"Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love."--SHAKSPEARE.
"In the husband Wisdom, In the wife Gentleness."--GEORGE
HERBERT.
"If God had designed woman as man's master, He would have
taken her from his head; If as his slave, He would have
taken her from his feet; but as He designed her for his
companion and equal, He took her from his side."--SAINT
AUGUSTINE.--'DE CIVITATE DEI.'
"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above
rubies.... Her husband is known in the gates, and he sitteth
among the elders of the land.... Strength and honour are her
clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth
her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of
kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her husband, and
eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up and
call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her."--
PROVERBS OF SOLOMON.
THE character of men, as of women, is powerfully influenced by their
companionship in all the stages of life. We have already spoken of the
influence of the mother in forming the character of her children. She
makes the moral atmosphere in which they live, and by which their minds
and souls are nourished, as their bodies are by the physical atmosphere
they breathe. And while woman is the natural cherisher of infancy and
the instructor of childhood, she is also the guide and counsellor
of youth, and the confidant and companion of manhood, in her various
relations of mother, sister, lover, and wife. In short, the influence of
woman more or less affects, for good or for evil, the entire destinies
of man.
The respective social functions and duties of men and women are clearly
defined by nature. God created man AND woman, each to do their proper
work, each to fill their proper sphere. Neither can occupy the position,
nor perform the functions, of the other. Their several vocations are
perfectly distinct. Woman exists on her own account, as man does on
his, at the same time that each has intimate relations with the
other. Humanity needs both for the purposes of the race, and in every
consideration of social progress both must necessarily be included.
Though companions and equals, yet, as regards the measure of their
powers, they are unequal. Man is stronger, more muscular, and of rougher
fibre; woman is more delicate, sensitive, and nervous. The one excels in
power of brain, the other in qualities of heart; and though the head may
rule, it is the heart that influences. Both are alike adapted for the
respective functions they have to perform in life; and to attempt to
impose woman's work upon man would be quite as absurd as to attempt to
impose man's work upon woman. Men are sometimes womanlike, and women are
sometimes manlike; but these are only exceptions which prove the rule.
Although man's qualities belong more to the head, and woman's more
to the heart--yet it is not less necessary that man's heart should be
cultivated as well as his head, and woman's head cultivated as well
as her heart. A heartless man is as much out-of-keeping in civilized
society as a stupid and unintelligent woman. The cultivation of all
parts of the moral and intellectual nature is requisite to form the man
or woman of healthy and well-balanced character. Without sympathy or
consideration for others, man were a poor, stunted, sordid, selfish
being; and without cultivated intelligence, the most beautiful woman
were little better than a well-dressed doll.
It used to be a favourite notion about woman, that her weakness and
dependency upon others constituted her principal claim to admiration.
"If we were to form an image of dignity in a man," said Sir Richard
Steele, "we should give him wisdom and valour, as being essential to the
character of manhood. In like manner, if you describe a right woman in
a laudable sense, she should have gentle softness, tender fear, and all
those parts of life which distinguish her from the other sex, with some
subordination to it, but an inferiority which makes her lovely." Thus,
her weakness was to be cultivated, rather than her strength; her
folly, rather than her wisdom. She was to be a weak, fearful, tearful,
characterless, inferior creature, with just sense enough to understand
the soft nothings addressed to her by the "superior" sex. She was to
be educated as an ornamental appanage of man, rather as an independent
intelligence--or as a wife, mother, companion, or friend.
Pope, in one of his 'Moral Essays,' asserts that "most women have no
characters at all;" and again he says:--
"Ladies, like variegated tulips, show:
'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe,
Fine by defect and delicately weak."
This satire characteristically occurs in the poet's 'Epistle to Martha
Blount,' the housekeeper who so tyrannically ruled him; and in the same
verses he spitefully girds at Lady Mary Wortley Montague, at whose feet
he had thrown himself as a lover, and been contemptuously rejected.
But Pope was no judge of women, nor was he even a very wise or tolerant
judge of men.
It is still too much the practice to cultivate the weakness of woman
rather than her strength, and to render her attractive rather than
self-reliant. Her sensibilities are developed at the expense of her
health of body as well as of mind. She lives, moves, and has her being
in the sympathy of others. She dresses that she may attract, and is
burdened with accomplishments that she may be chosen. Weak, trembling,
and dependent, she incurs the risk of becoming a living embodiment of
the Italian proverb--"so good that she is good for nothing."
On the other hand, the education of young men too often errs on the
side of selfishness. While the boy is incited to trust mainly to his own
efforts in pushing his way in the world, the girl is encouraged to rely
almost entirely upon others. He is educated with too exclusive reference
to himself and she is educated with too exclusive reference to him. He
is taught to be self-reliant and self-dependent, while she is taught
to be distrustful of herself, dependent, and self-sacrificing in all
things. Thus, the intellect of the one is cultivated at the expense of
the affections, and the affections of the other at the expense of the
intellect.
It is unquestionable that the highest qualities of woman are displayed
in her relationship to others, through the medium of her affections. She
is the nurse whom nature has given to all humankind. She takes charge
of the helpless, and nourishes and cherishes those we love. She is the
presiding genius of the fireside, where she creates an atmosphere
of serenity and contentment suitable for the nurture and growth
of character in its best forms. She is by her very constitution
compassionate, gentle, patient, and self-denying. Loving, hopeful,
trustful, her eye sheds brightness everywhere. It shines upon coldness
and warms it, upon suffering and relieves it, upon sorrow and cheers
it:--
"Her silver flow
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress,
Right to the heart and brain, though undescried,
Winning its way with extreme gentleness
Through all the outworks of suspicion's pride."
Woman has been styled "the angel of the unfortunate." She is ready to
help the weak, to raise the fallen, to comfort the suffering. It was
characteristic of woman, that she should have been the first to build
and endow an hospital. It has been said that wherever a human being
is in suffering, his sighs call a woman to his side. When Mungo Park,
lonely, friendless, and famished, after being driven forth from an
African village by the men, was preparing to spend the night under a
tree, exposed to the rain and the wild beasts which there abounded,
a poor negro woman, returning from the labours of the field, took
compassion upon him, conducted him into her hut, and there gave him
food, succour, and shelter. [201]
But while the most characteristic qualities of woman are displayed
through her sympathies and affections, it is also necessary for her own
happiness, as a self-dependent being, to develope and strengthen her
character, by due self-culture, self-reliance, and self-control. It is
not desirable, even were it possible, to close the beautiful avenues
of the heart. Self-reliance of the best kind does not involve any
limitation in the range of human sympathy. But the happiness of woman,
as of man, depends in a great measure upon her individual completeness
of character. And that self-dependence which springs from the due
cultivation of the intellectual powers, conjoined with a proper
discipline of the heart and conscience, will enable her to be more
useful in life as well as happy; to dispense blessings intelligently as
well as to enjoy them; and most of all those which spring from mutual
dependence and social sympathy.
To maintain a high standard of purity in society, the culture of both
sexes must be in harmony, and keep equal pace. A pure womanhood must be
accompanied by a pure manhood. The same moral law applies alike to both.
