MARRIAGE-MADE MEN.
"A wife's a man's best peace, who, till he marries,
Wants making up....
She is the good man's paradise, and the bad's
First step to heaven."--_Shirley._
"Th' ever womanly
Draweth us onward!"--_Goethe._
"This is well,
To have a dame indoors, that trims us up,
And keeps us tight."--_Tennyson._
If there be any _man_--women are seldom anti-matrimonial bigots--who
seriously doubts that the _pros_ in favour of marriage more than
counterbalance the _cons_, we commend to his consideration a few
historical instances in which men have been made men in the highest
sense of the word by marriage.
We do not endorse the exaggerated statement of Richter that "no man can
live piously or die righteously without a wife," but we think that the
chances of his doing so are considerably lessened. It is not good for a
man to live alone with his evil thoughts. The checks and active duties
of marriage are the best antidote, not only to an impure life, but to
the dreaming and droning of a useless and purposeless one.
Certainly there are some men and women who without wives or husbands are
marriage-made in the sense of having their love and powers drawn out by
interesting work. They are married to some art or utility, or instead of
loving one they love all. When this last is the case they go down into
the haunts of evil, seek out the wretched, and spare neither themselves
nor their money in their Christ-like enthusiasm for humanity. But the
luxury of doing good is by no means confined to the celibate. On the
contrary, the man with a wife and children in whose goodness and
happiness he rejoices may be much better prepared to aid and sympathize
with the erring and the suffering. The flood-gates of his affections may
have been opened, and he may have become receptive to influences which
had upon him beforetime little or no effect.
Not a few good and great men have confessed that they were marriage-made
to a very considerable extent. The following testimony was given by De
Tocqueville in a letter to a friend: "I cannot describe to you the
happiness yielded in the long run by the habitual society of a woman, in
whose soul all that is good in your own is reflected naturally, and even
improved. When I say or do a thing which seems to me to be perfectly
right, I read immediately in Marie's countenance an expression of proud
satisfaction which elevates me; and so when my conscience reproaches me
her face instantly clouds over. Although I have great power over her
mind, I see with pleasure that she awes me; and so long as I love her as
I do now I am sure that I shall never allow myself to be drawn into
anything that is wrong."
Many a man has been shown the pathway to heaven by his wife's practice
of piety. "My mercy," says Bunyan, "was to light upon a wife whose
father and mother were accounted godly. This woman and I, though we came
together as poor as poor might be (not having so much household stuff as
a dish or a spoon betwixt us both), yet she had for her part 'The Plain
Man's Pathway to Heaven' and 'The Practice of Piety,' which her father
had left her when he died." By reading these and other good books,
helped by the kindly influence of his wife, Bunyan was gradually
reclaimed from his evil ways, and led gently into the way of
righteousness.
Nor does this companionship of good wives, which enables men to gain "in
sweetness and in moral height," cause them in the least degree to lose
"the wrestling thews which throw the world." Quite the reverse. Weak men
have displayed real public virtue, and strong men have been made
stronger, because they had by their side a woman of noble character, who
exercised a fortifying influence on their conduct. Lady Rachel Russell
is one of the many celebrated women who have encouraged their husbands
to suffer and be strong. She sat beside her husband day after day during
his public trial, taking notes and doing everything to help him.
In the sixth year of his marriage Baxter was brought before the
magistrates for holding a conventicle, and was sentenced to be confined
in Clerkenwell Gaol. There he was joined by his wife, who
affectionately nursed him during his imprisonment. "She was never so
cheerful a companion to me," he says, "as in prison, and was very much
against me seeking to be released."
There is a sort of would-be wit which consists in jesting at the
supposed bondage of the married state. The best answer to this plentiful
lack of wit is the fact that some of the best of men have kissed the
shackles which a wife imposes, and have either thought or said, "If this
be slavery, who'd be free?" Luther, speaking of his wife, said, "I would
not exchange my poverty with her for all the riches of Croesus without
her." In more recent times the French statesman, M. Guizot, says in his
"Memoires": "What I know to-day, at the end of my race, I have felt when
it began, and during its continuance. Even in the midst of great
undertakings domestic affections form the basis of life, and the most
brilliant career has only superficial and incomplete enjoyments if a
stranger to the happy ties of family and friendship." Not long ago, when
speaking of his wife, Prince Bismarck said, "She it is who has made me
what I am."
