_WEDDING, AND WEDDING-TRIP._
WELL, and so they were married, with all the newest modern forms,
ceremonies, and accessories.
Every possible thing was done to reflect lustre on the occasion. There
were eight bridesmaids, and every one of them fair as the moon; and
eight groomsmen, with white-satin ribbons and white rosebuds in their
button-holes; and there was a bishop, assisted by a priest, to give
the solemn benedictions of the church; and there was a marriage-bell
of tuberoses and lilies, of enormous size, swinging over the heads of
the pair at the altar; and there were voluntaries on the organ, and
chantings, and what not, all solemn and impressive as possible. In the
midst of all this, the fair Lillie promised, “forsaking all others, to
keep only unto him, so long as they both should live,”—“to love, honor,
and obey, until death did them part.”
During the whole agitating scene, Lillie kept up her presence of mind,
and was perfectly aware of what she was about; so that a very fresh,
original, and crisp style of trimming, that had been invented in Paris
specially for her wedding toilet, received no detriment from the
least unguarded movement. We much regret that it is contrary to our
literary principles to write half, or one third, in French; because
the wedding-dress, by far the most important object on this occasion,
and certainly one that most engrossed the thoughts of the bride, was
one entirely indescribable in English. Just as there is no word in the
Hottentot vocabulary for “holiness,” or “purity,” so there are no words
in our savage English to describe a lady’s dress; and, therefore, our
fair friends must be recommended, on this point, to exercise their
imagination in connection with the study of the finest French plates,
and they may get some idea of Lillie in her wedding robe and train.
Then there was the wedding banquet, where everybody ate quantities of
the most fashionable, indigestible horrors, with praiseworthy courage
and enthusiasm; for what is to become of “_paté de fois gras_” if we
don’t eat it? What is to become of us if we do is entirely a secondary
question.
On the whole, there was not one jot nor tittle of the most exorbitant
requirements of fashion that was not fulfilled on this occasion. The
house was a crush of wilting flowers, and smelt of tuberoses enough
to give one a vertigo for a month. A band of music brayed and clashed
every minute of the time; and a jam of people, in elegant dresses,
shrieked to each other above the din, and several of Lillie’s former
admirers got tipsy in the supper-room. In short, nothing could be
finer; and it was agreed, on all hands, that it was “stunning.”
Accounts of it, and of all the bride’s dresses, presents, and even
wardrobe, went into the daily papers; and thus was the charming Lillie
Ellis made into Mrs. John Seymour.
Then followed the approved wedding journey, the programme of which had
been drawn up by Lillie herself, with _carte blanche_ from John, and
included every place where a bride’s new toilets could be seen in the
most select fashionable circles. They went to Niagara and Trenton, they
went to Newport and Saratoga, to the White Mountains and Montreal;
and Mrs. John Seymour was a meteor of fashionable wonder and delight
at all these places. Her dresses and her diamonds, her hats and her
bonnets, were all wonderful to behold. The stir and excitement that
she had created as simple Miss Ellis was nothing to the stir and
excitement about Mrs. John Seymour. It was the mere grub compared with
the full-blown butterfly,—the bud compared with the rose. Wherever she
appeared, her old admirers flocked in her train. The unmarried girls
were, so to speak, nowhere. Marriage was a new lease of power and
splendor, and she revelled in it like a humming-bird in the sunshine.
And was John equally happy? Well, to say the truth, John’s head was a
little turned by the possession of this curious and manifold creature,
that fluttered and flapped her wings about the eyes and ears of his
understanding, and appeared before him every day in some new device
of the toilet, fair and fresh; smiling and bewitching, kissing and
coaxing, laughing and crying, and in all ways bewildering him, the
once sober-minded John, till he scarce knew whether he stood on his
head or his heels. He knew that this sort of rattling, scatter-brained
life must come to an end some time. He knew there was a sober,
serious life-work for him; something that must try his mind and soul
and strength, and that would, by and by, leave him neither time nor
strength to be the mere wandering _attaché_ of a gay bird, whose string
he held in hand, and who now seemed to pull him hither and thither at
her will.
John thought of all these things at intervals; and then, when he
thought of the quiet, sober, respectable life at Springdale, of the
good old staple families, with their steady ways,—of the girls in his
neighborhood with their reading societies, their sewing-circles for
the poor, their book-clubs and art-unions for practice in various
accomplishments,—he thought, with apprehension, that there appeared
not a spark of interest in his charmer’s mind for any thing in this
direction. She never had read any thing,—knew nothing on all those
subjects about which the women and young girls in his circle were
interested; while, in Springdale, there were none of the excitements
which made her interested in life. He could not help perceiving that
Lillie’s five hundred particular friends were mostly of the other sex,
and wondering whether he alone, when the matter should be reduced to
that, could make up to her for all her retinue of slaves.
Like most good boys who grow into good men, John had unlimited faith
in women. Whatever little defects and flaws they might have, still
at heart he supposed they were all of the same substratum as his
mother and sister. The moment a woman was married, he imagined that
all the lovely domestic graces would spring up in her, no matter what
might have been her previous disadvantages, merely because she was a
woman. He had no doubt of the usual orthodox oak-and-ivy theory in
relation to man and woman; and that his wife, when he got one, would
be the clinging ivy that would bend her flexible tendrils in the way
his strong will and wisdom directed. He had never, perhaps, seen, in
southern regions, a fine tree completely smothered and killed in the
embraces of a gay, flaunting parasite; and so received no warning from
vegetable analogies.
Somehow or other, he was persuaded, he should gradually bring his wife
to all his own ways of thinking, and all his schemes and plans and
opinions. This might, he thought, be difficult, were she one of the
pronounced, strong-minded sort, accustomed to thinking and judging for
herself. Such a one, he could easily imagine, there might be a risk
in encountering in the close intimacy of domestic life. Even in his
dealings with his sister, he was made aware of a force of character and
a vigor of intellect that sometimes made the carrying of his own way
over hers a matter of some difficulty. Were it not that Grace was the
best of women, and her ways always the very best of ways, John was not
so sure but that she might prove a little too masterful for him.
But this lovely bit of pink and white; this downy, gauzy, airy little
elf; this creature, so slim and slender and unsubstantial,—surely he
need have no fear that he could not mould and control and manage her?
Oh, no! He imagined her melting, like a moon-beam, into all manner of
sweet compliances, becoming an image and reflection of his own better
self; and repeated to himself the lines of Wordsworth,—
“I saw her, on a nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too,—
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty.
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food,
For transient pleasures, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.”
John fancied he saw his little Lillie subdued into a pattern wife,
weaned from fashionable follies, eagerly seeking mental improvement
under his guidance, and joining him and Grace in all sorts of edifying
works and ways.
The reader may see, from the conversations we have detailed, that
nothing was farther from Lillie’s intentions than any such conformity.
The intentions of the married pair, in fact, ran exactly contrary to
one another. John meant to bring Lillie to a sober, rational, useful
family life; and Lillie meant to run a career of fashionable display,
and make John pay for it.
Neither, at present, stated their purposes precisely to the other,
because they were “honey-mooning.” John, as yet, was the enraptured
lover; and Lillie was his pink and white sultana,—his absolute
mistress, her word was law, and his will was hers. How the case was
ever to be reversed, so as to suit the terms of the marriage service,
John did not precisely inquire.
But, when husband and wife start in life with exactly opposing
intentions, which, think you, is likely to conquer,—the man, or
the woman? That is a very nice question, and deserves further
consideration.