MARRIAGE VOWS.
"Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou
shouldest vow and not pay."--_Ecclesiastes_ v. 5.
The honeymoon is over, and our young couple have exchanged their
chrysalis condition for the pleasures and duties of ordinary married
life. Let them begin by forming the highest ideal of marriage. Now, and
on every anniversary of their wedding day, they should seriously reflect
upon those vows which are too often taken, either in entire ignorance of
their meaning and import, or thoughtlessly, as though they were mere
incidents of the marriage ceremony.
A Hampshire incumbent recently reported some of the blunders he had
heard made in the marriage service, by that class of persons who have to
pick up the words as best they can from hearing them repeated by others.
He said that in his own parish it was quite the fashion for the man,
when giving the ring, to say to the woman: "With my body I thee wash
up, and with all my hurdle goods I thee and thou." He said the women
were generally better up in this part of the service than the men. One
day, however, a bride startled him by promising, in what she supposed to
be language of the Prayer Book, to take her husband "to 'ave and to 'old
from this day fortn't, for betterer horse, for richerer power, in
siggerness health, to love cherries, and to bay." We have heard of an
ignorant bridegroom, who, confusing the baptismal and marriage services,
replied, when asked if he consented to take the bride for his wife: "I
renounce them all!" It is to be hoped that the times of such ignorance
are either passed or passing; still, a little instruction in reference
to marriage vows might be given with advantage in some churches.
In one of his letters Byron tells a story of a learned Jew, who was
remarkable, in the brilliant circles to which his learning gained him
admittance, for his habit of asking questions continuously and
fearlessly, in order to get at the bottom of any matter in discussion.
To a person who was complaining of the Prince Regent's bad treatment of
his old boon companions, this habitual interrogator cried across a
dinner-table: "And why does the prince act so?" "Because he was told
so-and-so by Lord ----; who ought to be ashamed of himself!" was the
answer. "But why, sir, has the prince cut _you_?" inquired the searcher
after truth. "Because I stuck to my principles--yes, sir, because I
stuck to my principles!" replied the other, testily, thinking that his
examination was ended. "_And why did you stick to your principles?_"
cried the interrogator, throwing the table into a roar of laughter, the
mirth being no more due to the inquisitor's persistence than to his
inability to conceive that any man would stick to his principles simply
because he believed them to be right. Are there not some educated as
well as uneducated people who seem to be quite as incapable of
conceiving that they should keep their marriage vows, simply because it
is dishonourable and wicked to break them?
A mother having become alarmed about the failing state of her daughter's
health, and not being able to get much satisfaction from a consultation
with the village doctor, took her to a London physician for further
advice. He asked a few questions as to the girl's daily habits and mode
of life, carefully stethoscoped her heart and lungs, and then gave an
involuntary sigh. The mother grew pale, and waited anxiously for a
verdict "Madam," he said, "so far as I can discover, your daughter is
suffering from a most serious complaint, which, for want of a better
name, I shall call 'dulness.' Perhaps it is in your power to cure it. I
have no medicine which is a specific for this disease." Girls, who
suffer in this way, too often prescribe for themselves marriage with men
whom they cannot love, honour, and obey. This is as bad as
dram-drinking, or gambling; but what else can the poor things do? They
have not been trained like their brothers to useful work, and have
always been told that woman's first, best occupation is--to be a wife.
To which it may be answered--
"Most true; but to make a mere business of marriage,
To call it a 'living,' 'vocation,' 'career,'
Is but to pervert, to degrade, and disparage
A contract of all the most sacred and dear."
Nor will those vows be regarded with greater sanctity which are taken
against the inclination. Better to be as candid as the girl who, forced
by her parents into a disagreeable match, when the clergyman came to
that part of the service where the bride is asked if she will have the
bridegroom for her husband, said, with great simplicity, "Oh dear, no,
sir; but you are the first person who has asked my opinion about the
matter!"
Let us think now what the vows are which, at the altar of God, and in
the presence of our fellow-creatures, we solemnly vow. Both the man and
the woman vow to love, honour, cherish, and be faithful, for better for
worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and health, till death part
them. Then the husband promises to comfort his wife, and the wife to
serve and obey her husband.
