THE ANCIENT MAIDEN.
Jane Benton, old Thompson's maiden sister, was as good as anybody,
though no one urged the point as steadily as she did herself. Had the
President walked into Jane Benton's presence, she would have believed
that he had heard of her (although there was no reason that she should
entertain that opinion) and had called to pay his respects; and instead
of being timid in so great a presence, she would have expected him to be
timid in hers.
There were people who cared to distinguish themselves: very well, let
them do it; but Jane Benton did not have that ambition, though she had
the ability, and could have easily made a name for herself which would
have gone thundering down the ages. Let other people distinguish
themselves and pay the price; Jane Benton was distinguished
naturally--effort was not necessary in her case. If the people did not
acknowledge it, it was their loss, not hers.
The Ancient Maiden was a book-worm, and devoured everything she heard
of; but only with a determination to tear it to pieces, for of course no
one could hope to amuse or instruct a lady of forty-five, who not only
knew everything worth knowing already, but who had taught school in her
younger days on the strength of a certificate ranging from ninety-eight
to ninety-nine. This certificate had been issued by three learned men,
each one of whom knew absolutely everything; and it was agreed by them
that Jane Benton should have had an even hundred but for the
circumstance that her "hand write" was a little crooked. This fault had
since been remedied, and the Ancient Maiden still retained the
certificate, and the recollection of the conclusion by the three learned
men, as an evidence that, so far as education was concerned, she lacked
nothing whatever.
When she consented to favor a book by looking through it, there was
unutterable disgust on her features as she possessed herself of the
contents, since she felt nothing but contempt for the upstarts who
attempted to amuse or instruct so great a woman as Jane Benton. And her
patience was usually rewarded.
Thompson! Annie! Ring the bells, and run here! The ignorant pretender
has been found out! A turned letter in the book! A that for a which! A
will for a shall! A would for a should! Hurrah! Announce it to the
people! Another pretender found out! Lock the book up! It is worthless!
Jane Benton's greatness, so long in doubt, is vindicated!
But while there is not a perfect book in existence now, there is likely
to be one, providing Jane Benton lives three or four hundred years
longer, for the thought has often occurred to her that she ought to do
something for the race, although it does not deserve such a kindness, as
a pattern for all future writers. She has done nothing in forty-five
years; but she has been busy during that time, no doubt, in preparing
for a book which will not only astonish the living, but cause the dead
to crawl out of their graves, and feel ashamed of themselves. Let the
people go on in their mad ignorance; Jane Benton is preparing to point
out their errors, and in the course of the present century--certainly
not later than toward the close of the next one--a new prophet will
appear in such robes of splendid perfection that even the earth will
acknowledge its imperfections, and creep off into oblivion.
But notwithstanding her rather remarkable conceit, Jane Benton was a
useful woman. For fifteen years she had "pottered around," as old
Thompson said, and made her brother's home a pleasant one. Since she
could not set the world on fire, she said she did not want to, and at
least knew her own home perfectly, and had it under thorough control.
When old Thompson needed anything, and ransacked the house until he
concluded that it had been burned up, his sister Jane could put her hand
on the article immediately; and perhaps Jane Benton's genius, in which
she had so much confidence, was a genius for attempting only what she
could do well; for whatever her intentions were, she had certainly
accomplished nothing, except to distinguish her brother's house as the
neatest and cleanest in Davy's Bend.
Notwithstanding her lofty ambitions, and her marvellous capacity in
higher walks, she was jealous of what she had really accomplished; and
the servant girl who promised to be industrious and generally
satisfactory around old Thompson's house was soon presented with her
walking papers, for Jane Benton believed that she was the only woman
alive who knew the secret of handling dishes without breaking them, or
of sweeping a carpet without ruining it; therefore a servant who
threatened to become a rival was soon sent away, and a less thrifty one
procured, who afforded the mistress opportunity of regretting that the
girls of recent years knew nothing, and stubbornly refused to learn. Old
Thompson had been heard to say once, after his sister had ordered the
cook to leave in an hour, that he would finally be called upon to send
his daughter Annie away, for no other reason than that she was useful,
and careful, and industrious, and sensible; but the Ancient Maiden had
good sense, in spite of her eccentricities, and dearly loved her pretty
niece; and it is probable that old Thompson only made the remark in fun.
