Reply, &c.
Chap I.
Anti-matrimonial Thesis of Queen Mab.
It is as common for great powers of imagination to lead writers into error, as for great natural powers to exhaust themselves, in useless feats, or ridiculous exploits. Nor does this detract from the value of such powers. The vigour necessary to give effect to the exertions of either body or mind, can as readily be ill as well employed. It may be confined to the beaten road, where it will the more readily reach its goal; or it may climb the precipice, or descend into the abyss, and destroy its energy without accomplishing any desirable object. Some without wings, it is true, will attempt to fly; but the consequences are not so lamentable, as where those who have the strongest pinions attract the public gaze, by soaring into unknown regions, and find their powers fail at so perilous a height.
Queen Mab is a glittering, rather than a splendid oddity. Much of what it would merit as a poem, is lost in the want of originality. The Fairy is the spirit of Volney's Ruins, trimly dressed for a new character. The execution of the design will bear no comparison with that of the work from which it is evidently copied; though it cannot be denied that the varying illustrations are given in an exalted strain of poetry. The scorn of slavery, and the contempt of slaves:—the hatred of hypocrisy, and the eager pursuit of truth and happiness, even where they are not to be found:—the indignation which tyranny excites; and the forcible contrast of its own wretchedness, whilst it makes others wretched:—even the enthusiastic dream of unattainable perfection, with which the poem closes:—all interest us strongly in favor of the writer's wishes for the happiness of the human species; but this only encreases our regret that he should have directed them to a path, in which it would be ever sought in vain.
I am one of those who do not expect, nor even wish, that man should be completely changed in his nature, which would be a necessary prelude to this anticipated perfection. While he supposes himself about to confer upon humanity an ideal superiority over its present existence, he proposes in fact to create a new world, and to people it with a new race! It will be seen that he carries this idea, not merely to the extermination of all the aberrations of passion, but to the improvement of the face of nature. The "wastes of frozen billows," "hurled by everlasting snow storms "round the poles," are to be "unloosed;" and "fragrant zephyrs," from "spicy isles," are to "melodize with man's blest nature there." The deserts of Arabia, are to
"——teem with countless rills and shady woods,
Corn-fields, and pastures, and white cottages."
The wonders of Pope's Messiah, from which much of this matter, and all the ideas seem gathered, as those of the Messiah from Virgil and the prophets, are to be realized in this new world:—for
"——where the startled wilderness beheld
A savage conqueror stained in kindred blood;
A tygress sating with the flesh of lambs,
The unnatural famine of her toothless cubs,
Whilst shouts and howlings through the desert rang,
Sloping and smooth the daisy-spangled lawn,
Offering sweet incense to the sun rise, smiles
To see a babe before his mother's door,
Sharing his morning's meal
With the green and golden basilisk,
That comes to lick his feet!"
"Morning on night, and night on morning rise,
Whilst still no land to greet the wanderer spreads
Its shadowy mountains on the sun-bright sea."
These agreeable resting places will of course supercede the necessity of ships, and destroy all the dangers of navigation. The Venetian gondola, to harmonious music, over the ever-placid wave, and with ever-favouring breezes, will serve all the purposes of marine intercourse; and remove the necessity of those perilous adventures in which our enterprising sailors are now embarked in the frozen regions of the north. Nay, he boldly tells us "all things are to be re-created." No storms are to deface the beauties of nature, and no excess of evil passion is to disturb the happiness of man!
What influence on this re-creation, by any possibility, can have the conduct of man? The apparent object of the poem, is to point out the baneful effects of superstition, vice, tyranny, and falsehood; to attribute the countless ills that curse humanity, to the bad passions, the mistaken self-interests, and the ignorance of men:—to call them, by the precepts of reason and virtue, to a proper sense of their own dignity; and to a consideration of the means of happiness which they have neglected. What has this to do with the material world?—with a reversal, or total change of the laws of nature; with studding the Atlantic with islands, or transferring the perfumes of Arabia to replace the dissolved ice-bergs of the pole? Could a universe of Shelleys, with all the sensibility, and virtue, which he recommends, effect the slightest change, in the laws that govern the material world?—Could they transform a shower of snow into a halo of sunbeams—or bid the chilling breezes of the north blow as mildly as Italian zephyrs? out of respect to the "naked beauties" of Ianthe!
Virtue may overcome the severity of nature—and bloom as freshly and as vigorously beneath the frigid, or the burning, as the temperate zone. It is with reason Gray indignantly asks:—
"Need we the influence of the northern star,
To still our souls, or string our nerves to war?
And where the face of nature laughs around,
Must sickening virtue fly the tainted ground?
Unmanly thought! No seasons can controul,
No fancied zone can circumscribe the soul;
Who conscious of the source from whence she springs,
By reason's light, on resolution's wings,
Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes,
Through Lybia's deserts, and through Zembla's snows!
All little wants, all low desires refine,
And raise the mortal to a height divine?"
