OUR MARRIAGE.
So it was that I brought my darling’s mother around to consent, if not
with a very good grace, still with apparent cheerfulness, and she at
once took the direction of the nuptial preparations. I made a show of
consulting her about many things, but she invariably gave me to
understand that her experience and superior knowledge in such matters
were not to be gainsaid. I was willing to leave to her all the fuss and
frippery of preparing clothes for her daughter. It always seemed to me
that she had clothes enough, and clothes that were good enough for
married life. I couldn’t understand why a young woman, on becoming a
wife, should need a lot of new and elaborate dresses, such as she had
never worn and never cared to wear, and an endless variety of
under-garments of mysterious and incomprehensible make, with frills and
fringes and laces and edgings, as if, up to that time, she had never had
anything next to her precious person, except what was visible to the
exterior world. And even assuming that she donned these things for the
first time as parts of a manifold and complicated wedding garment, why
should so much fine needle-work and delicate trimming be prepared to be
stowed away out of sight of prying mortals, for whose vision women are
presumed to dress themselves? Are they got up to show to friends and
excite envy, and to fill the minds of other young people with a sense of
the difficulties of getting married?
One day, when I happened in,—by accident, of course,—and the mother
happened to be out on one of her many pilgrimages to town, Bessie took
me up to her room in a half-frightened way, as if doing something that
she was afraid was terribly improper, and showed me a bewildering
profusion of these things, neatly tucked away in bureau drawers. I
laughed outright, and asked her who was to see all that finery. She was
vexed and bit her lip, and I was sorry and voted myself a brute. From
that moment, I determined not to say a word about the clothes, except to
express unstinted admiration.
There was not only clothing, but blankets and quilts and bed linen,
though we were to live in her old home, which was already well supplied.
One would suppose that a large and sudden increase of family was
expected at once. These things annoyed me as senseless, and as absorbing
so much of my Bessie’s attention that we didn’t have half the blissful
times together that we had before our engagement was an acknowledged
thing. But I knew that it was the mother’s doings. Bessie did not really
have any foolish care for dress, though always beautifully arrayed
without any apparent effort; but she supposed it was the proper thing,
and submitted to her mother.
But there was one thing I set my heart on. I wanted a quiet wedding,
without display or pretence. It did seem to me that this was a private
occasion in which the wishes of the persons chiefly concerned should be
consulted. It was their business and should be conducted in their own
way. Bessie sympathized with me, and wanted of all things to go to
church quietly and privately, and then, after a leave-taking with a few
intimate friends at home, start right off on our proposed trip to the
White Mountains. But no; we were inexperienced, and the widow knew what
the occasion demanded much better than we did. She was a little grand in
her ideas, and felt the importance of keeping on good terms with
society. I was disposed to apply profane epithets to society, and to
insist that this marriage was mine and Bessie’s, and nobody’s else. But
what was the use? There would be unpleasant feelings, and the mamma must
be conciliated, and so I yielded after a warm but altogether
affectionate little controversy with Bessie.
Every time I came to the house now, I was informed of some new feature
which Mrs. P. had decided upon as indispensable to the gorgeousness of
the occasion.
“Have you ordered your dress suit yet?” she asked one evening.
“Dress suit? Oh yes. I had almost forgotten that.”
“And, by the way, those cards? I think you had better send them out:
you write such a good, legible hand.”
“Y-e-s, oh yes. With pleasure.”
“When you go to the city to-morrow, I wish you would drop in at Draper’s
and get me a few little things. I have made out a list, so it won’t be
any trouble to you.”
“No trouble at all. Glad to do it.”
“That white ribbon should be medium width. And before I forget it, have
you written yet to your friend De Forest about his standing up?”
“No, I forgot it. I’ll drop him a line to-morrow. But what do you want
that ribbon to be so long for?”
“That is to be held across the aisle by the ushers, you know, to keep
off the _ignobile vulgus_. You and Bessie will march up _here_, you see,
preceded by the four ushers and the bridesmaids and groomsmen, who will
then range themselves off this way. The members of the families and the
friends will be separated from the other people _thus_. It’s very
pretty. Belle Graham was married that way at St. Thomas’s, and everybody
said it was splendid.”
This is the kind of talk I had to listen to for weeks, and is it any
wonder that I grew thin and had sleepless nights?
I was now a mere puppet in the hands of Mrs. Pinkerton, and came and
went as she pulled the wires. She had arranged that the affair was to
take place in “her church”—and a very fashionable temple of worship it
was. Her rector was to officiate, assisted by the vealy young man who
had just graduated from the theological seminary. There were to be four
bridesmaids and an equal number of groomsmen and of ushers. I should
have liked to have something to say about who should “stand up” with us,
as Mrs. Pinkerton expressed it; but when I timidly suggested that some
of my friends would be available for the purpose, I was taken aback to
learn that the entire list had been made up and decided upon without my
knowledge, and that only one of the groomsmen chosen was a friend of
mine,—De Forest,—the others being young men whom the worthy Mrs.
Pinkerton had selected from her list of society people. One of the young
men was a downright fool, if I must call things by their right names,
but he dressed to perfection; the remaining two I scarcely knew by
sight, but I did know that one of them had seen the time when he aspired
to occupy the place I was now filling in respect to the Pinkerton
household: need I say more concerning my sentiments regarding him?
The ushers,—well, of course, they were the four young gentlemen who
knew everybody who was anybody, and I could not object to them,
considering that they charged nothing for their onerous services.
The bridesmaids were all old school friends of Bessie’s, and two of them
were considered pretty, and the other two were stylish.
One of my keenest regrets was that Bessie’s brother George was away off
in Paris, and could not grace the occasion with his superb presence; for
he was a superb fellow in all respects, and I felt a true brotherly
affection for him. Had he not introduced me to Bessie? Had he not always
wanted me to become his brother-in-law?
The great day came at last. The town was full of the invited people, and
the weather, so anxiously looked to on such occasions, was all that
could be desired. My remembrance of the solemn events of that day is
now rather misty. I remember the tussle De Forest and I had with my
collar and cravat in the morning, and how he stuck pins into my neck,
and wrestled mightily with his own elaborate toilet. I remember, and
this very distinctly, how awfully tight were my new patent-leather
boots, which caused me for the time being the most excruciating anguish.
Beyond these, and similar minor things which have a way of sticking in
the memory, all the rest is very much like a vivid dream. The close
carriage whirling through the streets; a great crush of people, with
here and there a familiar, smiling face; Bessie in her wedding-dress of
white silk, with her long veil and twining garlands of orange blossoms;
the bridesmaids, radiant in tarletan, with pretty blue bows and sashes;
the long aisle, up which we marched with slow and reverent tread; the
pealing measures of the Wedding Chorus; the dignified and fatherly
clergyman; the vealy young assistant; the unction of the slowly intoned
words of the marriage-service; the fumbling for the ring,—and through
it all there rises, as out of a mist, the face of my mother-in-law, the
presiding genius of it all, the unknown quantity in the equation of my
married life, now begun amid the felicitations, more or less sincere, of
a host of kissing, hand-shaking, smiling, chattering, good-natured
aunts, uncles, cousins, and relatives of all degrees.