Free Fanny by Erica Jong Page B

Great Springs of Human Actions seem’d to embrace the Behaviour of Men towards Women, but only the Behaviour of Men towards each other. Was this not odd? Did not Mankind comprise Womankind as well? The Philosophers claim’d ’twas so, and yet e’en the most benevolent amongst ’em, the ones who would most vociferously argue the Universality of Christian Charity and Love, seem’d to disregard the Passions and Interests of one-half the Human Race.
    How then could I choose a Philosophy upon which to model my perilous Destiny, when none of the Philosophers had consider’d Woman in their Speculations upon Reason, Nature, and Truth? For, if (as I sincerely believ’d) a Supreme Being of Infinite Wisdom did exist, and if (as I also sincerely believ’d) that Supreme Being had chosen to create, out of all possible Systems, the Best, why, then, must I not devoutly assume that this World in which I found myself was the Best of all Possible Worlds?
    And yet, clearly, ’twas not the Best of all Possible Worlds for Women—unless, as Mr. Pope had argu’d, there was a hidden Justice behind this Veil of seeming Injustice. If, i’faith, all Creatures were part of one Great Organism, which, in turn, was part of the Universal Mind, and consequently of God, then our seeming Diff’rences were but Harmonies unknown to us. For had not Shaftesbury said that “All Mankind is, as ’twere, one Great Being, divided into sev’ral Parts”? Then Lord Bellars and Mr. Pope and even Lord Bellars’ London Mistress must all be Parts of one Great Organism, possessing the Blessings of the Universal Mind. Fie on’t! ’Twas not possible that God should approve such goings-on! A Pox on the Third Earl of Shaftesbury and his damnable Optimism!
    What did Lustre think? Was he content with his Place in the Great Chain of Being? Did he believe this was the Best of all Possible Worlds? When he turn’d his Noble Head and lookt me Eye to Eye, he seem’d to say that he was happy with his Place so long as I should be his Mistress, but that he should hardly be so happy if a Horse Thief or Robber should take him.
    I shudder’d at the very Thought, and threw my Arms about Lustre’s Neck. I lov’d that Animal so! What Tenderness we can feel for our mute Animal Brethren! The Thought of losing him (or i’faith of his being harm’d) fill’d me with more Pain than the Thought of my own Death.
    Suddenly, as I was musing on these very melancholy Things, my Eyes, those bright Orbs that had so lately been feasting upon the Beauties of the Countryside, began to o’erflow with Tears, which in turn drew a watery transparent Curtain betwixt myself and the World, making the entire Landscape resemble some underwater Faery Grotto. And then, when the Tears began to flow, one Sorrow renew’d another. The Thought of losing Lustre led to the Thought of how I had been betray’d, which in turn led to the Thought of leaving my Step-Mother without so much as a Farewell Kiss. O I was wretched indeed! I fell to Weeping aloud, and would perhaps have collaps’d with my Arms about Lustre’s Neck, by the mossy Bank of some Stream (into which I might then have thrown myself, Ophelia-like), had not the Fear of being discover’d as a Woman by the Fact of my Weeping, discouraged me. So I put Iron in my Will (if not in my Soul) and dried my Tears. I bit my Lip for Shame at my Melancholy, banish’d all Thoughts of Self-Slaughter, and rode on.
    “But of one Thing I am sure,” I remarkt to Lustre when I had quite o’ercome my Fit of Tears, “whate’er is—most certainly is not Right.” So much for Mr. Pope. O I was glad to be rid of him and his Hypocrisy. When I became a Great Poet (and I would become a Great Poet despite his Snickering about Women Poets) I would not use the Muse to traduce the Truth. For as Horace says, “ Scribendi recte Sapere est & principium & fons ”; or, in plain English, “Of good Writing, the Source and Fount is Wisdom.” I devoutly promis’d both