My principal object is to show that Mr. Shelley's scheme of sexual intercourse is not adapted either to the well-being, or the existence of Society, in a world like this; and I have deemed it just to show, that while he recommends it, as a great improvement, he does not take into consideration, any such world as ours; but a world purely ideal, which has scarcely any foundation in his own imagination. I say scarcely any foundation;—for if he had possessed decided and clear ideas upon the subject, he would not have confounded the contradictory ideas of a new world, and a reformation of the manners of the old! When his new world was created, it would have been ample time to lay down such a thesis of intercourse; if the creator of such new world had not spared Mr. Shelley the necessity of devising means for the supreme felicity of his creatures!
I believe every rational being will agree with Pope, that—
"In the scale of reasoning life 'tis plain,
There must be somewhere such a rank as man;
And all the question, wrangle e'er so long,
Is only this, if God has placed him wrong?"
The theory of Mr. Shelley is, that God has created knaves, and fools, instead of men: and he would have us believe that to get rid of the folly and knavery, would be to introduce a species superior to man; and a new modification of the external and material world, to suit his new order! The object of other philosophers, (admitting Mr. Shelley to be one) is to realize the philosophical idea of what man ought to be in the development of his reason;—Mr. Shelley is not satisfied with this; but would entrench upon the ideal world for a species of fabulous angels, of "faultless monsters, which the world ne'er saw," to people his new regions.
All this, as a mere theory may amuse the volatile, and those who seek only amusement; and though useless, I will not call it dangerous. It is a common principle with man, to seek abroad for felicity, while it lies within his reach. Overlooking it at home, and not finding it elsewhere, he flies to the clouds, and is content to fancy, what, but for a most unfortunate sensibility, would court his actual enjoyment, without labour or research.
But when Mr. Shelley addresses himself directly to society, and deliberately proposes to loosen the key-stone of its arch, he ceases to be "madly wild," and becomes actually dangerous. His proposal to realize Mahomet's paradise on earth, is not merely an error. However disinterested the author of such a proposal might be, avails nothing. A child, with the most innocent intention in the world, might carry a torch amongst combustibles, and produce the most dreadful conflagration. He who should succeed in persuading society to cut the gordian knot of marriage, would do more towards the demoralization of his species, and the extinction of science, than all the tyrants, and all the hypocrites who ever lived. It is with these impressions, I propose to analyze his scheme of sexual intercourse.
In the poem itself, his ideas are not fully developed: though his conclusions are sufficiently palpable. The first passage to which it is necessary to refer, is in page forty-eight, of your edition, when speaking of the mischievous venality which the spirit of commerce, and the love of riches, has produced, he says:— "Even love is sold;—the solace of all woe,
Is turned to deadliest agony; old age
Shivers in selfish beauty's loathing arms,
And youth's corrupted impulses prepare
A life of horror from the blighting bane
Of commerce."
To the first four words of this quotation, is appended a note of some length, in which he enters more in detail into the subject of our difference. Before I proceed to this, let me remark, that the expression "even love is sold," in the text of his dissertation, is a fallacy:—and he himself demonstrates it to be such, when he adds that "old age shivers in selfish beauty's loathing arms!" In the instance he has offered, it is not love that is the object of sale, but "selfish beauty;" which whether sold, or given, affords no reason for his hypothesis. A better reasoner than Mr. Shelley has said—
"Judges and senates may be bought for gold;
Esteem, and love, were never to be sold!"
It is hardly to be presumed, if the institution of marriage were abolished, that mercenary beauty would not dispose of itself to the best advantage, and to hazard the proposition that a yearly, a monthly, or a diurnal sale, of such selfish charms, would better the condition of society, would be to hazard the probability of universal ridicule. Extinguish the mercenary motive, and good would be effected. "Were not beauty venal, it would not prostitute itself to what it abhorred, either for a long, or a short period; but where the venality exists, it would be unnecessary to contend that it is wisely limited in its power of setting itself up for sale.
Mr. Shelley says "Law pretends even to govern the indisciplinable wanderings of passion, to put fetters on the clearest deductions of reason, and, by appeals to the will, to subdue the involuntary affections of our nature." In the instance selected for the illustration of this description of the law, it does no such thing. In too many instances, I confess, laws have put fetters on the deductions of reason; but in the institution of marriage, I can perceive no such manacling;—nor do they pretend to govern the passions; because it is quite evident they cannot govern them. I do not understand how "appeals to the will," are to subdue "our involuntary affections." Laws appeal to nothing; still less would they appeal to the will—and least of all would they appeal to our wills, against our involuntary affections. General laws are meant to regulate our conduct to each other, within certain rules; that the confidence necessary for the social union may be maintained. A principle laid down by the law, is promulgated as a general rule; and in the confidence that this rule will be respected by all; or that if violated, society will punish the violator, it is recognised as a general principle of action. Law speaks only to the judgment. The laws relative to the institution of marriage have probably less effect than any other species of laws;—on account of those passions which they cannot control, and which they fear to punish. On man they are seldom considered binding. His caprice, or his passion, is continually despising, and overleaping them:—but though they are not so binding upon man, as their nature should require, they are still in some measure the protection of woman; and, in any state of society, form almost the only protection she can receive from the social law. The rights of men are to a certain extent secured, because man fears man; and dreads to do wrong, lest the wrong should be amply revenged. But man does not fear woman; and it is only in his sense of honour, that she has any security, beyond the respect which is ensured her by the name of wife! The marriage law secures her rank in society; renders that protection an obligatory duty where it would not be voluntarily performed; and, in the absence of affection, compels man in some measure to be just!