It would be loosening the foundations of virtue, to countenance the
notion that because of a difference in sex, man were at liberty to set
morality at defiance, and to do that with impunity, which, if done by
a woman, would stain her character for life. To maintain a pure and
virtuous condition of society, therefore, man as well as woman must be
pure and virtuous; both alike shunning all acts impinging on the heart,
character, and conscience--shunning them as poison, which, once imbibed,
can never be entirely thrown out again, but mentally embitters, to a
greater or less extent, the happiness of after-life.
And here we would venture to touch upon a delicate topic. Though it is
one of universal and engrossing human interest, the moralist avoids it,
the educator shuns it, and parents taboo it. It is almost considered
indelicate to refer to Love as between the sexes; and young persons are
left to gather their only notions of it from the impossible love-stories
that fill the shelves of circulating libraries. This strong and
absorbing feeling, this BESOIN D'AIMER--which nature has for wise
purposes made so strong in woman that it colours her whole life and
history, though it may form but an episode in the life of man--is
usually left to follow its own inclinations, and to grow up for the most
part unchecked, without any guidance or direction whatever.
Although nature spurns all formal rules and directions in affairs of
love, it might at all events be possible to implant in young minds such
views of Character as should enable them to discriminate between
the true and the false, and to accustom them to hold in esteem those
qualities of moral purity and integrity, without which life is but a
scene of folly and misery. It may not be possible to teach young people
to love wisely, but they may at least be guarded by parental advice
against the frivolous and despicable passions which so often usurp its
name. "Love," it has been said, "in the common acceptation of the term,
is folly; but love, in its purity, its loftiness, its unselfishness,
is not only a consequence, but a proof, of our moral excellence. The
sensibility to moral beauty, the forgetfulness of self in the admiration
engendered by it, all prove its claim to a high moral influence. It is
the triumph of the unselfish over the selfish part of our nature."
It is by means of this divine passion that the world is kept ever
fresh and young. It is the perpetual melody of humanity. It sheds an
effulgence upon youth, and throws a halo round age. It glorifies the
present by the light it casts backward, and it lightens the future by
the beams it casts forward. The love which is the outcome of esteem and
admiration, has an elevating and purifying effect on the character.
It tends to emancipate one from the slavery of self. It is altogether
unsordid; itself is its only price. It inspires gentleness, sympathy,
mutual faith, and confidence. True love also in a measure elevates the
intellect. "All love renders wise in a degree," says the poet Browning,
and the most gifted minds have been the sincerest lovers. Great
souls make all affections great; they elevate and consecrate all true
delights. The sentiment even brings to light qualities before lying
dormant and unsuspected. It elevates the aspirations, expands the soul,
and stimulates the mental powers. One of the finest compliments ever
paid to a woman was that of Steele, when he said of Lady Elizabeth
Hastings, "that to have loved her was a liberal education." Viewed in
this light, woman is an educator in the highest sense, because, above
all other educators, she educates humanly and lovingly.
It has been said that no man and no woman can be regarded as complete in
their experience of life, until they have been subdued into union with
the world through their affections. As woman is not woman until she
has known love, neither is man man. Both are requisite to each other's
completeness. Plato entertained the idea that lovers each sought a
likeness in the other, and that love was only the divorced half of
the original human being entering into union with its counterpart. But
philosophy would here seem to be at fault, for affection quite as often
springs from unlikeness as from likeness in its object.
The true union must needs be one of mind as well as of heart, and based
on mutual esteem as well as mutual affection. "No true and enduring
love," says Fichte, "can exist without esteem; every other draws regret
after it, and is unworthy of any noble human soul." One cannot really
love the bad, but always something that we esteem and respect as well as
admire. In short, true union must rest on qualities of character, which
rule in domestic as in public life.
But there is something far more than mere respect and esteem in the
union between man and wife. The feeling on which it rests is far deeper
and tenderer--such, indeed, as never exists between men or between
women. "In matters of affection," says Nathaniel Hawthorne, "there is
always an impassable gulf between man and man. They can never quite
grasp each other's hands, and therefore man never derives any intimate
help, any heart-sustenance, from his brother man, but from woman--his
mother, his sister, or his wife." [202]
Man enters a new world of joy, and sympathy, and human interest, through
the porch of love. He enters a new world in his home--the home of his
own making--altogether different from the home of his boyhood, where
each day brings with it a succession of new joys and experiences. He
enters also, it may be, a new world of trials and sorrows, in which
he often gathers his best culture and discipline. "Family life," says
Sainte-Beuve, "may be full of thorns and cares; but they are fruitful:
all others are dry thorns." And again: "If a man's home, at a certain
period of life, does not contain children, it will probably be found
filled with follies or with vices." [203]
A life exclusively occupied in affairs of business insensibly tends
to narrow and harden the character. It is mainly occupied with
self-watching for advantages, and guarding against sharp practice on
the part of others. Thus the character unconsciously tends to grow
suspicious and ungenerous. The best corrective of such influences is
always the domestic; by withdrawing the mind from thoughts that are
wholly gainful, by taking it out of its daily rut, and bringing it back
to the sanctuary of home for refreshment and rest:
"That truest, rarest light of social joy,
Which gleams upon the man of many cares."
"Business," says Sir Henry Taylor, "does but lay waste the approaches to
the heart, whilst marriage garrisons the fortress." And however the head
may be occupied, by labours of ambition or of business--if the heart
be not occupied by affection for others and sympathy with them--life,
though it may appear to the outer world to be a success, will probably
be no success at all, but a failure. [204]
A man's real character will always be more visible in his household than
anywhere else; and his practical wisdom will be better exhibited by the
manner in which he bears rule there, than even in the larger affairs of
business or public life. His whole mind may be in his business; but, if
he would be happy, his whole heart must be in his home. It is there
that his genuine qualities most surely display themselves--there that
he shows his truthfulness, his love, his sympathy, his consideration
for others, his uprightness, his manliness--in a word, his character. If
affection be not the governing principle in a household, domestic life
may be the most intolerable of despotisms. Without justice, also, there
can be neither love, confidence, nor respect, on which all true domestic
rule is founded.
Erasmus speaks of Sir Thomas More's home as "a school and exercise of
the Christian religion." "No wrangling, no angry word was heard in it;
no one was idle; every one did his duty with alacrity, and not without
a temperate cheerfulness." Sir Thomas won all hearts to obedience by his
gentleness. He was a man clothed in household goodness; and he ruled so
gently and wisely, that his home was pervaded by an atmosphere of love
and duty. He himself spoke of the hourly interchange of the smaller acts
of kindness with the several members of his family, as having a claim
upon his time as strong as those other public occupations of his life
which seemed to others so much more serious and important.
But the man whose affections are quickened by home-life, does not
confine his sympathies within that comparatively narrow sphere. His
love enlarges in the family, and through the family it expands into the
world. "Love," says Emerson, "is a fire that, kindling its first embers
in the narrow nook of a private bosom, caught from a wandering spark out
of another private heart, glows and enlarges until it warms and beams
upon multitudes of men and women, upon the universal heart of all, and
so lights up the whole world and nature with its generous flames."