And there have been English statesmen who could say quite as much. Burke
was sustained amid the anxiety and agitation of public life by domestic
felicity. "Every care vanishes," he said, "the moment I enter under my
own roof!" Of his wife he said that she was "not made to be the
admiration of everybody, but the happiness of one." A writer in a recent
number of _Leisure Hour_ relates the following of Lord Beaconsfield:
"The grateful affection which he entertained for his wife, whom he
always esteemed as the founder of his fortunes, is well known. She was
in the habit of travelling with him on almost all occasions. A friend
of the earl and of the narrator of the incident was dining with him,
when one of the party--a Member of the House for many years, of a noble
family, but rather remarkable for raising a laugh at his buffoonery than
any admiration for his wisdom--had no better taste or grace than to
expostulate with Disraeli for always taking the viscountess with him. 'I
cannot understand it,' said the graceless man, 'for, you know, you make
yourself a perfect laughing-stock wherever your wife goes with you.'
Disraeli fixed his eyes upon him very expressively and said, 'I don't
suppose you can understand it, B.--I don't suppose you can understand
it, for no one could ever in the last and wildest excursions of an
insane imagination suppose you to be guilty of gratitude!'"
It is true that there have been memorable celibates, but in the main the
world's work has been done by the married. Fame and reward are powerful
incentives, but they bear no comparison to the influence exercised by
affection.
A man's wife and family often compel him to do his best; and, when on
the point of despairing, they force him to fight like a hero, not for
himself, but for them. Curran confessed that when he addressed a court
for the first time, if he had not felt his wife and children tugging at
his gown, he would have thrown up his brief and relinquished the
profession of a lawyer.
"It is often the case when you see a great man, like a ship, sailing
proudly along the current of renown, that there is a little tug--his
wife--whom you cannot see, but who is directing his movements and
supplying the motive power." This truth is well illustrated by the
anecdote told of Lord Eldon, who, when he had received the Great Seal at
the hands of the king, being about to retire, was addressed by his
majesty with the words, "Give my remembrance to Lady Eldon." The
Chancellor, in acknowledging the condescension, intimated his ignorance
of Lady Eldon's claim to such a notice. "Yes, yes," the king answered;
"I know how much I owe to Lady Eldon. I know that you would have made
yourself a country curate, and that she has made you my Lord
Chancellor." Sir Walter Scott and Daniel O'Connell, at a late period of
their lives, ascribed their success in the world principally to their
wives.
When Sir Joshua Reynolds--himself a bachelor--met the sculptor Flaxman
shortly after his marriage, he said to him, "So, Flaxman, I am told you
are married; if so, sir, I tell you you are ruined for an artist."
Flaxman went home, sat down beside his wife, took her hand in his, and
said, "Ann, I am ruined for an artist." "How so, John? How has it
happened? and who has done it?" "It happened," he replied, "in the
church, and Ann Denman has done it." He then told her of Sir Joshua's
remark--whose opinion was well known, and had often been expressed, that
if students would excel they must bring the whole powers of their mind
to bear upon their art, from the moment they rose until they went to
bed; and also, that no man could be a _great_ artist unless he studied
the grand works of Raphael, Michael Angelo, and others, at Rome and
Florence. "And I," said Flaxman, drawing up his little figure to its
full height, "_I_ would be a great artist." "And a great artist you
shall be," said his wife, "and visit Rome, too, if that be really
necessary to make you great." "But how?" asked Flaxman. "_Work and
economize_," rejoined the brave wife; "I will never have it said that
Ann Denman ruined John Flaxman for an artist." And so it was determined
by the pair that the journey to Rome was to be made when their means
would admit. "I will go to Rome," said Flaxman, "and show the President
that wedlock is for a man's good rather than his harm; and you, Ann,
shall accompany me."
After working for five years, aided by the untiring economy of his wife,
Flaxman actually did accomplish his journey. On returning from Rome,
where he spent seven years, conscious of his indebtedness to his wife,
he devised an original gift as a memorial of his domestic happiness. He
caused a little quarto book to be made, containing some score or so of
leaves, and with pen and pencil proceeded to fill and embellish it. On
the first page is drawn a dove with an olive branch in her mouth; an
angel is on the right and an angel on the left, and between is written,
"To Ann Flaxman"; below, two hands are clasped as at an altar, two
cherubs bear a garland, and there follows an inscription to his wife
introducing the subject. Instead of finding his genius maimed by his
alliance with Ann Denman, this eminent sculptor was ever ready to
acknowledge that his subsequent success was in a great part
marriage-made.