What protection against distress, misery, infancy, and old age, would the scheme of Mr. Shelley confer on woman? "Love," says he, "is inevitably consequent on the perception of loveliness." This is not true, in the sense in which love is here employed. Every man does not love every woman in whom he perceives loveliness. It could not even be a consequence of inculcating the idea, that man like the butterfly should pass from flower to flower, and revel in the sweets of every beauty; for nature would mock his powers of enjoyment, by the endless renewals of loveliness and beauty, with which she would deride his sated appetite. But to inculcate this idea would be to sacrifice every sensation, which
"Fills the languid pause with finer joy!"
It would be to brutalize man, and to degrade woman—to fill the earth with such worthless beings as seek all pleasure in mere sensual gratifications; and such females as minister to the pleasure of man without any participation in his gross delights.
The old tale that " love withers under constraint; that its very essence is liberty; that it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear:"—is as ridiculous as untrue. Whilst love exists, it feels no restraint. It is perfectly immaterial whether it be enclosed with flowery hedges, or massy walls. With no wish to stray from its bower, it cares not whether the boundary be near or distant. It cannot become impatient of restraint; and when that impatience is felt, love has already vanished. Love has no preference for liberty, for it chooses its bondage. It delights to serve; finds service perfect freedom; and its essence, so far from being liberty, is the most decided slavery:—
"The sweetest bondage it is true,
That ever human slavery knew,
But it is bondage still!"
Obedience is too tame an epithet, for its anxiety to serve. Its jealousy, lest any one should presume to share its service, is so notorious as to be proverbial; and its fear is as excessive as its fondness. Really, Mr. Shelley, from his practice, ought to have known the divinity better. It may be allowed this writer, that love is "most pure, most perfect, and most unlimited, where its votaries live in confidence, equality, and unrestraint." But there are a thousand intermediate degrees before we reach this superlative definition:—and at each of them a man might do well to pause, and ask himself whether by changing the shrine, his devotion would be more acceptable to the deity, or better calculated to ensure happiness to himself.
"How long then ought the sexual connection to last?" asks Mr. S. The laws of society say, that without moral, or physical cause, be shewn against it, it ought to last during the lives of the parties! They endeavour to prevent individuals from choosing companions, until they are capable of forming a correct judgment of themselves, and the partners they are about to choose. They declare that one female alone can be recognized as the wedded wife of one man. They declare that he who selects a woman is bound to maintain and to protect her; and if he neglect his duty, the laws endeavour to enforce it. The laws have nothing to do with love, or affection. Where they exist, the civil laws are mere formalities; and the bonds are neither felt nor heeded. Where they do not exist, or where they have existed, and exist no longer, the laws step in to protect the female, as far as their authority can interfere; and to secure her rights as a member of society. No law binds, or could bind, parties to a cohabitation which they abhorred. No law professes to do this. Marriages are virtually dissolved, and the individuals separate, when the yoke becomes unbearable to either party; and the laws only provide, as far as they can, that society shall not suffer wrong, nor the weaker party endure more than the evils of separation, by the caprice, the inconstancy, or the guilt of man!
By love our author seems only to mean, the ungovernable emotion, which beauty first awakens in the bosom of maturing manhood. This furious impulse is of the most evanescent description. Satiety succeeds to enjoyment; and for the same person, the same maddening sensation can seldom, if ever, be again awakened. While that individual continued to be an object of the affections, the sensation could be awakened for no other; but is this furor alone worthy of the name of love? Is it to be constantly excited for some new object, that it may be continually in existence? and are fresh victims to be periodically sacrificed to this inordinate avarice of beauty? which would then become a greater curse than the avarice of gold! Suppose all men acting in this mode, they would cut each other's throats, as fast as they destroyed the happiness of the female portion of society. Murder and debauchery would be the "twin fiends of desolation;" and the imagined paradise of Queen Mab, would become in verity the worst of hells.
Woman can never be raised upon the stage of this bustling world, into an equality with man. Her very virtues, her beauties, her excellencies, forbid it. Beauty is the universal object of desire; and what men desire, they will obtain, by any means in their power. Women have no intuitive knowledge to discover the truth of affection, from its dissembled counterfeit. Prone to believe "what seems but fair," how are they to detect the guile that lurks beneath the specious promise of the flatterer's tongue! What security have they for the reality of an affection? or if real, that it might last the passing of a single moon? It is proposed to hold out to every man, the idea of obtaining as many women as he could deceive; and of abandoning with impunity those whom he has betrayed into affection for so dishonourable a wretch. The author of Queen Mab complains of the state of society! It may be bad enough; but this method of mending it, would be to replace the noisy puppies that infest our streets, by tigers and hyenas.