It is by the regimen of domestic affection that the heart of man is best
composed and regulated. The home is the woman's kingdom, her state,
her world--where she governs by affection, by kindness, by the power of
gentleness. There is nothing which so settles the turbulence of a man's
nature as his union in life with a highminded woman. There he finds
rest, contentment, and happiness--rest of brain and peace of spirit.
He will also often find in her his best counsellor, for her instinctive
tact will usually lead him right when his own unaided reason might be
apt to go wrong. The true wife is a staff to lean upon in times of trial
and difficulty; and she is never wanting in sympathy and solace when
distress occurs or fortune frowns. In the time of youth, she is a
comfort and an ornament of man's life; and she remains a faithful
helpmate in maturer years, when life has ceased to be an anticipation,
and we live in its realities.
What a happy man must Edmund Burke have been, when he could say of his
home, "Every care vanishes the moment I enter under my own roof!" And
Luther, a man full of human affection, speaking of his wife, said, "I
would not exchange my poverty with her for all the riches of Croesus
without her." Of marriage he observed: "The utmost blessing that God can
confer on a man is the possession of a good and pious wife, with whom
he may live in peace and tranquillity--to whom he may confide his whole
possessions, even his life and welfare." And again he said, "To rise
betimes, and to marry young, are what no man ever repents of doing."
For a man to enjoy true repose and happiness in marriage, he must have
in his wife a soul-mate as well as a helpmate. But it is not requisite
that she should be merely a pale copy of himself. A man no more desires
in his wife a manly woman, than the woman desires in her husband a
feminine man. A woman's best qualities do not reside in her intellect,
but in her affections. She gives refreshment by her sympathies, rather
than by her knowledge. "The brain-women," says Oliver Wendell Holmes,
"never interest us like the heart-women." [205] Men are often so wearied
with themselves, that they are rather predisposed to admire qualities
and tastes in others different from their own. "If I were suddenly
asked," says Mr. Helps, "to give a proof of the goodness of God to us, I
think I should say that it is most manifest in the exquisite difference
He has made between the souls of men and women, so as to create the
possibility of the most comforting and charming companionship that the
mind of man can imagine." [206] But though no man may love a woman for her
understanding, it is not the less necessary for her to cultivate it on
that account. [207] There may be difference in character, but there must
be harmony of mind and sentiment--two intelligent souls as well as two
loving hearts:
"Two heads in council, two beside the hearth,
Two in the tangled business of the world,
Two in the liberal offices of life."
There are few men who have written so wisely on the subject of marriage
as Sir Henry Taylor. What he says about the influence of a happy union
in its relation to successful statesmanship, applies to all conditions
of life. The true wife, he says, should possess such qualities as will
tend to make home as much as may be a place of repose. To this end, she
should have sense enough or worth enough to exempt her husband as much
as possible from the troubles of family management, and more especially
from all possibility of debt. "She should be pleasing to his eyes and
to his taste: the taste goes deep into the nature of all men--love is
hardly apart from it; and in a life of care and excitement, that home
which is not the seat of love cannot be a place of repose; rest for
the brain, and peace for the spirit, being only to be had through the
softening of the affections. He should look for a clear understanding,
cheerfulness, and alacrity of mind, rather than gaiety and brilliancy,
and for a gentle tenderness of disposition in preference to an
impassioned nature. Lively talents are too stimulating in a tired man's
house--passion is too disturbing....
"Her love should be
A love that clings not, nor is exigent,
Encumbers not the active purposes,
Nor drains their source; but profers with free grace
Pleasure at pleasure touched, at pleasure waived,
A washing of the weary traveller's feet,
A quenching of his thirst, a sweet repose,
Alternate and preparative; in groves
Where, loving much the flower that loves the shade,
And loving much the shade that that flower loves,
He yet is unbewildered, unenslaved,
Thence starting light, and pleasantly let go
When serious service calls." [208]
Some persons are disappointed in marriage, because they expect too
much from it; but many more, because they do not bring into the
co-partnership their fair share of cheerfulness, kindliness,
forbearance, and common sense. Their imagination has perhaps pictured
a condition never experienced on this side Heaven; and when real life
comes, with its troubles and cares, there is a sudden waking-up as from
a dream. Or they look for something approaching perfection in their
chosen companion, and discover by experience that the fairest of
characters have their weaknesses. Yet it is often the very imperfection
of human nature, rather than its perfection, that makes the strongest
claims on the forbearance and sympathy of others, and, in affectionate
and sensible natures, tends to produce the closest unions.
The golden rule of married life is, "Bear and forbear." Marriage, like
government, is a series of compromises. One must give and take, refrain
and restrain, endure and be patient. One may not be blind to another's
failings, but they may be borne with good-natured forbearance. Of all
qualities, good temper is the one that wears and works the best in
married life. Conjoined with self-control, it gives patience--the
patience to bear and forbear, to listen without retort, to refrain until
the angry flash has passed. How true it is in marriage, that "the soft
answer turneth away wrath!"
Burns the poet, in speaking of the qualities of a good wife, divided
them into ten parts. Four of these he gave to good temper, two to good
sense, one to wit, one to beauty--such as a sweet face, eloquent eyes,
a fine person, a graceful carriage; and the other two parts he divided
amongst the other qualities belonging to or attending on a wife--such
as fortune, connections, education [20that is, of a higher standard than
ordinary], family blood, &c.; but he said: "Divide those two degrees
as you please, only remember that all these minor proportions must
be expressed by fractions, for there is not any one of them that is
entitled to the dignity of an integer."
It has been said that girls are very good at making nets, but that it
would be better still if they would learn to make cages. Men are often
as easily caught as birds, but as difficult to keep. If the wife cannot
make her home bright and happy, so that it shall be the cleanest,
sweetest, cheerfulest place that her husband can find refuge in--a
retreat from the toils and troubles of the outer world--then God help
the poor man, for he is virtually homeless!
No wise person will marry for beauty mainly. It may exercise a powerful
attraction in the first place, but it is found to be of comparatively
little consequence afterwards. Not that beauty of person is to be
underestimated, for, other things being equal, handsomeness of form
and beauty of features are the outward manifestations of health. But to
marry a handsome figure without character, fine features unbeautified
by sentiment or good-nature, is the most deplorable of mistakes. As even
the finest landscape, seen daily, becomes monotonous, so does the most
beautiful face, unless a beautiful nature shines through it. The beauty
of to-day becomes commonplace to-morrow; whereas goodness, displayed
through the most ordinary features, is perennially lovely. Moreover,
this kind of beauty improves with age, and time ripens rather than
destroys it. After the first year, married people rarely think of
each other's features, and whether they be classically beautiful or
otherwise. But they never fail to be cognisant of each other's temper.
"When I see a man," says Addison, "with a sour rivelled face, I cannot
forbear pitying his wife; and when I meet with an open ingenuous
countenance, I think of the happiness of his friends, his family, and
his relations."
