. Her beauty, the mere sight of it, did not make others good, or comfort the afflicted; but after she had lost it, she was comfortable herself, and set her friends the most useful example.

The money that she had formerly appropriated to ornament her person, now clothed the naked; yet she really appeared better dressed, as she had acquired the habit of employing her time to the best advantage, and could make many things herself. Besides, she did not implicitly follow the reigning fashion, for she had learned to distinguish, and in the most trivial matters acted according to the dictates of good sense.

The children made some comments on this story, but the entrance of a visitor interrupted the conversation, and they ran about the garden, comparing the roses and tulips.

CHAPTER VIII

Summer Evening’s Amusement. – The Arrival of a Family of Haymakers. – Ridicule of personal Defects censured. – A Storm. – The Fear of Death. – The Cottage of honest Jack, the shipwrecked Sailor. – The History of Jack, and his faithful Dog Pompey.

The evening was pleasant; Mrs. Mason and the children walked out; and many rustic noises struck their ears. Some bells in a neighbouring village, softened by the distance, sounded pleasingly; the beetles hummed, and the children pursued them, not to destroy them; but to observe their form, and ask questions concerning their mode of living. Sheep were bleating and cattle lowing, the rivulet near them babbled along, while the sound of the distant ocean died away on the ear – or they forgot it, listening to the whistling of the hay-makers, who were returning from the field. They met a whole family who came every year from another county where they could not find constant employment, and Mrs. Mason allowed them to sleep in her barn. The little ones knew their benefactress, and tried to catch a smile; and she was ever ready to smile on those whom she obliged; for she loved all her fellow creatures, and love lightens obligations. Besides, she thought that the poor who are willing to work, had a right to the comforts of life.

A few moments after, they met a deformed woman; the children stared her almost out of countenance; but Mrs. Mason turned her head another way, and when the poor object was out of hearing, said to Mary, I intended to reprove you this morning for a fault which I have frequently seen you commit; and this moment and the other evening it was particularly conspicuous. When that deformed woman passed us, I involuntarily looked at something else, and would not let her perceive that she was a disgusting figure, and attracted notice on that account. I say I did it involuntarily, for I have accustomed myself to think of others, and what they will suffer on all occasions: and this lothness to offend, or even to hurt the feelings of another, is an instantaneous spring which actuates my conduct, and makes me kindly affected to every thing that breathes. If I then am so careful not to wound a stranger, what shall I think of your behaviour, Mary? when you laughed at a respectable old woman, who beside her virtues and her age, had been particularly civil to you. I have always seen persons of the weakest understandings, and whose hearts benevolence seldom touched, ridicule bodily infirmities, and accidental defects. They could only relish the inferiour kind of beauty, which I described this morning, and a silly joy has elated their empty souls, on finding, by comparison, that they were superiour to others in that respect, though the conclusion was erroneous, for merit, mental acquirements, can only give a just claim to superiority. Had you possessed the smallest portion of discernment, you would soon have forgotten the tones, loss of teeth made drawling, in listening to the chearful good sense which that worthy woman’s words conveyed. You laughed, because you were ignorant, and I now excuse you; but some years hence, if I were to see you in company, with such a propensity, I should still think you a child, an overgrown one, whose mind did not expand as the body grew.

The sky began to thicken, and the lowing of the cattle to have a melancholy cadence; the nightingale forgot her song, and fled to her nest; and the sea roared and lashed the rocks. During the calm which portended an approaching storm, every creature was running for shelter. – We must, if possible, said Mrs. Mason, reach yon cottage on the cliff, for we shall soon have a violent thunder-storm. They quickened their pace, but the hurricane overtook them. The hail-stones fell, the clouds seemed to open and disclose the lightning, while loud peals of thunder shook the ground; the wind also in violent gusts rushed among the trees, tore off the slender branches and loosened the roots.

The children were terrified; but Mrs. Mason gave them each a hand, and chatted with them to dispel their fears. She informed them that storms were necessary to dissipate noxious vapours, and to answer many other purposes, which were not, perhaps, obvious to our weak understandings. But are you not afraid? cried the trembling Caroline. No, certainly, I am not afraid. – I walk with the same security as when the sun enlivened the prospect – God is still present, and we are safe. Should the flash that passes by us, strike me dead, it cannot hurt me, I fear not death! – I only fear that Being who can render death terrible, on whose providence I calmly rest; and my confidence earthly sorrows cannot destroy. A mind is never truly great, till the love of virtue overcomes the fear of death.

By this time they had mounted the cliff, and saw the tumultuous deep. The angry billows rose, and dashed against the shore; and the loud noise of the raging sea resounded from rock to rock.

They ran into the cottage; the poor woman who lived in it, sent her children for wood, and soon made a good fire to dry them.

The father of the family soon after came in, leaning on crutches; and over one eye there was a large patch. I am glad to see you honest Jack, said Mrs. Mason, come and take your seat by the fire, and tell the children the story of your shipwreck.

He instantly complied. I was very young, my dear ladies, said Jack, when I went to sea, and endured many hardships, – however I made a shift to weather them all; and whether the wind was fair or foul, I ran up the shrouds and sung at the helm. I had always a good heart, no lad fore or aft had a better; when we were at sea, I never was the first to flinch; and on shore I was as merry as the best of them. I married she you see yonder, (lifting his crutch to point to his wife) and her work and my wages did together, till I was shipwrecked on these rocks. Oh! it was a dreadful night; this is nothing to it; but I am getting to the end of my story before I begin it.