We now arrive at some of the most senseless and absurd jargon, that ever affected sensibility reduced to language—if that may be called language, which inverts its purpose, and confounds, instead of assisting, the understanding. I must quote the words, or I should be considered as creating shadows, for the purpose of dispelling them. He says—"if happiness be the object of morality, of all human unions and disunions; if the worthiness of every action is to be estimated by the quantity of pleasurable sensation it is calculated to produce, then the connection of the sexes is so long sacred, as it contributes to the comfort of the parties, and is naturally dissolved, when its evils are greater than its benefits. There is nothing immoral in this separation. Constancy has nothing virtuous in itself, independently of the pleasure which it confers, and partakes of the temporizing spirit of vice, in proportion as it endures tamely moral defects of magnitude in the object of its indiscreet choice. Love is free: To promise for ever to love the same woman, is not less absurd than to promise to believe the same creed: such a vow, in both cases, excludes us from all enquiry. The language of the votarist is this.—The woman I now love may be infinitely inferior to many others; the creed I now profess may be a mass of errors and absurdities; but I exclude myself from all future information as to the amiability of the one, and the truth of the other, resolving blindly, and in spite of conviction, to adhere to them.—Is this the language of delicacy, and reason?—Is the love of such a frigid heart of more worth than its belief?"
It is said Mr. Shelley was very young when he wrote this; and it would require the apology of a nonage when the pen and the hand had as little intercourse, as these rhapsodies have connection with the head, or the heart. That happiness, in the sense here implied, is the object of morality, is preposterous. Morality points out the strict line of duty. The leading object is justice:—and it does not leave man at liberty, to seek his own happiness at the expence of the well being, or the peace of others. Man sighs for the possession of woman:—he engages her affections: fixes all her hopes and chance of happiness upon his constancy:—but he has already enjoyed her—his palled appetite wanders after more tempting, because more novel, charms;—and in this new code of morals, he may say—"I am no longer happy in your society,—happiness was my object in the union. I must now seek it in disunion, and fresh engagements. I am extremely sorry:—my comfort requires a separation. Adieu!" What must he be, who could hold this language to an affectionate, astonished, deceived, and brokenhearted woman? Men may be often false;—may often forget the vows sworn at the altar, and venture to taste "forbidden fruits:" but to make falsehood a creed, villainy a profession, and injustice a moral duty, is a measure of guilt, for which language has no adequate expression.
An affection cannot be supposed to expire at the same moment, between individuals of opposite sexes. We have a thousand instances, in which the love of woman has survived coldness, treachery, desertion, insult, and privation—where it still clung to the father of the children, when it could no longer be felt for the husband of the wife:—and suppose the fondness of woman undiminished, at the moment when man finds it a "moral duty" to abandon her, in search of "happiness," and "comfort." Is there, then, nothing immoral, nothing criminal, in devoting the deserted object of this injustice, to a life of wretchedness—the more acute, as it admits of no alleviation; and which is heightened by the convenient "morality," which permits the object of her solicitude to seek his own "happiness," by reducing all who will trust his falsehood to the same desperate condition. "When the evils of the connection of the sexes, are greater than its benefits," separation necessarily ensues; but so attractive, so necessary, is woman; such are the endearing and lasting ties which the relations of husband and wife, father, mother, and children, weave around the heart, that it is not in the power of many evils to overbalance the advantages of that connection. While "passions are the elements of life," the discordance of temper, and the strife of opposing wills, amid the varied incidents of life, will agitate the mental and moral atmosphere, as nature is agitated by the winds; but as destructive convulsions are of rare occurrence; so is it almost as rarely that the evils of the matrimonial state are felt to surpass its advantages. Fathers and mothers are often dissatisfied with their children; and frequently with cause; yet it is seldom we hear any wish they were childless; and when the wish is expressed by the tongue, the heart is not always ready to concur. Bachelors laugh at marriage, and then marry:—husbands rail at matrimony; and wish they were again single:—that, should fate listen to them, they may marry again! Even Mr. Shelley has been married twice,[1] after having had an opportunity, at least, of trying the preponderating blessings of his novel scheme. Whatever authority his own example might have given to his precepts, is entirely lost. Perhaps it would not be assuming too much, to say that his experience has made him a convert to matrimony. Should this be the case, he owes society the duty of recording his conversion.
