Two days later she wrote to this effect to Mrs. Bishop. Both letters are almost word for word the same, so that it would be useless to give the second. It was too much for Eliza’s inflammable temper. All her worst feelings were stirred by what she considered an insult. The kindness of years was in a moment effaced from her memory. Her indignation was probably fanned into fiercer fury by her disappointment. From a few words she wrote to Everina it seems as if both had been relying upon Mary for the realization of certain “goodly prospects.” She returned Mary’s letter without a word, but to Everina she wrote;—
“I have enclosed this famous letter to the author of the ‘Rights of Women,’ without any reflection. She shall never hear from Poor Bess again. Remember, I am fixed as my misery, and nothing can change my present plan. This letter has so strangely agitated me that I know not what I say, but this I feel and know, that if you value my existence you will comply with my requisition [that is, to find her a situation in Ireland where she, Everina, then was], for I am positive I will never torture our amiable friend in Charlotte Street. Is not this a good spring, my dear girl? At least poor Bess can say it is a fruitful one. Alas, poor Bess!”
It seemed to be Mary’s fate to prove the truth of the saying, that if to him that hath, it shall be given, so also from him that hath not, shall it be taken away. Just as she realized that Imlay’s love was lost forever, Eliza’s cruel, silent answer to her letter came to tell her it would be useless to turn to her sisters for sympathy. They failed to do justice to her heart, but she bore them no resentment. In one of her last letters to Imlay, she reminds him that when she went to Sweden she had asked him to attend to the wants of her father and sisters, a request which he had ignored. The anger she excited in them, however, was never entirely appeased, and from that time until her death, she heard but little of them, and saw still less.
But, though deserted by those nearest to her, her friends rallied round her. She was joyfully re-welcomed to the literary society which she had before frequented. She was not treated as an outcast, because people resolutely refused to believe the truth about her connection with Imlay. She was far from encouraging them in this. Godwin says in her desire to be honest she went so far as to explain the true state of the case to a man whom she knew to be the most inveterate tale-bearer in London, and who would be sure to repeat what she told him. But it was of no avail. Her personal attractions and cleverness predisposed friends in her favor. In order to retain her society and also to silence any scruples that might arise, they held her to be an injured wife, as indeed she really was, and not a deserted mistress. A few turned from her coldly; but those who eagerly reopened their doors to her were in the majority. One old friend who failed at this time, when his friendship would have been most valued, was Fuseli. Knowles has published a note in which Mary reproaches the artist for his want of sympathy. It reads as follows:—
When I returned from France I visited you, sir, but finding myself after my late journey in a very different situation, I vainly imagined you would have called upon me. I simply tell you what I thought, yet I write not at present to comment on your conduct or to expostulate. I have long ceased to expect kindness or affection from any human creature, and would fain tear from my heart its treacherous sympathies. I am alone. The injustice, without alluding to hopes blasted in the bud, which I have endured, wounding my bosom, have set my thoughts adrift into an ocean of painful conjecture. I ask impatiently what and where is truth? I have been treated brutally, but I daily labor to remember that I still have the duty of a mother to fulfil.
I have written more than I intended,—for I only meant to request you to return my letters: I wish to have them, and it must be the same to you. Adieu!
Mary.
CHAPTER XII.
WILLIAM GODWIN.
William Godwin was one of those with whom Mary renewed her acquaintance. The impression they now made on each other was very different from that which they had received in the days when she was still known as Mrs. Wollstonecraft. Since he was no less famous than she, and since it was his good fortune to make the last year of her life happy, and by his love to compensate her for her first wretched experience, a brief sketch of his life, his character, and his work is here necessary. It is only by knowing what manner of man he was, and what standard of conduct he deduced from his philosophy, that his relations to her can be fairly understood.