It was through the eyes of his wife that Huber, the great authority on
bees, who was blind from his seventeenth year, conducted his
observations and studies. He even went so far as to declare that he
should be miserable were he to regain his eyesight. "I should not know,"
he said, "to what extent a person in my situation could be beloved;
besides, to me my wife is always young, fresh, and pretty, which is no
light matter."
Sir William Hamilton of Edinburgh found his wife scarcely less helpful,
especially after he had been stricken by paralysis through overwork.
When he was elected Professor of Logic and Metaphysics, and had no
lectures on stock, his wife sat up with him night after night to write
out a fair copy of the lectures from the rough sheets which he had
drafted in the adjoining room. "The number of pages in her handwriting
still preserved is," says Sir William's biographer, "perfectly
marvellous."
Equally effective as a literary helper was Lady Napier, the wife of Sir
William Napier, historian of the Peninsular War. She translated and
epitomized the immense mass of original documents, many of them in
cipher, on which it was in a great measure founded. When Wellington was
told of the art and industry she had displayed in deciphering King
Joseph's portfolios, and the immense mass of correspondence taken at
Vittoria, he at first would hardly believe it, adding: "I would have
given L20,000 to any person who could have done this for me in the
Peninsula." Sir William Napier's handwriting being almost illegible,
Lady Napier made out his rough interlined manuscript, which he himself
could scarcely read, and wrote out a fair copy for the printer; and all
this vast labour she undertook and accomplished, according to the
testimony of her husband, without having for a moment neglected the care
and education of a large family.
The help and consolation that Hood received from his wife during a life
that was a prolonged illness is one of the most affecting things in
biography. He had such confidence in her judgment that he read and
re-read and corrected with her assistance all that he wrote. He used to
trust to her ready memory for references and quotations. Many wives
deserve, but few receive, such an I.O.U. as that which the grateful
humorist gave to his wife in one of his letters when absent from her
side. "I never was anything, Dearest, till I knew you, and I have been a
better, happier, and more prosperous man ever since. Lay by that truth
in lavender, Sweetest, and remind me of it when I fail. I am writing
warmly and fondly, but not without good cause.... Perhaps there is an
afterthought that, whatever may befall me, the wife of my bosom will
have the acknowledgment of her tenderness, worth, excellence--all that
is wifely or womanly--from my pen."
Mr. Froude says of Carlyle's wife that "her hardest work was a delight
to her when she could spare her husband's mind an anxiety or his stomach
an indigestion. While he was absorbed in his work and extremely
irritable as to every ailment or discomfort, her life was devoted to
shield him in every possible way." In the inscription upon her tombstone
Carlyle bore testimony that he owed to his wife a debt immense of
gratitude. "In her bright existence she had more sorrows than are
common, but also a soft invincibility, a capacity of discernment, and a
noble loyalty of heart which are rare. For forty years she was the true
and loving helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unweariedly
forwarded him as none else could in all of worthy that he did or
attempted. She died at London, April 21st, 1866, suddenly snatched away
from him, and the light of his life as if gone out."
What an influence women have exercised upon teachers of religion and
philosophy! When no one else would encourage Mahomet, his wife Kadijah
listened to him with wonder, with doubt. At length she answered: "Yes,
it was true this that he said." We can fancy, as does Carlyle, the
boundless gratitude of Mahomet, and how, of all the kindnesses she had
done him, this of believing the earnest struggling word he now spoke was
the greatest. "It is certain," says Novalis, "my conviction gains
infinitely the moment another soul will believe in it." It is a
boundless favour. He never forgot this good Kadijah. Long afterwards,
Ayesha, his young favourite wife, a woman who indeed distinguished
herself among the Moslem by all manner of qualities, through her whole
long life, this young brilliant Ayesha was one day questioning him: "Now
am I not better than Kadijah? she was a widow; old, and had lost her
looks: you love me better than you did her?" "No, by Allah!" answered
Mahomet: "No, by Allah! She believed in me when none else would believe.