If justice be virtue, constancy is virtue. Even supposing that a man should sacrifice his happiness, by his constancy, has he not sworn that he will be constant? Will he adopt the paltry subterfuge, that he did not know what he was about to promise? Will he plead his folly, to excuse his caprice? I am not speaking of the matrimonial law—but, suppose it entirely abrogated, such an oath, or a promise which ought not to be considered less binding than an oath, must be the preliminary means of obtaining woman. The marriage would not be less real, in the eye of reason, if the priest were absent, and the law annulled. The union would still have all the force of a solemn contract. No woman would surrender herself to the pleasures of a libertine, avowedly on the tenure of his good liking. Even Mr. Shelley does not assert the abolition of formal marriages "would lead to promiscuous intercourse." Then the contract must be made between the parties; and does he mean to say, that either would, or ought to reserve the right of separation, when caprice should suggest the convenience of change? Would it be less dishonorable to break such an engagement, than any other? At any rate, should not both concur in such separation, before it could be deemed just? This brings us back to the present condition of affairs. Where both agree to separate, the law is useless. It cannot compel cohabitation; and if it impose any privations upon parties, their mistaken judgment is the cause. Society must protect itself:—and the squabbles of a few individuals cannot be considered. The lesser evil must be endured to prevent the greater. In our author's new world, these things may be managed better;—but we must wait for its re-creation; and in the mean time be as comfortable as we can.
"Constancy has nothing virtuous in itself, independently of the pleasure it confers!" Indeed, Mr. Shelley! Such language would only be in character with a selfish boy, who would engross the honey-pot to himself, until it made him sick. Is there nothing virtuous in a constancy, which would sacrifice its own pleasure, to avoid giving pain to a woman, who had placed all her hopes of happiness in that constancy? Is self to be the everlasting, and only thought? Is man never to remember there are other creatures in existence, whose well-being ought to be consulted, as well as his pleasure? The nonsense about "moral defects of magnitude," is puerile in the extreme. Both law, and reason, allow of separation for just cause;—the object of Mr. Shelley's theory is to shew that separation for any cause, or any caprice, is justifiable! This is the point at issue between him and the world.
"To promise for ever to love the same woman, is not less absurd, than to promise to believe the same creed!" Good, now! Mr. Shelley, your reason? Were this pressed hard upon you, you would probably with Falstaff exclaim, "If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would not give you one upon compulsion!" A woman resemble a religious creed! When I promise to believe a creed, I promise only that I will believe it, until its falsehood is pointed out. The veriest fanatic has this conditional reservation. It is the nature of such promises; and they cannot be otherwise made, or construed. It may be difficult, or impossible, to convince a fanatic; but he does not tell you he would maintain his creed, if it were proved false. He holds it, because he is satisfied it cannot be proved false. He does not admit "the creed he professes may be a mass of errors and absurdities;" so far from it, he would go to the stake for the contrary opinion, that it was impossible it should contain either error, or absurdity. Nor does any votary of love admit, "the woman he then loves may be infinitely inferior to many others." In the points of preference which determine his choice, he must, on the contrary, contend she is superior to all others:—and if he be competent to judge, while those excellencies remain, his reasons for preference will continue. He selects that woman who most promises to realize his ideas of happiness!—Surely woman has the same reason to urge in her behalf, on which Othello reposes his confidence in Desdemona—"she had her eyes and chose him!" To plead for an allowance,on the part of want of judgment, is well enough in a boy, who may wish to change his plaything; but it is unworthy of a man, who ought to be better acquainted with his feelings, and his reason. Could man replace woman in the advantageous situation, in which he found her:—could he restore her charms untasted, her bloom unchanged, her affections uninjured;—even then her consent would be necessary to give any colouring of justice to a separation; but in the impossibility of this,—with certain loss, and absolute injury to her;—after having rendered her less desirable to others, to throw her from himself, in search of other charms to ruin and betray, on the pretence of promoting his own "comfort," is a proposition that has more of the devil in it, than of the man.
Where marriages are unhappy, he says they make hypocrites, or open enemies. There may be tempers with whom perfect happiness, or even comparative comfort, is not to be expected. But here, perhaps the institution of marriage has its advantages. Such spirits would be unquiet every where, and in any species of intercourse. In some cases the passionate excess of love subsides into rational esteem, and calm affection. In others, affection nearly evaporates, and esteem alone remains. In others, the union is cemented by a respect for the ordinary decorums of life, and an anxiety for the welfare of an offspring. In some few, the temper breaks out into open violence against all forms, and principles; and all duties are neglected. But it is for Mr. Shelley to shew that in the state of unbridled liberty, on the part of man, for this must be the effect of his theory, greater hypocrisy would not be resorted to, for the purpose of betraying the individuals than is now employed to deceive the world—that greater enmity would not arise from the desertions of those who were betrayed, than arises now from the impossibility of dissolving the marriage tie! What brother, what father, would suffer a daughter, or a sister, to be abandoned, at the caprice of a two-legged ape of manhood, who thought he saw a brilliant butterfly at a distance, which his "morality" taught him he might have some pleasure in running down? It would be an absolute duty for every one interested in the honor, and happiness of woman, to wear swords, not "for fashion's sake," but to teach those who approached them, they were not to be injured with impunity.
