THE WIFE.
The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the concealed comforts of a man Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air Of blessings, when I came but near the house, What a delicious breath marriage sends forth-- The violet bed's no sweeter! MIDDLETON.
I HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which womensustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters whichbreak down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem tocall forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidityand elevation to their character, that at times it approaches tosublimity. Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft andtender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and alive toevery trivial roughness, while threading the prosperous paths of life,suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter and support of herhusband under misfortune, and abiding with unshrinking firmness thebitterest blasts of adversity.
As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak,and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant isrifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils,and bind up its shattered boughs, so is it beautifully ordered byProvidence, that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of manin his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten withsudden calamity; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature,tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart.
I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a bloomingfamily, knit together in the strongest affection. "I can wish youno better lot," said he, with enthusiasm, "than to have a wifeand children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share yourprosperity; if otherwise, there they are to comfort you." And, indeed, Ihave observed that a married man falling into misfortune, is more apt toretrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly, becausehe is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless andbeloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence, but chiefly becausehis spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and hisself-respect kept alive by finding, that, though all abroad is darknessand humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, ofwhich he is the monarch. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to wasteand self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heartto fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant.
These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I wasonce a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful andaccomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionablelife. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample;and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegantpursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies thatspread a kind of witchery about the sex.--"Her life," said he, "shall belike a fairy tale."
The very difference in their characters produced a harmoniouscombination; he was of a romantic, and somewhat serious cast; she wasall life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with whichhe would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly powers madeher the delight: and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would stillturn to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance. Whenleaning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall,manly person. The fond, confiding air with which she looked up tohim seemed to call forth a flush of triumphant pride and cherishingtenderness, as if he doated on his lovely burden from its veryhelplessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path ofearly and well-suited marriage with a fairer prospect of felicity.
It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have embarked hisproperty in large speculations; and he had not been married many months,when, by a succession of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and hefound himself reduced to almost penury. For a time he kept his situationto himself, and went about with a haggard countenance, and a breakingheart. His life was but a protracted agony; and what rendered it moreinsupportable was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence ofhis wife; for he could not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news.She saw, however, with the quick eyes of affection, that all was notwell with him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and wasnot to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness. Shetasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win him backto happiness; but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. Themore he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was the thought thathe was soon to make her wretched. A little while, thought he, and thesmile will vanish from that cheek--the song will die away from thoselips--the lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow and thehappy heart which now beats lightly in that bosom, will be weighed down,like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world.
At length he came to me one day, and related his whole situation in atone of the deepest despair. When I had heard him through, I inquired:"Does your wife know all this?"--At the question he burst into an agonyof tears. "For God's sake!" cried he, "if you have any pity on me don'tmention my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me almost tomadness!"
"And why not?" said I. "She must know it sooner or later: you cannotkeep it long from her, and the intelligence may break upon her in a morestartling manner than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of thosewe love soften the harshest tidings. Besides, you are deprivingyourself of the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely that, but alsoendangering the only bond that can keep hearts together--an unreservedcommunity of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that somethingis secretly preying upon your mind; and true love will not brookreserve; it feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sorrows ofthose it loves are concealed from it."
"Oh, but my friend! to think what a blow I am to give to all her futureprospects,--how I am to strike her very soul to the earth, by tellingher that her husband is a beggar! that she is to forego all theelegancies of life--all the pleasures of society--to shrink with me intoindigence and obscurity! To tell her that I have dragged her downfrom the sphere in which she might have continued to move in constantbrightness--the light of every eye--the admiration of every heart!--Howcan she bear poverty? She has been brought up in all the refinements ofopulence. How can she bear neglect? She has been the idol of society.Oh, it will break her heart--it will break her heart!"
I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow; for sorrowrelieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had subsided, and he hadrelapsed into moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and urgedhim to break his situation at once to his wife. He shook his headmournfully, but positively.
"But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary she shouldknow it, that you may take the steps proper to the alteration of yourcircumstances. You must change your style of living--nay," observing apang to pass across his countenance, "don't let that afflict you. I amsure you have never placed your happiness in outward show--you have yetfriends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you for beingless splendidly lodged: and surely it does not require a palace to behappy with Mary--"
"I could be happy with her," cried he, convulsively, "in a hovel!--Icould go down with her into poverty and the dust!--I could--I could--Godbless her!--God bless her!" cried he, bursting into a transport of griefand tenderness.
"And believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up, and grasping himwarmly by the hand, "believe me, she can be the same with you. Ay, more;it will be a source of pride and triumph to her--it will call forth allthe latent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature; for she willrejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself. There is in every truewoman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broaddaylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams, and blazesin the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his bosomis--no man knows what a ministering angel she is--until he has gone withher through the fiery trials of this world."