A Scotch lady, whose daughter was recently married, was asked by an old
friend whether she might congratulate her upon the event. "Yes, yes,"
she answered; "upon the whole it is very satisfactory; it is true
Jeannie hates her gudeman, but then there's always a something." The old
friend might have told this Scotch lady that in making light of love she
made light of that which was needful to hallow her daughter's marriage;
and that even the blessing of a bishop in the most fashionable church
does not prevent a loveless alliance from being a sacrifice of true
chastity.
Contrast the indifference of this Scotch lady in reference to
matrimonial love, with the value set upon it in a letter which Pliny the
Younger, who was a heathen, wrote concerning his wife, Calpurnia, to her
aunt. It is quoted by Dr. Cook as follows: "She loves me, the surest
pledge of her virtue, and adds to this a wonderful disposition to
learning, which she has acquired from her affection to me. She reads my
writings, studies them, and even gets them by heart. You would smile to
see the concern she is in when I have a cause to plead, and the joy she
shows when it is over. She finds means to have the first news brought
her of the success I meet with in court. If I recite anything in public,
she cannot refrain from placing herself privately in some corner to
hear. Sometimes she accompanies my verses with the lute, without any
master except love--the best of instructors. From these instances I take
the most certain omens of our perpetual and increasing happiness, since
her affection is not founded on my youth or person, which must gradually
decay; but she is in love with the immortal part of me."
The second vow taken by both the man and the woman is to "honour."
"Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them according to knowledge, giving
honour unto the wife as unto the weaker vessel." "And the wife see that
she reverence her husband." The weaker vessel is to be honoured, not
because she is weak, but because, being weak, she acts her part so well.
And even if the wife's courage and endurance should sometimes fail, a
good husband would not withhold honour from her on that account. He
would remember her weaker nature, and her more delicate physical frame,
her more acute nervous sensibility, her greater sensitiveness and
greater trials, the peculiar troubles to which she is subject.
In a lately published "Narrative of a Journey through the South China
Border Lands," we are told that a wife in this part of the world, when
mentioned by her husband, "which happens as seldom as possible," is
called "My dull thorn," "The thorn in my ribs," or "The mean one of the
inner rooms." This is the way _not_ to honour a wife. But the honour
which a husband should give is not merely that chivalrous bearing which
the strong owe to the weak, and which every woman has a right to expect
from every man. In describing a husband who was in the habit of
honouring his wife, Dr. Landels remarks that "one could not be in his
presence without feeling it. Never a word escaped his lips which
reflected directly or indirectly on her. Never an action he performed
would have led to the impression that there could be any difference
between them. She was the queen of his home. All about them felt that in
his estimation, and by his desire, her authority was unimpeachable, and
her will law. And the effect of his example was that children and
friends and domestics alike hedged her about with sweet respect. A man
of strong will himself, his was never known to be in collision with
hers; and, without any undue yielding, the homage which he paid to his
wife made their union one of the happiest it has ever been our privilege
to witness."
And the wife, on her part, is to reverence and honour her husband as
long as she possibly can. If possible, she should let her husband
suppose that she thinks him a _good_ husband, and it will be a strong
stimulus to his being so. As long as he thinks he possesses the
character, he will take some pains to deserve it; but when he has lost
the name he will be very apt to abandon the reality altogether. "To
treat men as if they were better than they are is the surest way to
_make_ them better than they are." Keats tells us that he has met with
women who would like to be married to a Poem, and given away by a
Novel; but wives must not cease to honour their husbands on discovering
that instead of being poetical and romantic they are very ordinary,
imperfect beings.
There are homes where poverty has never left its pinch nor sickness paid
its visit; homes where there is plenty on the board, and health in the
circle, and yet where a skeleton more grim than death haunts the
cupboard, and an ache harsher than consumption's tooth gnaws sharply at
the heart. Why do those shoulders stoop so early ere life's noon has
passed? Why is it that the sigh which follows the closing of the door
after the husband has gone off to business is a sigh of relief, and that
which greets his coming footstep is a sigh of dread? What means that
nervous pressing of the hand against the heart, the gulping back of the
lump that rises in the throat, the forced smile, and the pressed-back
tear? If we could but speak to the husbands who haunt these homes, we
would tell them that some such soliloquy as the following is ever
passing like a laboured breath through the distracted minds of their
wives: "Is this the Canaan, this the land of promise, this the milk and
honey that were pictured to my fancy; when the walks among the lanes,
and fields, and flowers were all too short, and the whispers were so
loving, and the pressure was so fond, and the heart-beat was so
passionate? For what have I surrendered home, youth, beauty, freedom,
love--all that a woman has to give in all her wealth of confidence?