Mr. S. says the children of unfortunate marriages are "nursed in a systematic school of ill humour, violence, and falsehood." Allow this to be the case, though the whole are rarely combined, would it mend the matter, to nurse them in the school of their mother's injuries; to be brought up to consider one of the authors of their existence, as the destroyer of the other's peace? Or to nurse them in the school of hatred towards a step-father, whose harshness and injustice might implant the bitterest principles of revenge? Or, if taken from the mother, at the period of the separation, to be nursed in the school of contemptuous neglect, by a step-mother? Or, not to be nursed in any school, but left to gather what weeds they might chance to select, on the wild common of abandoned nature?
It is strange that in condemning hypocrisy, as a fruit of unhappy marriages, he should propose hyyocrisy as a means of perpetuating his ad libitum connexions. Yet so it is; for he says, "if this connexion were put upon a rational basis, each would be assured that habitual ill temper would terminate in separation; and would check (disguise) this vicious and dangerous propensity!" This is little more than saying, that a harlot would be extremely civil, lest she should not be sufficiently rewarded. It is somewhat curious too, that even in his "recreated world," the scene of "absolute perfection," when every natural evil should have vanished; he does not expect to get rid even of "habitual ill temper;"—his only hope is to disguise it lest it should be punished! The fancies of this brilliant dreamer are not made of more substanstial stuff, than the dreams of less favoured mortals.
As he proceeds, he gets bolder:—and he has reason for it. Being so deeply entangled in the web of sophistry, his only hope of effect, is to wrap fold on fold, in the desperate chance of entangling his readers. He tells us, that "prostitution is the legitimate offspring of marriage, and its accompanying errors!" One would have thought, from his hypothesis, that prostitution should be hailed as the natural means by which the political evils of marriage were to be remedied. Instead of speaking of prostitution as an evil, he should have contended for it as a comparative good, as far as it extends;—and lamented that it was not a universal practice, instead of a partial one. What is prostitution, but a promiscuous intercourse; and what but promiscuous intercourse of the sexes does Mr. Shelley recommend? Man is to seek whatever is lovely—to remain no longer attached to one object than while he finds it convenient; and to change as often as his judgment or his caprice sets before him a "lovelier object." His theory is, that enjoyment alone should be aimed at; and that every man is at perfect liberty to pursue every variety of enjoyment. He says, indeed, towards the close of his note, "I by no means assert that the intercourse would be promiscuous;" but it is quite evident, whatever Mr. Shelley may choose to assert, that to this "it must come at last." The reasons against promiscuous intercourse he is able to perceive. The "relation of parent to child," which should render the sexual union of "long duration, and marked above all others with generosity and self-devotion," is the justification of the marriage laws; for the history of man sufficiently proves that, without an obligation, the great majority of fathers might abandon their children, as readily as they cast from their bosoms the deluded, trusting females, who have been the instruments of their pleasures. Look at the world! Does any gentleman think himself at all obliged to notice either the objects, or the fruits of his illicit intercourse? In all cases of seduction, we may see what would be the effects of the abolition of marriage. There it is, in effect, abolished inasmuch as it is disregarded; and there is no law to compel any observance of it. The love, in many instances, is probably mutual. Rank may forget its authority, and wealth its influence, for the moment. Man sighs, vows, and betrays:—woman believes, confides, and is undone. The treasure is rifled; and the robber hastes on the high-road of pleasure to make other victims. The institution of marriage checks, though it does not eradicate this evil. It takes care, at least, that part of the female sex shall be, in some degree, protected from the caprice of the lords of the creation. It takes care that some portion of the rising generation shall be properly provided for. It lessens the evils of prostitution, and seduction; though it cannot annihilate them, while interest and inclination are encouraged at the expence of justice. There is now a multitude of women, whom licentiousness dare not approach with its contaminating lust. The protection afforded to women by fathers, brothers, and friends, is some compensation for the evident partiality of the laws to man. Still too many females fall a sacrifice to infamy, without being guilty of any crime, but that of trusting to the honor of some villain:—and yet it is gravely proposed to subject every woman to dependance on that honor, as a remedy for the evil! Infatuation never put forth a more gross absurdity. Impudence never advanced a more daring violation of reason.
