I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women
sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters
which break down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust,
seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such
intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it
approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a
soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and
alive to every trivial roughness, while threading the prosperous paths
of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter and
supporter of her husband under misfortune and abiding with unshrinking
firmness, the bitterest 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 is
rifted by the thunder-bolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils,
and bind up its shattered boughs; so it is beautifully ordered by
Providence, that woman who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in
his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with
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 blooming
family, knit together in the strongest affection. "I can wish you no
better lot," said he, with enthusiasm, "than to have a wife and
children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share your
prosperity; if otherwise, there they are to comfort you." And, indeed, I
have observed that a married man, falling into misfortune, is more apt
to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because
he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and
beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because
his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his
self-respect kept alive by finding, that though all abroad is darkness
and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of
which he is the monarch. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste
and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart
to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant.
These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was
once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and
accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable
life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample;
and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in elegant
pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that
spread a kind of witchery about the sex.--"Her life," said he, "shall be
like a fairy tale."
The very difference in their characters produced a harmonious
combination; he was of a romantic and somewhat serious cast; she was all
life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he
would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly powers made her
the delight; and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would still turn
to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance. When leaning
on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall, manly
person. The fond confiding air with which she looked up to him seemed to
call forth a flush of triumphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if
he doted on his lovely burden for its very helplessness. Never did a
couple set forward on a flowery path of early and well-suited marriage
with a fairer prospect of felicity.
It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have embarked his
property in large speculations; and he had not been married many months
when, by a succession of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and he
found himself reduced to almost penury. For a time he kept his situation
to himself, and went about with a haggard countenance and a breaking
heart. His life was but a protracted agony; and what rendered it more
insupportable was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence
of his 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
not well with him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and
was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness.
She tasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win him
back to happiness; but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul.
The more he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was the thought
that he was soon to make her wretched. A little while, thought he, and
the smile will banish from that cheek--the song will die away from those
lips--the lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow--and the
happy 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 a
tone 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 agony
of tears. "For God's sake!" cried he, "if you have any pity on me, don't
mention my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me almost to
distraction!"
"And why not?" said I:--"She must know it sooner or later: you cannot
keep it long from her, and the intelligence may break upon her in a more
startling manner than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of those
we love soften the harshest tidings. Besides, you are depriving yourself
of the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely that, but also
endangering the only bond that can keep hearts together--an unreserved
community of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that something
is secretly preying upon your mind; and true love will not brook
reserve: it feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sorrows of
those it loves are concealed from it."
"Oh, but my friend! to think what a blow I am to give to all her future
prospects--how I am to strike her very soul to the earth, by telling her
that her husband is a beggar!--that she is to forego all the elegancies
of life--all the pleasures of society--to shrink with me into indigence
and obscurity! To tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere
in which she might have continued to move in constant brightness--the
light of every eye--the admiration of every heart!--How can she bear
poverty? She has been brought up in all the refinements of opulence
* * *"
I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow; for sorrow
relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had subsided, and he had
relapsed into moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and urged him
to break his situation at once to his wife. He shook his head
mournfully, but positively.
"But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary she should know
it, that you may take the steps proper to the alteration of your
circumstances. You must change your style of living--nay," observing a
pang to pass across his countenance, "don't let that afflict you. I am
sure you never placed your happiness in outward show--you have yet
friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you for being
less splendidly lodged; and surely it does not require a palace to be
happy with Mary--" "I could be happy with her," cried he convulsively,
"in a hovel! *"
"Believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up, and grasping him warmly by
the hand, "she can be the same with you. Ay, more: it will be a source
of pride and triumph to her--it will call forth all the latent energies
and fervent sympathies of her nature; for she will rejoice to prove that
she loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman's heart a spark
of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of
prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour
of adversity." I finished by persuading him to go home and unburden his
sad heart to his wife.
I must confess, notwithstanding all I have said, I felt some little
solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the fortitude of one
whose whole life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might
revolt at the dark downward path of low humility, suddenly pointed out
before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had
hitherto reveled.
In short, I could not meet Leslie 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 she
threw her arms around my neck, and asked if this was all that had lately
made me unhappy."
Some days afterwards, he called upon me in the evening. He had disposed
of his dwelling-house, and taken a small cottage in the country, a few
miles from town. He had been busy all day in sending out furniture. The
new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind.
All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold,
excepting his wife's harp. That, he said was too closely associated with
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 he had
leaned over that instrument, and listened to the melting tones of her
voice. I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantry in a
doting husband.
He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all day
superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly
interested in the progress of this family story, and as it was a fine
evening, I offered to accompany him.
He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as we walked out, fell
into 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 be
reduced to this paltry situation--to be caged in a miserable cottage--to
be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched
habitation?"
"Has she then repined at the change?"
"Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and good humor. Indeed, she
seems in better spirits than I have ever known her; she has been to me
all 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 of excellence
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 real
experience: she has been introduced into an humble dwelling--she has
been 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 everything
elegant--almost of everything 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 not
gainsay, so we walked on in silence.
After turning from the main road, up a narrow lane, so thickly shaded by
forest trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we came in sight
of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the most
pastoral poet; and yet it had a most pleasing rural look. * * * * * Just
as we approached we heard the sound of music--Leslie grasped my arm; we
paused and listened. It was Mary's voice singing, in a style of the most
touching simplicity, a little Scotch air of which her husband was
peculiarly fond.
I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward to hear more
distinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful
face glanced out at the window and vanished--a light footstep was
heard--and Mary came tripping forth to meet us. She was in a pretty
rural dress of white; a few wild flowers were twisted in her fine hair;
a fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole countenance beamed with
smiles--I had never seen her look so lovely.
"My dear George," cried she, "I am so glad you are come; I have been
watching and watching for you; and running down the lane and looking out
for you. I've set out a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage;
and I've been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for I
know you are so fond of them--and we have such excellent cream--and
everything is so sweet and still here.--Oh!" said she, 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 his arms
around her--he kissed her again and again--he could not speak for the
tears gushed into his eyes.
He has often assured me that though 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 more exquisite felicity than the
time when I accompanied him to the little cottage in the country.
--_Washington Irving._
2021
Better a fortune in a wife, than with a wife.
2022