We have given the views of the poet Burns as to the qualities necessary
in a good wife. Let us add the advice given by Lord Burleigh to his son,
embodying the experience of a wise statesman and practised man of the
world. "When it shall please God," said he, "to bring thee to man's
estate, use great providence and circumspection in choosing thy wife;
for from thence will spring all thy future good or evil. And it is an
action of thy life, like unto a stratagem of war, wherein a man can err
but once.... Enquire diligently of her disposition, and how her parents
have been inclined in their youth. [209] Let her not be poor, how generous
[20well-born] soever; for a man can buy nothing in the market with
gentility. Nor choose a base and uncomely creature altogether for
wealth; for it will cause contempt in others, and loathing in thee.
Neither make choice of a dwarf, or a fool; for by the one thou shalt
beget a race of pigmies, while the other will be thy continual disgrace,
and it will yirke [20irk] thee to hear her talk. For thou shalt find it to
thy great grief, that there is nothing more fulsome [20disgusting] than a
she-fool."
A man's moral character is, necessarily, powerfully influenced by his
wife. A lower nature will drag him down, as a higher will lift him
up. The former will deaden his sympathies, dissipate his energies, and
distort his life; while the latter, by satisfying his affections, will
strengthen his moral nature, and by giving him repose, tend to energise
his intellect. Not only so, but a woman of high principles will
insensibly elevate the aims and purposes of her husband, as one of
low principles will unconsciously degrade them. De Tocqueville was
profoundly impressed by this truth. He entertained the opinion that man
could have no such mainstay in life as the companionship of a wife of
good temper and high principle. He says that in the course of his life,
he had seen even weak men display real public virtue, because they had
by their side a woman of noble character, who sustained them in their
career, and exercised a fortifying influence on their views of public
duty; whilst, on the contrary, he had still oftener seen men of great
and generous instincts transformed into vulgar self-seekers, by contact
with women of narrow natures, devoted to an imbecile love of pleasure,
and from whose minds the grand motive of Duty was altogether absent.
De Tocqueville himself had the good fortune to be blessed with an
admirable wife: [2010] and in his letters to his intimate friends, he
spoke most gratefully of the comfort and support he derived from her
sustaining courage, her equanimity of temper, and her nobility of
character. The more, indeed, that De Tocqueville saw of the world and of
practical life, the more convinced he became of the necessity of healthy
domestic conditions for a man's growth in virtue and goodness. [2011]
Especially did he regard marriage as of inestimable importance in regard
to a man's true happiness; and he was accustomed to speak of his own
as the wisest action of his life. "Many external circumstances of
happiness," he said, "have been granted to me. But more than all, I have
to thank Heaven for having bestowed on me true domestic happiness, the
first of human blessings. As I grow older, the portion of my life which
in my youth I used to look down upon, every day becomes more important
in my eyes, and would now easily console me for the loss of all the
rest." And again, writing to his bosom-friend, De Kergorlay, he said:
"Of all the blessings which God has given to me, the greatest of all in
my eyes is to have lighted on Marie. You cannot imagine what she is in
great trials. Usually so gentle, she then becomes strong and energetic.
She watches me without my knowing it; she softens, calms, and
strengthens me in difficulties which disturb ME, but leave her serene."
[2012] In another letter he says: "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."
In the retired life which De Tocqueville led as a literary
man--political life being closed against him by the inflexible
independence of his character--his health failed, and he became ill,
irritable, and querulous. While proceeding with his last work, 'L'Ancien
Regime et la Revolution,' he wrote: "After sitting at my desk for five
or six hours, I can write no longer; the machine refuses to act. I am in
great want of rest, and of a long rest. If you add all the perplexities
that besiege an author towards the end of his work, you will be able to
imagine a very wretched life. I could not go on with my task if it
were not for the refreshing calm of Marie's companionship. It would be
impossible to find a disposition forming a happier contrast to my own.
In my perpetual irritability of body and mind, she is a providential
resource that never fails me." [2013]
M. Guizot was, in like manner, sustained and encouraged, amidst his many
vicissitudes and disappointments, by his noble wife. If he was treated
with harshness by his political enemies, his consolation was in the
tender affection which filled his home with sunshine. Though his public
life was bracing and stimulating, he felt, nevertheless, that it was
cold and calculating, and neither filled the soul nor elevated the
character. "Man longs for a happiness," he says in his 'Memoires,' "more
complete and more tender than that which all the labours and triumphs of
active exertion and public importance can bestow. 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."
The circumstances connected with M. Guizot's courtship and marriage are
curious and interesting. While a young man living by his pen in
Paris, writing books, reviews, and translations, he formed a casual
acquaintance with Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan, a lady of great
ability, then editor of the PUBLICISTE. A severe domestic calamity
having befallen her, she fell ill, and was unable for a time to carry on
the heavy literary work connected with her journal. At this juncture a
letter without any signature reached her one day, offering a supply of
articles, which the writer hoped would be worthy of the reputation of
the PUBLICISTE. The articles duly arrived, were accepted, and
published. They dealt with a great variety of subjects--art, literature,
theatricals, and general criticism. When the editor at length recovered
from her illness, the writer of the articles disclosed himself: it was
M. Guizot. An intimacy sprang up between them, which ripened into mutual
affection, and before long Mademoiselle de Meulan became his wife.
From that time forward, she shared in all her husband's joys and
sorrows, as well as in many of his labours. Before they became united,
he asked her if she thought she should ever become dismayed at the
vicissitudes of his destiny, which he then saw looming before him. She
replied that he might assure himself that she would always passionately
enjoy his triumphs, but never heave a sigh over his defeats. When M.
Guizot became first minister of Louis Philippe, she wrote to a friend:
"I now see my husband much less than I desire, but still I see him....
If God spares us to each other, I shall always be, in the midst of every
trial and apprehension, the happiest of beings." Little more than six
months after these words were written, the devoted wife was laid in
her grave; and her sorrowing husband was left thenceforth to tread the
journey of life alone.
Burke was especially happy in his union with Miss Nugent, a beautiful,
affectionate, and highminded woman. The agitation and anxiety of his
public life was more than compensated by his domestic happiness, which
seems to have been complete. It was a saying of Burke, thoroughly
illustrative of his character, that "to love the little platoon
we belong to in society is the germ of all public affections." His
description of his wife, in her youth, is probably one of the finest
word-portraits in the language:--
"She is handsome; but it is a beauty not arising from features, from
complexion, or from shape. She has all three in a high degree, but it is
not by these she touches the heart; it is all that sweetness of temper,
benevolence, innocence, and sensibility, which a face can express, that
forms her beauty. She has a face that just raises your attention at
first sight; it grows on you every moment, and you wonder it did no more
than raise your attention at first.
"Her eyes have a mild light, but they awe when she pleases; they
command, like a good man out of office, not by authority, but by virtue.
"Her stature is not tall; she is not made to be the admiration of
everybody, but the happiness of one.
"She has all the firmness that does not exclude delicacy; she has all
the softness that does not imply weakness.