How is prostitution to be diminished by reducing the world into a general brothel? Suppose, by some singular chance, a male and female Shelley happened to meet each other, entangled by a variety of other engagements—the male Shelley with a wife and children—the female Shelley with a husband and family. Of course, they would recognise each other immediately as the "loveliest specimens" of "creation." That "love is inevitably consequent upon loveliness," is an article of the new code. Of course, the female Shelley must love the male Shelley; and the male the female! The female must at once abandon all previous love and regard for her first husband, and transfer them to the "lovelier object." The memory of all past endearments must pass away, to make room for new sensations. Her children must be abandoned, as well as her duty forgotten. The new impulse will awaken new desires, and to satisfy them she must break through all engagements. Her husband may not have exchanged his affections. He may not have seen a "lovelier object;"—and may be left broken-hearted and despairing, at the wreck of his happiness. Nevertheless, the male Shelley, heedless of the happiness he destroys, has a right to consult his own. His own wife he is tired of, and seeing a "lovelier object," his soul expands, and his arms are outstretched to receive her. His wife is left to wait also "for a lovelier object," and to hopeless misery, if her affections remain undiminished. To be sure the lovely beings who thus desert all duties, may leave their families behind them, for the consolation of those who are deserted; as they may have a fresh offspring to provide for, from their newer loves! And thus double adultery would be the remedy for prostitution! It is easy to perceive that such a picture might be much heightened. Instead of the two loveliest objects of the species meeting, while entangled with single engagements, it might be after a series of transfers from lovely, to lovelier, and lovelier, and lovelier still; until the embraces of a moderately decorous courtezan of the present age, would be comparative purity, to the numerous debaucheries through which the loveliest of the species had wallowed, in their progress to each other's arms. Modern sensibility may not be shocked at this; but I am certain old fashioned morality would startle at the mere proposal of such a system.
It is singular that Mr. Shelley should pretend to any respect for the happiness and well-being of woman, while laying down a code that would tear from her all the security she has of being treated as a rational creature. He affects to lament, that "Women, for no other crime than having followed the dictates of a natural appetite, are driven from society." Does he not perceive that it is not the law, but the individual man, (on whom Mr. Shelley would confer still more power to treat woman thus barbarously) who drives her from society? It is not the law which compels a man to support the woman he has married, that shuts prostitutes out of the pale of society. It is the want of laws to compel every man to support, as respectably as his means allow, those whom he has seduced. Seduction with impunity, which Mr. Shelley would render universal, is the evil that ought to be cured. Society does not "declare war against the prostitute;"—she is first seduced, and then driven, to declare war against society. She who has yielded herself to one man, becomes less desirable to others. Is it this feeling that Mr. Shelley would eradicate? Would he contend that delicacy on this point is entirely misplaced—that
"beauty should be kind to all who love?"
If this be his object, the sensibility of which he boasts is not very acute. But this opinion it is the less necessary to impugn; as the feelings of the great majority of the world will ever be arrayed against it; and there is no fear of such notions becoming current. Whatever gratification the most profligate father in existence might feel in endless debauchery, he would shrink from the propagation of its tenets in his own family. There is something so beautiful in decency and virtue, that the vilest wretches are anxious their children should be, what they cannot hope to be themselves.
The evils of prostitution are extreme:—and are the more to be regretted, as they certainly spring, in a great measure, from the want of laws, which man has neglected to frame, lest his gratifications should be limited;—and from certain principles, not embodied into laws, but which are inculcated in such a manner as to render them more operative than laws. Thus, it is considered disgraceful for a gentleman to degrade himself by a marriage with a poor, fond, deluded woman, whose all of happiness and hope has been sacrificed for his amusement—whose life has been rendered miserable and infamous by his treachery and falsehood—whose reputation, tainted by him, is held cheaply by all besides. The father of an illegitimate child feels no shame at the knowledge that his offspring is abandoned to all the evils of poverty, or the temptations of guilt. A small sum paid to the parish compensates for the crime, and annihilates the necesssity of feeling. It is only an illegitimate child; and whether a miserable existence be terminated by the hangman, or by disease engendered by distress, is immaterial to the gentleman father! What becomes of the mother, is a matter of still less consideration with the seducer. She is old enough to work. The parish does not insist upon a maintenance for her; and the fine feelings of our gentlemen are not in the slightest degree affected by the knowledge, that premature old age has wasted that beauty to the grave, which was once an object of the highest desire. Is it to such a race as this, that the honor, and happiness, of the whole female race, should be trusted without some better security, than the chance of being beloved while no fairer object of loveliness should tempt the licensed senses to fresh enjoyment! With the volume of unspeakable misery before us, which the vagrant disposition of man occasions to that part of the female world with which he can sport at pleasure, would it be wise, or prudent, or just, to subject the whole to his unbridled passions?—to break down all the fences which morality and reason have established, to enable man to enjoy a few additional moments of rapture, purchased at the price of so much agony to woman?[2]
Upon this question, Mr. Shelley takes not into the account any consideration of the happiness or advantage of the female. She is the mere instrument of male gratification—the passive and unconsulted medium of his transports. If this were not evident from the fact that such unlimited licence would only be available to man, it would be found in his simile between love, and belief. A woman, he says, may be rejected, when another more lovely appears;—as a creed may be dismissed, when it is shewn to be inferior to another. The argument, of course, supposes the lady as insensible and indifferent as the creed! No mischief is done to the creed, by the desertion:—ergo, says Mr. Shelley, no mischief could be done to the lady, by an abandonment. The creed cannot feel slighted;—ergo, the lady ought not to feel herself insulted. The creed is not rendered the less eligible to other admirers;—ergo, the lady is in the same situation, and remains as desirable to others, as before! The creed is only a series of sentences, well or ill put together—ergo, the lady is only a beautiful human form, with no mind, no affections, no feelings, no rights! The creed is a mere combination of the letters of the alphabet, which combination may be changed at the pleasure of the party;—ergo, the lady is only an ornament, which may be changed, on the slightest variation of taste on the part of the lover! Is it necessary to waste any time, in the refutation of such contemptible, but yet such dangerous opinions! The least degree of reflection would fortify the weakest mind against their adoption; but, unfortunately they are addressed to the senses upon a subject on which they never reflect. The passions hurry us along, and in their fury leave us no time for thought. The pleasure tempts too strongly. Every natural impulse swells the tide of passion:—and men rarely awaken to remorse, until the power of doing wrong is exhausted, or the evil is irreparable. This is the weak point, "where most our reason fails us:" and it is therefore the paramount duty of every author to encrease, and not to diminish the defences. With writers who propose to change existing institutions, this precaution, and this duty, are the most imperious. Who would attempt to stop the current of a rapid stream, without providing a safe channel for the reception of its diverted waters?