Harsh tones, cold looks, stern words, short answers, sullen reserve."
"What," says the cheery neighbour, "is that all?" All! What more is
needed to make home dark, to poison hope, to turn life into a funeral,
the marriage-robe into a shroud, and the grave into a refuge? It does
not want drunkenness, blows, bruises, clenched fists, oaths, to work
sacrilege in the temple of the home; only a little ice where the fire
should glow; only a cold look where the love should burn; only a sneer
where there ought to be a smile. Husband! that wife of yours is wretched
because you are a liar; because you perjured yourself when you vowed to
love and cherish. You are too great a coward to beat her brains out with
a poker lest the gallows claim you; but you are so little of a man that
you poison her soul with the slow cruelty of an oath daily foresworn and
brutally ignored. If the ducking-stool was a punishment of old for a
scolding wife, a fiercer baptism should await the husband who has ceased
to cherish his wife.
As regards the vow of fidelity we need only quote these words of the
prophet Malachi: "The Lord hath been witness between thee and the wife
of thy youth, against whom thou hast dealt treacherously: yet she is thy
companion, and the wife of thy covenant. And did not he make one?
Therefore take heed to your spirit, and let none deal treacherously
against the wife of his youth." But there are absentee husbands and
wives who, though they are not guilty of breaking the seventh
commandment, do by no means keep the promise of keeping only to their
wives and husbands. If a man come home only when other places are shut,
or when his money is all gone, or when nobody else wants him, is he not
telling his wife and family, as plainly by deeds as he could possibly by
words, that he takes more delight in other company than in theirs?
Charles Lamb used to feel that there was something of dishonesty in any
pleasures which he took without his lunatic sister. A good man will
feel something like this in reference to his wife and children.
But though men should love their homes, it is quite possible for them to
be too much at home. This at least is the opinion of most wives. There
is everywhere a disposition to pack off the men in the morning and to
bid them keep out of the way till towards evening, when it is assumed
they will probably have a little news of the busy world to bring home,
and when baby will be sure to have said something exceptionally
brilliant and precocious. The general events of the day will afford
topics of conversation more interesting by far than if the whole
household had been together from morning till night. Men about home all
day are fidgety, grumpy, and interfering--altogether objectionable, in
short.
As a rule it is when things are going wrong that women show to the best
advantage. Every one can remember illustrations. We have one in the
following story of Hawthorne, which was told to Mr. Conway by an
intimate friend of the novelist. One wintry day Hawthorne received at
his office notification that his services would no longer be required.
With heaviness of heart he repaired to his humble home. His young wife
recognizes the change and stands waiting for the silence to be broken.
At length he falters, "I am removed from office." Then she leaves the
room; she returns with fuel and kindles a bright fire with her own
hands; next she brings pen, paper, ink, and sets them beside him. Then
she touches the sad man on the shoulder, and, as he turns to the beaming
face, says, "Now you can write your book." The cloud cleared away. The
lost office looked like a cage from which he had escaped. "The Scarlet
Letter" was written, and a marvellous success rewarded the author and
his stout-hearted wife.
The care some wives take of their husbands in sickness is very touching.
John Richard Green, the historian, whose death seemed so untimely, is an
instance of this. His very life was prolonged in the most wonderful way
by the care and skill with which he was tended; and it was with and
through his wife that the work was done which he could not have done
alone. She consulted the authorities for him, examined into obscure
points, and wrote to his dictation. In this way, when he could not work
more than two hours in the day, and when often some slight change in the
weather would throw him back and make work impossible for days or weeks,
the book was prepared which he published under the title of "The Making
of England."
The husband's vow to "comfort" was never better performed than by
Cobbett. In his "Advice to Young Men" he says: "I began my young
marriage days in and near Philadelphia. At one of those times to which I
have just alluded, in the middle of the burning hot month of July, I was
greatly afraid of fatal consequences to my wife for want of sleep, she
not having, after the great danger was over, had any sleep for more than
forty-eight hours. All great cities in hot countries are, I believe,
full of dogs, and they, in the very hot weather, keep up during the
night a horrible barking and fighting and howling. Upon the particular
occasion to which I am adverting they made a noise so terrible and so
unremitted that it was next to impossible that even a person in full
health and free from pain should obtain a minute's sleep. I was, about
nine in the evening, sitting by the bed. 'I do think,' said she, 'that
I could go to sleep _now_, if it were not _for the dogs_.' Downstairs I
went, and out I sallied, in my shirt and trousers, and without shoes and
stockings; and, going to a heap of stones lying beside the road, set to
work upon the dogs, going backward and forward, and keeping them at two
or three hundred yards' distance from the house. I walked thus the whole
night, barefooted, lest the noise of my shoes might possibly reach her
ears; and I remember that the bricks of the causeway were, even in the
night, so hot as to be disagreeable to my feet. My exertions produced
the desired effect: a sleep of several hours was the consequence, and,
at eight o'clock in the morning, off went I to a day's business which
was to end at six in the evening.