"Her voice is a soft low music--not formed to rule in public assemblies,
but to charm those who can distinguish a company from a crowd; it has
this advantage--YOU MUST COME CLOSE TO HER TO HEAR IT.
"To describe her body describes her mind--one is the transcript of
the other; her understanding is not shown in the variety of matters it
exerts itself on, but in the goodness of the choice she makes.
"She does not display it so much in saying or doing striking things, as
in avoiding such as she ought not to say or do.
"No person of so few years can know the world better; no person was ever
less corrupted by the knowledge of it.
"Her politeness flows rather from a natural disposition to oblige, than
from any rules on that subject, and therefore never fails to strike
those who understand good breeding and those who do not.
"She has a steady and firm mind, which takes no more from the solidity
of the female character than the solidity of marble does from its polish
and lustre. She has such virtues as make us value the truly great of
our own sex. She has all the winning graces that make us love even the
faults we see in the weak and beautiful, in hers."
Let us give, as a companion picture, the not less beautiful delineation
of a husband, that of Colonel Hutchinson, the Commonwealth man, by his
widow. Shortly before his death, he enjoined her "not to grieve at the
common rate of desolate women." And, faithful to his injunction, instead
of lamenting his loss, she indulged her noble sorrow in depicting her
husband as he had lived.
"They who dote on mortal excellences," she says, in her Introduction
to the 'Life,' "when, by the inevitable fate of all things frail, their
adored idols are taken from them, may let loose the winds of passion
to bring in a flood of sorrow, whose ebbing tides carry away the dear
memory of what they have lost; and when comfort is essayed to such
mourners, commonly all objects are removed out of their view which
may with their remembrance renew the grief; and in time these remedies
succeed, and oblivion's curtain is by degrees drawn over the dead face;
and things less lovely are liked, while they are not viewed together
with that which was most excellent. But I, that am under a command not
to grieve at the common rate of desolate women, [2014] while I am studying
which way to moderate my woe, and if it were possible to augment my
love, I can for the present find out none more just to your dear father,
nor consolatory to myself, than the preservation of his memory, which I
need not gild with such flattering commendations as hired preachers do
equally give to the truly and titularly honourable. A naked undressed
narrative, speaking the simple truth of him, will deck him with more
substantial glory, than all the panegyrics the best pens could ever
consecrate to the virtues of the best men."
The following is the wife's portrait of Colonel Hutchinson as a
husband:--
"For conjugal affection to his wife, it was such in him as whosoever
would draw out a rule of honour, kindness, and religion, to be practised
in that estate, need no more but exactly draw out his example. Never
man had a greater passion for a woman, nor a more honourable esteem of
a wife: yet he was not uxorious, nor remitted he that just rule which
it was her honour to obey, but managed the reins of government with
such prudence and affection, that she who could not delight in such an
honourable and advantageable subjection, must have wanted a reasonable
soul.
"He governed by persuasion, which he never employed but to things
honourable and profitable to herself; he loved her soul and her honour
more than her outside, and yet he had ever for her person a constant
indulgence, exceeding the common temporary passion of the most uxorious
fools. If he esteemed her at a higher rate than she in herself could
have deserved, he was the author of that virtue he doated on, while
she only reflected his own glories upon him. All that she was, was HIM,
while he was here, and all that she is now, at best, is but his pale
shade.
"So liberal was he to her, and of so generous a temper, that he hated
the mention of severed purses, his estate being so much at her disposal
that he never would receive an account of anything she expended. So
constant was he in his love, that when she ceased to be young and lovely
he began to show most fondness. He loved her at such a kind and generous
rate as words cannot express. Yet even this, which was the highest love
he or any man could have, was bounded by a superior: he loved her in
the Lord as his fellow-creature, not his idol; but in such a manner as
showed that an affection, founded on the just rules of duty, far exceeds
every way all the irregular passions in the world. He loved God above
her, and all the other dear pledges of his heart, and for his glory
cheerfully resigned them." [2015]
Lady Rachel Russell is another of the women of history celebrated for
her devotion and faithfulness as a wife. She laboured and pleaded for
her husband's release so long as she could do so with honour; but when
she saw that all was in vain, she collected her courage, and strove by
her example to strengthen the resolution of her dear lord. And when his
last hour had nearly come, and his wife and children waited to receive
his parting embrace, she, brave to the end, that she might not add
to his distress, concealed the agony of her grief under a seeming
composure; and they parted, after a tender adieu, in silence. After she
had gone, Lord William said, "Now the bitterness of death is passed!"
[2016]
We have spoken of the influence of a wife upon a man's character. There
are few men strong enough to resist the influence of a lower character
in a wife. If she do not sustain and elevate what is highest in his
nature, she will speedily reduce him to her own level. Thus a wife may
be the making or the unmaking of the best of men. An illustration of
this power is furnished in the life of Bunyan. The profligate tinker had
the good fortune to marry, in early life, a worthy young woman of good
parentage. "My mercy," he himself says, "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 [20not 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." And 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 paths of peace.
Richard Baxter, the Nonconformist divine, was far advanced in life
before he met the excellent woman who eventually became his wife. He was
too laboriously occupied in his vocation of minister to have any time to
spare for courtship; and his marriage was, as in the case of Calvin, as
much a matter of convenience as of love. Miss Charlton, the lady of his
choice, was the owner of property in her own right; but lest it should
be thought that Baxter married her for "covetousness," he requested,
first, that she should give over to her relatives the principal part of
her fortune, and that "he should have nothing that before her marriage
was hers;" secondly, that she should so arrange her affairs "as that
he might be entangled in no lawsuits;" and, thirdly, "that she should
expect none of the time that his ministerial work might require." These
several conditions the bride having complied with, the marriage took
place, and proved a happy one. "We lived," said Baxter, "in inviolated
love and mutual complacency, sensible of the benefit of mutual help,
nearly nineteen years." Yet the life of Baxter was one of great trials
and troubles, arising from the unsettled state of the times in which he
lived. He was hunted about from one part of the country to another,
and for several years he had no settled dwelling-place. "The women," he
gently remarks in his 'Life,' "have most of that sort of trouble, but my
wife easily bore it all." In the sixth year of his marriage Baxter was
brought before the magistrates at Brentford, for holding a conventicle
at Acton, and was sentenced by them to be imprisoned in Clerkenwell
Gaol. There he was joined by his wife, who affectionately nursed him
during his confinement. "She was never so cheerful a companion to me,"
he says, "as in prison, and was very much against me seeking to be
released." At length he was set at liberty by the judges of the Court
of Common Pleas, to whom he had appealed against the sentence of the
magistrates. At the death of Mrs. Baxter, after a very troubled yet
happy and cheerful life, her husband left a touching portrait of the
graces, virtues, and Christian character of this excellent woman--one of
the most charming things to be found in his works.
