SORE TRIALS FOR PEOPLE IN LOVE--WILL LOVE TRIUMPH OVER THE AFFLICTIONS
OF THE BODY?
A pathetic story--Could you whisper words of love through an
ear-trumpet?--The case presented on the stage--Take care of the
woman you love.
The following reflections were suggested to me by a pitiful story that
I heard a few days ago only. A young, beautiful girl, belonging to the
best society, was engaged to be married. During her lover's absence she
had typhoid fever. She recovered and is now quite well, but (the 'but'
is terrible) she has not a single hair left on her head. Of course, she
wears a wig, but she has tried every possible thing, consulted the most
eminent specialists, to no avail. Her lover is returning very soon. He
knew she was ill, but does not know the terrible misfortune which has
befallen his beautiful _fiancee_. Will he marry her? Will his love be
powerful enough to overlook the loss of woman's best ornament on his
sweetheart's head? Will he be able to behold her with the wig off, and
say to her: 'I love you just the same?' In a melodrama he would, but
will _he_? I dare not answer the question. We do not live in heroic
times nowadays, and you must not ask too much of man.
As physical beauty is an appanage far more precious to a woman than a
man, the question may perhaps be better put in the following manner: If
a man loves a woman, will her disfigurement--the loss of a limb, the
loss of her hair, deafness, blindness, or any other calamity of this
sort which may afflict her--destroy the love of that man for that
woman?
It is all very well to say that love is the yearning of the soul, but
it must be admitted that the man himself is closely associated with it,
and that the face is the means of expressing what the soul feels. You
can softly whisper 'I love you' in a woman's ear; but if the poor thing
is deaf, you cannot shout these three words at her, much less blow them
through a trumpet. If you doubt me, try it in a play, and you will see
the effect it will infallibly produce on the audience. Why, they will
roar. Deafness is terrible, so dull, so prosaic, so suggestive of old
age; I have sometimes heard men wish their wives were dumb, but deaf
never.
I remember once seeing a play at a Paris Boulevard theatre, frequented
by the emotional portion of the Parisian public, in which the heroine,
in the fourth act, appears with a thick veil over her face. She has had
small-pox and she is sadly disfigured for life; she expects her lover,
who is returning from the war. A year has elapsed since the curtain
went down over the third act; she has just received a letter announcing
his arrival safe and sound. She is happy, radiant; then she looks at
herself in a glass and weeps bitterly; she has told him of her illness,
but not of her misfortune; he knows nothing about it. Will he love her
still when he sees her, or will he go away from her? The suspense is
awful, and the situation dramatic. At last he appears on the threshold
of the door, and stretches out his arms to her; she remains speechless,
motionless, and the audience breathless. He rushes up to her to take
her in his arms. With a dramatic gesture of the hands she bids him
stand back. Then she tells him what has happened; but he is one of
those worthy, undaunted heroes of the Boulevard melodramas whose love
can triumph over all obstacles. He swears that it will make no
difference to his sentiments; she lifts up her veil; then he falls at
her feet and exclaims from the depths of his heart: 'I love you just
the same, my darling.' (Tableau, cheers, and applause.) Of course he
does not say to her that he finds her more beautiful than ever, and
that the marks suit her style of beauty and all that sort of thing, but
he swears again that his love has not altered, and the audience applaud
this lofty sentiment, and the women say: 'That's a man!'
H'm! is it, though?
A friend who was with me on that occasion, and who is a bit of a cynic,
said to me: 'There was only one possible _denouement_ for that play to
give satisfaction to an audience that must go home perfectly persuaded
that the hero and the heroine will be happy and in love with each other
for ever and ever. The author missed a fine dramatic curtain. As the
small-pox marks cannot be taken away, that man should have carried his
love for that girl further than he did. He should have torn his eyes
out in her presence. The sacrifice would have gone straight to her
heart, and would have made the continuation of his love possible.'
'Well,' I said, 'yes, I see what you mean, but how do you know that the
girl would have cared to marry a blind man? Maybe her love would not
triumph over the difficulty.'
I may tell you that I knew a loving married couple who ceased to love
each other, he because her hair turned white, and she because his
turned outwards.
This is a psychological subject that may well puzzle the best
sociologist.
I have not tried to answer the question, but merely intended to offer
it for discussion.
However, this I will say to my fellow-men: 'I know how truly and deeply
you love your wives and sweethearts, but let me advise you: Don't try
the experiment; don't put your love to so severe a test. Take the
greatest care of the said wives and sweethearts, and see that no
accident happens to them, that no disease disfigures them or
permanently injures their health. This is wisdom.'