"Women are all patriots of the soil; and when her neighbours used to ask
my wife whether _all_ English husbands were like hers, she boldly
answered in the affirmative. I had business to occupy the whole of my
time, Sundays and week-days, except sleeping hours; but I used to make
time to assist her in the taking care of her baby, and in all sorts of
things: get up, light her fire, boil her tea-kettle, carry her up warm
water in cold weather, take the child while she dressed herself and got
the breakfast ready, then breakfast, get her in water and wood for the
day, then dress myself neatly and sally forth to my business. The moment
that was over I used to hasten back to her again; and I no more thought
of spending a moment _away from her_, unless business compelled me, than
I thought of quitting the country and going to sea. The _thunder_ and
_lightning_ are tremendous in America compared with what they are in
England. My wife was at one time very much afraid of thunder and
lightning; and, as is the feeling of all such women, and indeed all men
too, she wanted company, and particularly her husband, in those times of
danger. I knew well of course that my presence would not diminish the
danger; but, be I at what I might, if within reach of home, I used to
quit my business and hasten to her the moment I perceived a thunderstorm
approaching. Scores of miles have I, first and last, _run_ on this
errand in the streets of Philadelphia! The Frenchmen who were my
scholars used to laugh at me exceedingly on this account; and sometimes,
when I was making an appointment with them, they would say, with a smile
and a bow, '_Sauve le tonnerre toujours, Monsieur Cobbett!_'"
Much is said both wise and otherwise in reference to the obedience which
a wife vows to yield to her husband. One who wrote a sketch of the Rev.
F. D. Maurice tells us that he met him once at a wedding breakfast.
Maurice proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom. The lady turned
round, and in rather bad taste exclaimed, "Now, Mr. Maurice, I call you
to witness that I entertain no intention of obeying." Maurice answered
with his sad, sweet smile, "Ah, madam, you little know the blessedness
of obedience."
Of course no one believes that it is a wife's duty to obey when her
husband wishes her to act contrary to the dictates of conscience. As
little is she expected to conform to a standard of obedience and service
such as was laid down in a conversation overheard between two children
who were playing on the sands together. Small boy to little girl: "Do
you wish to be my wife?" Little girl, after reflection; "Yes." Small
boy: "Then pull off my boots." We all rejoice in the fact that woman's
rights are very different now from what they used to be, at least in
Russia, where, Dr. Lansdell tells us, anciently at a wedding the
bridegroom took to church a whip, and in one part of the ceremony
lightly applied it to the bride's back, in token that she was to be in
subjection. Is there not still, however, much truth in the old couplet:
"Man, love thy wife; thy husband, wife, obey.
Wives are our heart; we should be head alway"?
On a great many points concerning the pecuniary or other interests of
the family, the husband will usually be the wisest, and may most
properly be treated as the senior or acting partner in the firm.
"The good wife," says Fuller, "commandeth her husband in any equal
matter, by constantly obeying him. It was always observed, that what the
English gained of the French in battle by valour, the French regained of
the English in cunning by treaties. So if the husband should chance by
his power in his passion to prejudice his wife's right, she wisely
knoweth by compounding and complying, to recover and rectify it again."
This is very much what the well-known lines in "Hiawatha" teach--
"As unto the bow the cord is,
So unto the man is woman;
Though she bends him, she obeys him;
Though she draws him, yet she follows;
Useless each without the other!"
But indeed it is a sign of something being wrong between married
people, when the question which of the two shall be subject to the other
ever arises. It will never do so when both parties love as they ought,
for then the struggle will be not who shall command and control, but who
shall serve and yield. As Chaucer says--
"When mastery cometh, then sweet Love anon,
Flappeth his nimble wings and soon away is flown."