The noble Count Zinzendorf was united to an equally noble woman, who
bore him up through life by her great spirit, and sustained him in all
his labours by her unfailing courage. "Twenty-four years' experience has
shown me," he said, "that just the helpmate whom I have is the only one
that could suit my vocation. Who else could have so carried through my
family affairs?--who lived so spotlessly before the world? Who so wisely
aided me in my rejection of a dry morality?.... Who would, like she,
without a murmur, have seen her husband encounter such dangers by land
and sea?--who undertaken with him, and sustained, such astonishing
pilgrimages? Who, amid such difficulties, could have held up her head
and supported me?.... And finally, who, of all human beings, could so
well understand and interpret to others my inner and outer being as this
one, of such nobleness in her way of thinking, such great intellectual
capacity, and free from the theological perplexities that so often
enveloped me?"
One of the brave Dr. Livingstone's greatest trials during his travels in
South Africa was the death of his affectionate wife, who had shared
his dangers, and accompanied him in so many of his wanderings. In
communicating the intelligence of her decease at Shupanga, on the River
Zambesi, to his friend Sir Roderick Murchison, Dr. Livingstone said:
"I must confess that this heavy stroke quite takes the heart out of
me. Everything else that has happened only made me more determined to
overcome all difficulties; but after this sad stroke I feel crushed and
void of strength. Only three short months of her society, after four
years separation! I married her for love, and the longer I lived with
her I loved her the more. A good wife, and a good, brave, kindhearted
mother was she, deserving all the praises you bestowed upon her at our
parting dinner, for teaching her own and the native children, too, at
Kolobeng. I try to bow to the blow as from our Heavenly Father, who
orders all things for us.... I shall do my duty still, but it is with a
darkened horizon that I again set about it."
Sir Samuel Romilly left behind him, in his Autobiography, a touching
picture of his wife, to whom he attributed no small measure of the
success and happiness that accompanied him through life. "For the last
fifteen years," he said, "my happiness has been the constant study of
the most excellent of wives: a woman in whom a strong understanding, the
noblest and most elevated sentiments, and the most courageous virtue,
are united to the warmest affection, and to the utmost delicacy of mind
and heart; and all these intellectual perfections are graced by the most
splendid beauty that human eyes ever beheld." [2017] Romilly's affection
and admiration for this noble woman endured to the end; and when she
died, the shock proved greater than his sensitive nature could bear.
Sleep left his eyelids, his mind became unhinged, and three days after
her death the sad event occurred which brought his own valued life to a
close. [2018]
Sir Francis Burdett, to whom Romilly had been often politically opposed,
fell into such a state of profound melancholy on the death of his wife,
that he persistently refused nourishment of any kind, and died before
the removal of her remains from the house; and husband and wife were
laid side by side in the same grave.
It was grief for the loss of his wife that sent Sir Thomas Graham into
the army at the age of forty-three. Every one knows the picture of the
newly-wedded pair by Gainsborough--one of the most exquisite of that
painter's works. They lived happily together for eighteen years, and
then she died, leaving him inconsolable. To forget his sorrow--and,
as some thought, to get rid of the weariness of his life without
her--Graham joined Lord Hood as a volunteer, and distinguished himself
by the recklessness of his bravery at the siege of Toulon. He served all
through the Peninsular War, first under Sir John Moore, and afterwards
under Wellington; rising through the various grades of the service,
until he rose to be second in command. He was commonly known as the
"hero of Barossa," because of his famous victory at that place; and he
was eventually raised to the peerage as Lord Lynedoch, ending his days
peacefully at a very advanced age. But to the last he tenderly cherished
the memory of his dead wife, to the love of whom he may be said to have
owed all his glory. "Never," said Sheridan of him, when pronouncing his
eulogy in the House of Commons--"never was there seated a loftier spirit
in a braver heart."
And so have noble wives cherished the memory of their husbands. There
is a celebrated monument in Vienna, erected to the memory of one of the
best generals of the Austrian army, on which there is an inscription,
setting forth his great services during the Seven Years' War, concluding
with the words, "NON PATRIA, NEC IMPERATOR, SED CONJUX POSUIT." When Sir
Albert Morton died, his wife's grief was such that she shortly followed
him, and was laid by his side. Wotton's two lines on the event have been
celebrated as containing a volume in seventeen words:
"He first deceased; she for a little tried
To live without him, liked it not, and died."
So, when Washington's wife was informed that her dear lord had suffered
his last agony--had drawn his last breath, and departed--she said: "'Tis
well; all is now over. I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to
pass through."
Not only have women been the best companions, friends, and consolers,
but they have in many cases been the most effective helpers of their
husbands in their special lines of work. Galvani was especially happy in
his wife. She was the daughter of Professor Galeazzi; and it is said to
have been through her quick observation of the circumstance of the leg
of a frog, placed near an electrical machine, becoming convulsed when
touched by a knife, that her husband was first led to investigate the
science which has since become identified with his name. Lavoisier's
wife also was a woman of real scientific ability, who not only shared
in her husband's pursuits, but even undertook the task of engraving the
plates that accompanied his 'Elements.'
The late Dr. Buckland had another true helper in his wife, who assisted
him with her pen, prepared and mended his fossils, and furnished many of
the drawings and illustrations of his published works. "Notwithstanding
her devotion to her husband's pursuits," says her son, Frank Buckland,
in the preface to one of his father's works, "she did not neglect the
education of her children, but occupied her mornings in superintending
their instruction in sound and useful knowledge. The sterling value of
her labours they now, in after-life, fully appreciate, and feel most
thankful that they were blessed with so good a mother." [2019]
A still more remarkable instance of helpfulness in a wife is presented
in the case of Huber, the Geneva naturalist. Huber was blind from his
seventeenth year, and yet he found means to study and master a branch
of natural history demanding the closest observation and the keenest
eyesight. It was through the eyes of his wife that his mind worked as if
they had been his own. She encouraged her husband's studies as a means
of alleviating his privation, which at length he came to forget; and his
life was as prolonged and happy as is usual with most naturalists. 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." Huber's
great work on 'Bees' is still regarded as a masterpiece, embodying a
vast amount of original observation on their habits and natural history.
Indeed, while reading his descriptions, one would suppose that they were
the work of a singularly keensighted man, rather than of one who had
been entirely blind for twenty-five years at the time at which he wrote
them.
Not less touching was the devotion of Lady Hamilton to the service
of her husband, the late Sir William Hamilton, Professor of Logic and
Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh. After he had been stricken
by paralysis through overwork at the age of fifty-six, she became hands,
eyes, mind, and everything to him. She identified herself with his work,
read and consulted books for him, copied out and corrected his lectures,
and relieved him of all business which she felt herself competent to
undertake. Indeed, her conduct as a wife was nothing short of heroic;
and it is probable that but for her devoted and more than wifely help,
and her rare practical ability, the greatest of her husband's works
would never have seen the light. He was by nature unmethodical and
disorderly, and she supplied him with method and orderliness. His
temperament was studious but indolent, while she was active and
energetic. She abounded in the qualities which he most lacked. He had
the genius, to which her vigorous nature gave the force and impulse.