A man, whose reason is collected, and whose passions have had time to cool, may read the reveries of Queen Mab, upon this head, without any danger; but to the juvenile mind of either sex, the possible evils are so extensive, and so palpable, as naturally to alarm all who are anxious for the happiness of woman, or the peace of man! What is meant by the expression, that "Chastity is a monkish and evangelical superstition:—a greater foe to natural temperance, even than unintellectual sensuality; it strikes at the root of all domestic happiness, and consigns more than half of the human race to misery, that some few may monopolize according to law!" Is the author of such sentiments anxious to qualify himself for Bedlam? Does he envy the felicitous ravings of incurable lunatics? I have heard that celibacy is a monkish superstition: and I can believe it injurious to the interests of society; but chastity and celibacy have no necessary connection with each other! On such a topic, it is hardly possible to enlarge. One can only shudder at the insult offered to decency, morality, and justice. He himself seems to shrink from his proposition, when he denies supposing that promiscuous intercourse would follow the abolition of marriage; but he must have contemplated a promiscuous intercourse, when he pronounced this outrageous anathema against chastity:—and again when he says—"Young men, excluded by the fanatical idea of chastity, from the society of modest and accomplished women, associate with vicious and miserable beings, &c." How can modesty be separated from the idea of chastity? How could it escape the grossest rhapsodist, that the vicious and miserable beings to whom he alludes, have become so from the loss of that chastity, of which he would deprive modest and accomplished women? Would he have his modest and accomplished women visited for the same purposes, and treated in the same manner, as the vicious and miserable outcasts of society? If Mr. Shelley dare answer yes—what door would be ever opened to receive him, which a father, a husband, or a brother, could shut in his face?
That such opinions are not now maintained by him, I would earnestly hope; but they remain uncontradicted; and he cannot be ignorant that they are in circulation as his opinions. That the work has not been on public sale, for some years, has probably rather added to its circulation; for it is certain that a work which cannot be obtained without difficulty, is not only more extensively read, from the impulse which curiosity affords; but it is read with more eagerness, and attention, than it would otherwise be. Young men, in particular, almost devour the contents of such works. They fear no other opportunity may be afforded for the perusal:—copies are made of detached passages:—they are talked of with rapture, as hidden novelties, and circulated from hand to hand, with inconceivable rapidity. What is trifling in itself is thus elevated into importance. The faults of a performance are overlooked, and its merits over-rated. To suppress any work, in the present state of society, I am convinced is utterly impossible; and any attempt to do so, only encreases what mischief there may be.—A work openly sold, is open to reply; and the antidote may be circulated with the poison. But where suppression is attempted, the poison circulates alone, with as much rapidity, and with tenfold effect. I scarcely ever met with a young reader who had not carefully studied Paine's Rights of Man, and Age of Reason, during the period of their nominal suppression. Since they have been comparatively easy to be procured, I know many who have bought, but never read them. I therefore think you have rendered the doctrines less pernicious by an open publication, than they have been in their silent, though not less extensive, wanderings through private circles; with all the additional importance that mystery and curiosity could confer upon them.—The good sense of the public mind can determine for itself. The collision of opinion produced by discussion is favorable to correct decisions: and that which is subjected to an open test, is less likely to influence weak or inexperienced minds improperly, than what is addressed to them in secret, and comes recommended by prohibition.
- ↑ I forbear indulging in any commentary upon the conduct of Mr. Shelley, as contrasted with his written principles; because rumour has adopted slanders, and exaggerated facts.
- ↑ It would be here out of place to enter into any examination of the defence usually set up by wealth, and cunning for the seduction of ignorance, and poverty. But I cannot refrain from remarking, that the ignorance, low birth, and want of affluence, which pride insists are sufficient reasons for declining to form matrimonial connections;—ought to be still stronger reasons for the punishment of seduction in the severest manner; for surely it is most criminally despicable, to endeavour to render these disqualifications the means of triumph over female virtue, which already are of sufficient disadvantage to the parties, without the addition of infamy superadded, by those who urge them as objections against their elevation to respectability.