Thompson Benton was too sensible a man to go hungry in anticipation of
improbable feasts in the future; therefore his sister Jane and his
daughter Annie were well provided for; and were seated in a rather
elegant room in a rather elegant house, on a certain wet afternoon in
the spring of the year, busy with their work. The girl had been quiet
and thoughtful all day, but finally she startled her aunt by
inquiring,--
"Aunt Jane, were you ever in love?"
The Ancient Maiden dropped her work, and looked at the girl in
indignation and astonishment.
"Annie," she sharply said, "what do you mean by asking me such a
question as that?"
The Ancient Maiden was particularly severe on the men who attempted to
write books, but the sex in general was her abomination. Every man who
paid court to a young woman, in Jane Benton's opinion, was a married
man, with a large family of children; and though it sometimes turned out
that those she accused of this offence were only twenty years old, or
such a matter, she said that made no difference; they had married young,
probably, and investigation would reveal that they had ten or twelve
ragged children and a pale wife somewhere in poverty. Therefore the
presumption of the girl in asking such a question caused her to repeat
again, and with more indignation than before:--
"What do you mean by asking me such a question as that?"
Annie Benton was like her father in another particular; she was not
afraid of Jane, for they both loved her; therefore she was not
frightened at her indignation, but laughingly insisted on the question.
"But _were_ you ever in love?"
"Annie," her aunt replied, this time with an air of insulted dignity, "I
shall speak to your father about this when he comes home to-night. The
idea of a chit of a girl like you asking me if I have ever been in love!
You have known me all your life; have I ever _acted_ as though I were in
love?"
"The question is easy to answer," the girl persisted. "Yes or no."
Seeing that the girl was not to be put off, Jane Benton pulled a needle
out of her knitting--for Thompson Benton wore knit socks to keep peace
in the family, since his sister believed that should he go down town
wearing a pair of the flimsy kind he kept for sale, he would return in
the evening only to fall dead in her arms--and picked her teeth with it
while she reflected. And while about it, her manner softened so much
that, when she went out of the room soon after, Annie believed there was
a suspicion of tears in her eyes. She remained away such a length of
time that the girl feared she had really offended the worthy woman, and
was preparing to go out and look for her, when she came back wiping her
eyes with her apron, and carrying a great packet of letters, which she
threw down on the table in front of Annie.
"There!" she said pettishly. "Since you are so curious, read them."
The girl was very much amused at the turn affairs had taken, and, after
breaking the string which held the letters together, looked over several
of them. They were dated in the year Annie was born, and one seemed to
have been written on her birthday. They all referred to her aunt in the
most loving and extravagant terms possible; and while thinking how funny
it was that her wrinkled aunt should be referred to as dear little
angel, the Ancient Maiden said,--
"In love! I was crazy! And I can't laugh about it yet, though it seems
to be so amusing to you."
"It only amuses me because I know now that you are like other women,"
the girl replied quietly. "I think more of you than ever, now that I
know you have been in love."
"Well, you ought to think a good deal of me, then," the Ancient Maiden
said, "for I was so crazy after the writer of those letters that I
couldn't sleep. Love him! I thought he was different from any other man
who ever lived, and I worshipped him; I made a god of him, and would
have followed him to the end of the earth."
There was more animation in Aunt Jane's voice than Annie had ever
noticed before, and she waved the knitting needle at her niece as though
she were to blame for getting her into a love mess.
"He knew every string leading to my heart," the excited maid continued,
"and he had more control over me than I ever had over myself. It was a
fortunate thing that he was an honorable man. Now you know it all, and I
feel ashamed of myself."
Miss Jane applied herself to knitting again, though she missed a great
many stitches because of her excitement.
"But why didn't he marry you, since he loved you?" Annie inquired.
"Well, since you _must_ know, he found a girl who suited him better,"
the Ancient Maiden replied. "But before that girl came in the way, he
_thought_ he loved me, and I was so well satisfied with his mistaken
notion that I worshipped him. And if his old fat wife should die now,
I'd marry him were he to ask me to. After you have lived as long as I
have, you'll find out that fickleness is not such a great fault, after
all. Why, sometimes it bothers me to have your father around, and a man
can as easily tire of his wife or sweetheart as that!"