When Sir William Hamilton was elected to his Professorship, after a
severe and even bitter contest, his opponents, professing to regard him
as a visionary, predicted that he could never teach a class of students,
and that his appointment would prove a total failure. He determined,
with the help of his wife, to justify the choice of his supporters,
and to prove that his enemies were false prophets. Having no stock of
lectures on hand, each lecture of the first course was written out day
by day, as it was to be delivered on the following morning. His wife sat
up with him night after night, to write out a fair copy of the lectures
from the rough sheets, which he drafted in the adjoining room. "On some
occasions," says his biographer, "the subject of the lectures would
prove less easily managed than on others; and then Sir William would be
found writing as late as nine o'clock in the morning, while his faithful
but wearied amanuensis had fallen asleep on a sofa." [2020]
Sometimes the finishing touches to the lecture were left to be given
just before the class-hour. Thus helped, Sir William completed his
course; his reputation as a lecturer was established; and he eventually
became recognised throughout Europe as one of the leading intellects of
his time. [2021]
The woman who soothes anxiety by her presence, who charms and allays
irritability by her sweetness of temper, is a consoler as well as a true
helper. Niebuhr always spoke of his wife as a fellow-worker with him
in this sense. Without the peace and consolation which be found in her
society, his nature would have fretted in comparative uselessness. "Her
sweetness of temper and her love," said he, "raise me above the earth,
and in a manner separate me from this life." But she was a helper in
another and more direct way. Niebuhr was accustomed to discuss with his
wife every historical discovery, every political event, every novelty in
literature; and it was mainly for her pleasure and approbation, in
the first instance, that he laboured while preparing himself for the
instruction of the world at large.
The wife of John Stuart Mill was another worthy helper of her husband,
though in a more abstruse department of study, as we learn from his
touching dedication of the treatise '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." Not less
touching is the testimony borne by another great living writer to the
character of his wife, in the inscription upon the tombstone of Mrs.
Carlyle in Haddington Churchyard, where are inscribed these words:--"In
her bright existence, she had more sorrows than are common, but also
a soft amiability, 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."
The married life of Faraday was eminently happy. In his wife he found,
at the same time, a true helpmate and soul-mate. She supported, cheered,
and strengthened him on his way through life, giving him "the clear
contentment of a heart at ease." In his diary he speaks of his marriage
as "a source of honour and happiness far exceeding all the rest." After
twentyeight years' experience, he spoke of it as "an event which, more
than any other, had contributed to his earthly happiness and healthy
state of mind.... The union [20said he] has in nowise changed, except only
in the depth and strength of its character." And for six-and-forty years
did the union continue unbroken; the love of the old man remaining
as fresh, as earnest, as heart-whole, as in the days of his impetuous
youth. In this case, marriage was as--
"A golden chain let down from heaven, Whose links are bright and even;
That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines The soft and sweetest
minds In equal knots."
Besides being a helper, woman is emphatically a consoler. Her sympathy
is unfailing. She soothes, cheers, and comforts. Never was this more
true than in the case of the wife of Tom Hood, whose tender devotion
to him, during a life that was a prolonged illness, is one of the most
affecting things in biography. A woman of excellent good sense, she
appreciated her husband's genius, and, by encouragement and sympathy,
cheered and heartened him to renewed effort in many a weary struggle for
life. She created about him an atmosphere of hope and cheerfulness, and
nowhere did the sunshine of her love seem so bright as when lighting up
the couch of her invalid husband.
Nor was he unconscious of her worth. In one of his letters to her, when
absent from his side, Hood said: "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. First, your own affectionate letter, lately received; next, the
remembrance of our dear children, pledges--what darling ones!--of
our old familiar love; then, a delicious impulse to pour out the
overflowings of my heart into yours; and last, not least, the knowledge
that your dear eyes will read what my hand is now writing. 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." In another letter, also written
to his wife during a brief absence, there is a natural touch, showing
his deep affection for her: "I went and retraced our walk in the park,
and sat down on the same seat, and felt happier and better."
But not only was Mrs. Hood a consoler, she was also a helper of her
husband in his special work. He had such confidence in her judgment,
that he read, and re-read, and corrected with her assistance all that
he wrote. Many of his pieces were first dedicated to her; and her ready
memory often supplied him with the necessary references and quotations.
Thus, in the roll of noble wives of men of genius, Mrs. Hood will always
be entitled to take a foremost place.
Not less effective as a literary helper was Lady Napier, the wife of Sir
William Napier, historian of the Peninsular War. She encouraged him to
undertake the work, and without her help he would have experienced great
difficulty in completing it. 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 the Duke of Wellington was told of the art
and industry she had displayed in deciphering King Joseph's portfolio,
and the immense mass of correspondence taken at Vittoria, he at first
would hardly believe it, adding--"I would have given 20,000L. 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 full 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. When Sir William lay on his deathbed, Lady Napier was at the
same time dangerously ill; but she was wheeled into his room on a sofa,
and the two took their silent farewell of each other. The husband died
first; in a few weeks the wife followed him, and they sleep side by side
in the same grave.
Many other similar truehearted wives rise up in the memory, to recite
whose praises would more than fill up our remaining space--such as
Flaxman's wife, Ann Denham, who cheered and encouraged her husband
through life in the prosecution of his art, accompanying him to Rome,
sharing in his labours and anxieties, and finally in his triumphs, and
to whom Flaxman, in the fortieth year of their married life, dedicated
his beautiful designs illustrative of Faith, Hope, and Charity, in
token of his deep and undimmed affection;--such as Katherine Boutcher,
"dark-eyed Kate," the wife of William Blake, who believed her husband to
be the first genius on earth, worked off the impressions of his plates
and coloured them beautifully with her own hand, bore with him in all
his erratic ways, sympathised with him in his sorrows and joys for
forty-five years, and comforted him until his dying hour--his last
sketch, made in his seventy-first year, being a likeness of himself,
before making which, seeing his wife crying by his side, he said, "Stay,
Kate! just keep as you are; I will draw your portrait, for you have ever
been an angel to me;"--such again as Lady Franklin, the true and noble
woman, who never rested in her endeavours to penetrate the secret of the
Polar Sea and prosecute the search for her long-lost husband--undaunted
by failure, and persevering in her determination with a devotion and
singleness of purpose altogether unparalleled;--or such again as the
wife of Zimmermann, whose intense melancholy she strove in vain to
assuage, sympathizing with him, listening to him, and endeavouring to
understand him--and to whom, when on her deathbed, about to leave him
for ever, she addressed the touching words, "My poor Zimmermann! who
will now understand thee?"
Wives have actively helped their husbands in other ways. 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. Lord Nithsdale owed his
escape from prison to the address of his wife, who changed garments with
him, sending him forth in her stead, and herself remaining prisoner,--an
example which was successfully repeated by Madame de Lavalette.