In the whole world I had but one friend, and she was that!"
It will suffice to hint at the scientific value of the little that has
been disclosed respecting Madame Clothilde de Vaux in elucidating the
position of Auguste Comte as a teacher. Some may think that John Stuart
Mill first taught his wife and then admired his own wisdom in her. His
own account of the matter is very different, as we learn from the
dedication of his essay "On Liberty":
"To the beloved and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer, and in
part the author, of all that is best in my writings--the friend and wife
whose exalted sense of truth and right was my strongest incitement, and
whose approbation was my chief reward--I dedicate this volume. Like all
that I have written for many years, it belongs as much to her as to me;
but the work as it stands has had, in a very insufficient degree, the
inestimable advantage of her revision; some of the most important
portions having been reserved for a more careful re-examination, which
they are now never destined to receive. Were I but capable of
interpreting to the world one-half the great thoughts and noble feelings
which are buried in her grave, I should be the medium of a greater
benefit to it than is ever likely to arise from anything that I can
write, unprompted and unassisted by her all but unrivalled wisdom."
In a speech upon woman's rights, a lady orator is said to have
exclaimed, "It is well known that Solomon owed his wisdom to the number
of his wives!" This is too much; nevertheless, Sir Samuel Romilly gave
the experience of many successful men when he said that there was
nothing by which through life he had more profited than by the just
observations and the good opinion of his wife.
Most people are acquainted with husbands who have lost almost all
self-reliance and self-help because their wives have been only too
helpful to them. Trollope and George Eliot faithfully portrayed real
life in their stories when they put the reins into the hands of good
wives and made them drive the domestic coach, to the immense advantage
and comfort of the husbands, who never suspected the real state of the
case. No man has so thoroughly as Trollope brought into literature the
idea which women have of men--creatures that have to be looked after as
grown-up little boys; interesting, piquant, indispensable, but
shiftless, headstrong, and at bottom absurd.
But this consciousness which good wives have of the helplessness of
husbands renders them all the more valuable in their eyes. Before
Weinsberg surrendered to its besiegers, the women of the place asked
permission of the captors to remove their valuables. The permission was
granted, and shortly after the women were seen issuing from the gates
carrying their husbands on their shoulders. Indeed it would be
impossible to relate a tenth part of the many ways in which good wives
have shown affection for and actively assisted their wedded lords.
Knowing this to be the case, we were not surprised to read some time
since the following piece of Irish news: "An inquiry was held at
Mullingar on Wednesday respecting Mr. H. Smythe's claim of L10,000 as
compensation for the loss of his wife, who was shot whilst returning
from church. The claim was made under the nineteenth section of the
Crime Preservation Act, Ireland." The result of the inquiry we do not
know, but for ourselves we think that L10,000 would barely compensate
for the loss of a really good article in wives.
Some one told an old bachelor that a friend had gone blind. "Let him
marry, then," was the crusty reply; "let him marry, and if that doesn't
open his eyes, then his case is indeed hopeless." But this, we must
remember, was not the experience of a married man.
A friend was talking to Wordsworth of De Quincey's articles about him.
Wordsworth begged him to stop; he hadn't read them, and did not wish to
ruffle himself about them. "Well," said the friend, "I'll tell you only
one thing he says, and then we'll talk of other things. He says your
wife is too good for you." The old poet's dim eyes lighted up, and he
started from his chair, crying with enthusiasm, "And that's true! There
he's right!" his disgust and contempt visibly moderating. Many a man
whose faith in womankind was weak before marriage can a few years
afterwards sympathize most fully with this pathetic confession of the
old poet.
A Scotch dealer, when exhorting his son to practise honesty on the
ground of its being the "best policy," quietly added, "I hae tried
_baith_." So is it in reference to matrimony and celibacy. The majority
of those who have "tried baith" are of opinion that the former is the
best policy.
It would be absurd to assert that the marriage state is free from care
and anxiety; but what of that? Is not care and trouble the condition of
any and every state of life? He that will avoid trouble must avoid the
world. "Marriage," says Dr. Johnson, "is not commonly unhappy, but as
life is unhappy." And the summing up, so to speak, of this great
authority is well known--"Marriage has many pains, but celibacy no
pleasures."