Mary Wollstonecraft | Page 9

a bright-looking girl about her own age, was
busy, like another Lotte, in superintending the meal of her younger
brothers and sisters. It was a scene well calculated to excite Mary's
interest. She, better than any one else, could understand its full worth. It
revealed to her at a glance the skeleton in the family closet,--the
inefficiency of the parents to care for the children whom they had
brought into the world, and the poverty which prevented their hiring
others to do their work for them. And at the same time it showed her
the noble unselfishness of the daughter, who not only took upon herself
the burden so easily shifted by the parents, but who accepted her fate
cheerfully. Cheerfulness is a virtue but too lightly prized. When
maintained in the face of difficulties and unhappiness it becomes the
finest heroism. The recognition of this heroic side of Fanny's nature
commanded the instant admiration and respect of her visitor. Mary then
and there vowed in her heart eternal friendship for her new
acquaintance, and the vow was never broken.
Balzac, in his "Cousine Bette," says that there is no stronger passion
than the love of one woman for another. Mary Wollstonecraft's
affection for Frances Blood is a striking illustration of the truth of his
statement. It was strong as that of a Sappho for an Erinna; tender and
constant as that of a mother for her child. From the moment they met
until they were separated by poor Fanny's untimely death, Mary never
wavered in her devotion and its active expression, nor could the
vicissitudes and joys of her later life destroy her loving loyalty to the
memory of her first and dearest friend. "When a warm heart has strong
impressions," she wrote in a letter long years afterwards, "they are not

to be effaced. Emotions become sentiments; and the imagination
renders even transient sensations permanent, by fondly retracing them.
I cannot without a thrill of delight recollect views I have seen, which
are not to be forgotten, nor looks I have felt in every nerve, which I
shall never more meet. The grave has closed over a dear friend, the
friend of my youth; still she is present with me, and I hear her soft
voice warbling as I stray over the heath."
There was much to draw the two friends together. They had many
miseries and many tastes and interests in common. Fanny's parents
were poor, and her father, like Mr. Wollstonecraft, was idle and
dissipated. There were young children to be reared, and an incompetent
mother to do it. Fanny was only two years older than Mary, but was, at
that time, far more advanced mentally. Her education had been more
complete. She was in a small way both musician and artist, was fond of
reading, and had even tried her powers at writing. But her drawing had
proved her most profitable accomplishment, and by it she supported her
entire family. Mary as yet had perfected herself in nothing, and was
helpless where money-making was concerned. Her true intellectual
education had but just begun under Mr. Clare's direction. She had
previously read voluminously, but, having done so for mere immediate
gratification, had derived but little profit therefrom. As she lived in
Hoxton, and Fanny in Newington Butts, they could not see each other
very often, and so in the intervals between their visits they
corresponded. Mary found that her letters were far inferior to those of
her friend. She could not spell so well; she had none of Fanny's ease in
shaping her thoughts into words. Her pride was hurt and her ambition
stirred. She determined to make herself at least Fanny's intellectual
equal. It was humiliating to know herself powerless to improve her own
condition, when her friend was already earning an income large enough
not only to meet her own wants but those of others depending upon her.
To prepare herself for a like struggle with the world, a struggle which
in all likelihood she would be obliged to make single-handed, she
studied earnestly. Books acquired new value in her eyes. She read no
longer for passing amusement, but to strengthen and cultivate her mind
for future work. It cannot be doubted that under any circumstances she
would, in the course of a few years, have become conscious of her

power and the necessity to exercise it. But to Fanny Blood belongs the
honor of having given the first incentive to her intellectual energy. This
brave, heavily burdened young English girl, accepting toils and
tribulations with stout heart, would, with many another silent heroine or
hero, have been forgotten, had it not been for the stimulus her love and
example were to an even stronger sister-sufferer. The larger field of
interests thus opened for Mary was