But the most remarkable instance of the release of a husband through the
devotion of a wife, was that of the celebrated Grotius. He had lain for
nearly twenty months in the strong fortress of Loevestein, near Gorcum,
having been condemned by the government of the United Provinces to
perpetual imprisonment. His wife, having been allowed to share his cell,
greatly relieved his solitude. She was permitted to go into the town
twice a week, and bring her husband books, of which he required a large
number to enable him to prosecute his studies. At length a large chest
was required to hold them. This the sentries at first examined with
great strictness, but, finding that it only contained books [20amongst
others Arminian books] and linen, they at length gave up the search,
and it was allowed to pass out and in as a matter of course. This led
Grotius' wife to conceive the idea of releasing him; and she persuaded
him one day to deposit himself in the chest instead of the outgoing
books. When the two soldiers appointed to remove it took it up, they
felt it to be considerably heavier than usual, and one of them asked,
jestingly, "Have we got the Arminian himself here?" to which the
ready-witted wife replied, "Yes, perhaps some Arminian books." The chest
reached Gorcum in safety; the captive was released; and Grotius escaped
across the frontier into Brabant, and afterwards into France, where he
was rejoined by his wife.
Trial and suffering are the tests of married life. They bring out the
real character, and often tend to produce the closest union. They may
even be the spring of the purest happiness. Uninterrupted joy, like
uninterrupted success, is not good for either man or woman. When Heine's
wife died, he began to reflect upon the loss he had sustained. They had
both known poverty, and struggled through it hand-in-hand; and it was
his greatest sorrow that she was taken from him at the moment when
fortune was beginning to smile upon him, but too late for her to share
in his prosperity. "Alas I" said he, "amongst my griefs must I reckon
even her love--the strongest, truest, that ever inspired the heart
of woman--which made me the happiest of mortals, and yet was to me a
fountain of a thousand distresses, inquietudes, and cares? To entire
cheerfulness, perhaps, she never attained; but for what unspeakable
sweetness, what exalted, enrapturing joys, is not love indebted to
sorrow! Amidst growing anxieties, with the torture of anguish in my
heart, I have been made, even by the loss which caused me this anguish
and these anxieties, inexpressibly happy! When tears flowed over our
cheeks, did not a nameless, seldom-felt delight stream through my
breast, oppressed equally by joy and sorrow!"
There is a degree of sentiment in German love which seems strange to
English readers,--such as we find depicted in the lives of Novalis, Jung
Stilling, Fichte, Jean Paul, and others that might be named. The German
betrothal is a ceremony of almost equal importance to the marriage
itself; and in that state the sentiments are allowed free play, whilst
English lovers are restrained, shy, and as if ashamed of their feelings.
Take, for instance, the case of Herder, whom his future wife first saw
in the pulpit. "I heard," she says, "the voice of an angel, and soul's
words such as I had never heard before. In the afternoon I saw him,
and stammered out my thanks to him; from this time forth our souls were
one." They were betrothed long before their means would permit them to
marry; but at length they were united. "We were married," says Caroline,
the wife, "by the rose-light of a beautiful evening. We were one heart,
one soul." Herder was equally ecstatic in his language. "I have a
wife," he wrote to Jacobi, "that is the tree, the consolation, and the
happiness of my life. Even in flying transient thoughts [20which often
surprise us], we are one!"
Take, again, the case of Fichte, in whose history his courtship and
marriage form a beautiful episode. He was a poor German student, living
with a family at Zurich in the capacity of tutor, when he first made the
acquaintance of Johanna Maria Hahn, a niece of Klopstock. Her position
in life was higher than that of Fichte; nevertheless, she regarded him
with sincere admiration. When Fichte was about to leave Zurich, his
troth plighted to her, she, knowing him to be very poor, offered him
a gift of money before setting out. He was inexpressibly hurt by the
offer, and, at first, even doubted whether she could really love him;
but, on second thoughts, he wrote to her, expressing his deep thanks,
but, at the same time, the impossibility of his accepting such a gift
from her. He succeeded in reaching his destination, though entirely
destitute of means. After a long and hard struggle with the world,
extending over many years, Fichte was at length earning money enough to
enable him to marry. In one of his charming letters to his betrothed
he said:--"And so, dearest, I solemnly devote myself to thee, and thank
thee that thou hast thought me not unworthy to be thy companion on the
journey of life.... There is no land of happiness here below--I know it
now--but a land of toil, where every joy but strengthens us for greater
labour. Hand-in-hand we shall traverse it, and encourage and strengthen
each other, until our spirits--oh, may it be together!--shall rise to
the eternal fountain of all peace."
The married life of Fichte was very happy. His wife proved a true and
highminded helpmate. During the War of Liberation she was assiduous
in her attention to the wounded in the hospitals, where she caught a
malignant fever, which nearly carried her off. Fichte himself caught the
same disease, and was for a time completely prostrated; but he lived for
a few more years and died at the early age of fifty-two, consumed by his
own fire.
What a contrast does the courtship and married life of the blunt and
practical William Cobbett present to the aesthetical and sentimental
love of these highly refined Germans! Not less honest, not less true,
but, as some would think, comparatively coarse and vulgar. When he first
set eyes upon the girl that was afterwards to become his wife, she was
only thirteen years old, and he was twenty-one--a sergeant-major in a
foot regiment stationed at St. John's in New Brunswick. He was passing
the door of her father's house one day in winter, and saw the girl
out in the snow, scrubbing a washing-tub. He said at once to himself,
"That's the girl for me." He made her acquaintance, and resolved that
she should be his wife so soon as he could get discharged from the army.
On the eve of the girl's return to Woolwich with her father, who was a
sergeant-major in the artillery, Cobbett sent her a hundred and fifty
guineas which he had saved, in order that she might be able to live
without hard work until his return to England. The girl departed, taking
with her the money; and five years later Cobbett obtained his discharge.
On reaching London, he made haste to call upon the sergeant-major's
daughter. "I found," he says, "my little girl a servant-of-all-work
[20and hard work it was], at five pounds a year, in the house of a Captain
Brisac; and, without hardly saying a word about the matter, she put
into my hands the whole of my hundred and fifty guineas, unbroken."
Admiration of her conduct was now added to love of her person, and
Cobbett shortly after married the girl, who proved an excellent wife. He
was, indeed, never tired of speaking her praises, and it was his pride
to attribute to her all the comfort and much of the success of his
after-life.
Though Cobbett was regarded by many in his lifetime as a coarse, hard,
practical man, full of prejudices, there was yet a strong undercurrent
of poetry in his nature; and, while he declaimed against sentiment,
there were few men more thoroughly imbued with sentiment of the best
kind. He had the tenderest regard for the character of woman. He
respected her purity and her virtue, and in his 'Advice to Young
Men,' he has painted the true womanly woman--the helpful, cheerful,
affectionate wife--with a vividness and brightness, and, at the same
time, a force of good sense, that has never been surpassed by any
English writer. Cobbett was anything but refined, in the conventional
sense of the word; but he was pure, temperate, self-denying,
industrious, vigorous, and energetic, in an eminent degree. Many of his
views were, no doubt, wrong, but they were his own, for he insisted on
thinking for himself in everything. Though few men took a firmer grasp
of the real than he did, perhaps still fewer were more swayed by the
ideal. In word-pictures of his own emotions, he is unsurpassed. Indeed,
Cobbett might almost be regarded as one of the greatest prose poets of
English real life.