There was something in the earnestness of
my manner, and the figurativestyle of my language, that caught the excited imagination of Leslie. Iknew the auditor I had to deal with; and following up the impression Ihad made, I finished by persuading him to go home and unburden his sadheart to his wife.
I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt some littlesolicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the fortitude of onewhose life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revoltat the dark, downward path of low humility suddenly pointed out beforeher, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had hithertorevelled. Besides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so manygalling mortifications, to which, in other ranks, it is a stranger. Inshort, I could not meet Leslie, the next morning, without trepidation.He had made the disclosure.
"And how did she bear it?"
"Like an angel! It seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, for shethrew her arms around my neck, and asked if this was all that had latelymade me unhappy.--But, poor girl," added he, "she cannot realize thechange we must undergo. She has no idea of poverty but in the abstract;she has only read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feelsas yet no privation; she suffers no loss of accustomed conveniences norelegancies. When we come practically to experience its sordid cares, itspaltry wants, its petty humiliations--then will be the real trial."
"But," said I, "now that you have got over the severest task, that ofbreaking it to her, the sooner you let the world into the secret thebetter. The disclosure may be mortifying; but then it is a singlemisery, and soon over: whereas you otherwise suffer it, in anticipation,every hour in the day. It is not poverty, so much as pretence, thatharasses a ruined man--the struggle between a proud mind and an emptypurse-the keeping up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. Havethe courage to appear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sharpeststing." On this point I found Leslie perfectly prepared. He had no falsepride himself, and as to his wife, she was only anxious to conform totheir altered fortunes.
Some days afterwards, he called upon me in the evening. He had disposedof his dwelling-house, and taken a small cottage in the country, a fewmiles from town. He had been busied all day in sending out furniture.The new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplestkind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold,excepting his wife's harp. That, he said, was too closely associatedwith the idea of herself it belonged to the little story of their loves;for some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when hehad leaned over that instrument, and listened to the melting tones ofher voice.--I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantryin a doating husband.
He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been allday superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become stronglyinterested in the progress of his family story, and, as it was a fineevening, I offered to accompany him.
He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and, as we walked out, fellinto a fit of gloomy musing.
"Poor Mary!" at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his lips.
"And what of her," asked I, "has anything happened to her?"
"What," said he, darting an impatient glance, "is it nothing to bereduced to this paltry situation--to be caged in a miserable cottage--tobe obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretchedhabitation?"
Has she then repined at the change?
"Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and good-humor. Indeed, sheseems in better spirits than I have ever known her; she has been to meall love, and tenderness, and comfort!"
"Admirable girl!" exclaimed I. "You call yourself poor, my friend;you never were so rich,--you never knew the boundless treasures ofexcellence you possessed in that woman."
"Oh! but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage were over,I think I could then be comfortable. But this is her first day of realexperience; she has been introduced into a humble dwelling,--she hasbeen employed all day in arranging its miserable equipments,--she has,for the first time, known the fatigues of domestic employment,--she has,for the first time, looked around her on a home destitute of every thingelegant--almost of every thing convenient; and may now be sitting down,exhausted and spiritless, brooding over a prospect of future poverty."
There was a degree of probability in this picture that I could notgainsay, so we walked on in silence.
After turning from the main road up a narrow lane, so thickly shadedwith forest-trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we camein sight of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for themost pastoral poet; and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A wild vinehad overrun one end with a profusion of foliage; a few trees threw theirbranches gracefully over it; and I observed several pots of flowerstastefully disposed about the door, and on the grass-plot in front.A small wicket-gate opened upon a footpath that wound through someshrubbery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the sound ofmusic--Leslie grasped my arm; we paused and listened. It was Mary'svoice singing, in a style of the most touching simplicity, a little airof which her husband was peculiarly fond.
I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward, to hear moredistinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel-walk. A bright beautifulface glanced out at the window, and vanished--a light footstep-washeard--and Mary came tripping forth to meet us. She was in a prettyrural dress of white; a few wild flowers were twisted in her finehair; a fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole countenance beamed withsmiles--I had never seen her look so lovely.
"My dear George," cried she, "I am so glad you are come; I have beenwatching and watching for you; and running down the lane, and lookingout for you. I've set out a table under a beautiful tree behindthe cottage; and I've been gathering some of the most deliciousstrawberries, for I know you are fond of them--and we have suchexcellent cream--and everything is so sweet and still here-Oh!"--saidshe, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his face,"Oh, we shall be so happy!"
Poor Leslie was overcome.--He caught her to his bosom--he folded hisarms round her--he kissed her again and again--he could not speak, butthe tears gushed into his eyes; and he has often assured me, thatthough the world has since gone prosperously with him, and his life has,indeed, been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of moreexquisite felicity.
The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon Page 6