She snapped her fingers in such a manner that it sounded like the report
of a toy pistol, and the girl looked at her in surprise.
"We're all fickle; you and I as well as the rest of them," she
continued. "Had the wives of this country pleasant homes to go back to;
were their fathers all rich men, for example, who would be glad to
receive them, half of them--more than that, two thirds of them--would
leave their husbands, as they ought to do; but a wife usually has no
other home than that her husband has made for her, and she gets along
the best she can. The men are no worse than the women; we are all
fickle, fickle, fickle. As sure as we are all selfish, we are all
fickle. If I were married to a rich man who treated me well, I would be
more apt to love him than one who was poor, and who treated me badly;
sometimes we forget our own fickleness in our selfishness. Look at the
widowers; how gay they are! Look at the widows; how gay _they_ are! I
have known men and women so long that I feel like saying fiddlesticks
when I think of it."
"But father is a widower, Aunt Jane," the girl said, "and he is not
gay."
"Well, he had to run away with his wife, to get her," the Ancient Maiden
replied, after some hesitation. "There seems to be a good deal in love,
after all, in cases where people make a sacrifice for it. These runaway
matches, if the parties to it are sensible, somehow turn out well."
"Did father ever think any less of my mother because she ran away with
him?" the girl asked.
"No," her aunt replied. "He thought more of her for it, I suppose.
Anyway, I never knew another man to be as fond of his wife as he was."
Annie Benton and the Ancient Maiden pursued their work in silence for a
while, when the girl said,--
"I want to make a confession to you, too, Aunt Jane. I am in love with
Allan Dorris."
"Don't hope to surprise me by telling me that," her aunt returned
quickly, and looking at the girl as if in vexation. "I have known it for
six months. But it won't do you any good, for he is going away on the
early train to-morrow morning. Your father told me so this morning, and
he seemed glad of it. You haven't kept your secret from him, either."
To avoid showing her chagrin at this reply, the girl walked over to the
window, and looked out. Allan Dorris was passing in the road, and she
felt sure that he was walking that way hoping to catch a glimpse of her;
perhaps he was only taking a farewell look at the house in which she
lived. But she did not show herself, although he watched the house
closely until he passed out of sight.
"I supposed everyone knew it," the girl said, returning to her chair
again. "I have always thought that any girl who is desperately in love
cannot hide it; but I wanted to talk to you about it, and I am glad you
told me what you did, for I can talk more freely after having heard it.
I have no one else to make a confidant of, and I am very much concerned
about it. The matter is so serious with me that I am scared."
"Don't be scared, for pity's sake," the Ancient Maiden replied, with a
show of her old spirit. "They all feel that way, but they soon get over
it. When I was in love I wondered that the sun came up in the morning,
but everything went on just as usual. I thought the people were watching
me in alarm, fearing I would do something desperate, but those who knew
about it paid little attention, and I _had_ to get over it, whether I
wanted to or not. You will feel differently after he has been gone a
week."
"The certainty that I will not is the reason I have spoken to you,"
Annie continued gravely. "Allan Dorris loves me as the writer of the
letters you have shown me loved you before the other girl came in his
way; and I love him as you have loved the writer of the letters all
these years. You have never forgotten your lover; then why should you
say that I will forget mine within a week? What would you advise me to
do?"
"Ask me anything but that," the aunt replied, folding up her work with
an unsteady hand. "No matter how I should advise you, I should finally
come to believe that I had advised you wrong, love is so uncertain. It
is usually a matter of impulse, and some of the most unpromising lovers
turn out the best. I cannot advise you, Annie; I do not know."
Jane Benton imagined that Dorris was going away because Annie would not
marry him; but the reverse was really the case,--he was going away for
fear she would become his wife.
"My greatest fear is," the girl continued again, "that I do not feel as
a woman should with reference to it. I would not dare to tell you how
much concerned I am; I am almost afraid to admit it to myself. I am
thoroughly convinced that his going away will blight my life, and that I
shall always feel toward him as I do now; yet there are grave reasons
why I should not become his wife. Do you think the women are better than
the men?"
The Ancient Maiden leaned back in her chair to think about it, and
picked her teeth with the knitting-needle again.
"What is your honest opinion?" the girl insisted.
"Sometimes I think they are, and sometimes I think they are not," the
aunt replied, bending over her work again. "When I hear a man's opinion
of a woman, I laugh to myself, for they know nothing of them. The women
all seem to be better than they really are, and the men all seem to be
worse than they really are; I have often thought that. Women have so
many _little_ mean ways, in their conduct toward one another, and are so
innocent about it; but when a man is mean, he is mean all over, and
perfectly indifferent to what is thought about him. A lot of women get
together, and gabble away for hours about nothing, but the men are
either up to pronounced mischief or they are at work."
"If you were in love with a man, would you have as much confidence in
his honesty as you had in your own?" the girl asked.
"Certainly," her aunt replied promptly.
"Then won't you advise me? Please do; for I have as much confidence in
Allan Dorris as I have in myself."
"If you will see that all the doors are fastened," Jane Benton replied
excitedly, "I will. Quick! Before I change my mind."
The girl did as she was directed, and hurried back to her aunt's side.
"Since there is no possibility of anyone hearing," Jane Benton
continued, "I will tell you the best thing to do in my judgment; but
whatever comes of it, do not hold me responsible. Think over the matter
carefully, and then do whatever you yourself think best. No one can
advise you like yourself. You are a sensible girl, and a good girl, and
I would trust your judgment fully, and so would your father, though he
would hardly say so. There; that's enough on _that_ subject. But you can
depend on one thing: there is a grand difference between a lover and a
husband; and very few men are as fond of their wives as they were of
their sweethearts. All the men do not improve on acquaintance like your
father, and I have known girls who were pretty and engaging one year who
were old women the next; matrimony has that effect on most of them, and
you should know it. The women do the best they can, I suppose, but you
can't very well blame a man sometimes. In 1883 he falls in love with a
fresh and pretty girl, and marries her; in 1884 she has lost her beauty
and her freshness, and although he feels very meanly over it, somehow
his feelings have changed toward her. Of course he loves her a little,
but he is not the man he was before they were married--not a bit of it.
A good many husbands and wives spend the first years of their marriage
in thinking of the divorce courts, but after they find out that they
should have known better than to expect complete happiness from
matrimony, and that they are not different from other people, they get
on better. Since you have locked the door to hear the truth, I hope you
are satisfied with it."
"But is it _necessary_ for girls to become old so soon?" Annie inquired.
"Well, I don't suppose that it is," her aunt replied, "but the men had
better expect it; and the women had better expect that since there never
was yet an angel in pants, there never will be one. The trouble is, not
the men and women, but the false notions each entertain toward the
other. Now run and open the doors, or I'll faint."
Annie Benton, after opening the doors and watching her aunt revive, did
not seem at all impressed by what she had heard; indeed, she acted as
though she did not believe it, so the Ancient Maiden gave her another
dose.
"I imagine I have been rather satisfactory to your father," she said,
"but had I been his wife I doubt if we would have got along so well. A
man who is rather a good fellow is often very mean to his wife; and it
seems to be natural, too, for he does not admit it to himself, and
thinks he has justification for his course. I don't know what the
trouble is, but I know that the most bitter hatreds in the world are
those between married people who do not get along. Since you are so
curious about matrimony, I'll try and give you enough of it. Even a man
who loves his wife will do unjust things toward her which he would not
do to a sister he was fond of; and there is something about marriage
which affects men and women as nothing else will. There are thousands of
good husbands, but if you could see way down to the bottom of men's
wicked hearts not one in ten would say he was glad he had married.
That's a mean enough thing to say about the women, I hope, and if you do
not understand what my real preferences in your case are, you must be
blind."
Thompson Benton came in soon after, and they spent a very quiet evening
together. Annie retired to her own room early, and when she came to bid
her father good-night, tears started in her eyes.
"What is the matter with the girl?" he asked his sister after Annie had
disappeared.
Jane Benton did not reply for a long time, keeping her eyes on the pages
of a book she held in her hand, but at last she said,--
"I don't know."
Thompson Benton must have noticed that his sister was nervous, and had
he followed her up the stairs when she retired for the night, he must
have marvelled that she went into Annie's room, and kissed her over and
over, and then went hurriedly away.