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Page 22
Then we have the cases wherein a poetic and artistic spirit is allied
to a gross and worldly soul of the lowest type. One of the most
brilliant artists and poets of his generation was informed by his wife
that she did not care for art and poetry and that sort of stuff. "It's
all high-falutin' nonsense," remarked this gifted and confident dame;
and the shock of surprise which thrilled her husband will be
transmitted to generations of readers. Hitherto we have dwelt upon
mere brutalities; but those who know the world best know that the most
acute forms of agony may be inflicted without any outward show of
brutality being visible. A generous high-souled girl with a passion
for truth and justice is often tied to a fellow whose "company"
manners are polished, but who is at heart a cruel boor. He can stab
her with a sneer which only she can understand; he can delicately hint
to her that she is in subjection, and he can assume an air of cool
triumph as he watches her writhe. I have often observed passages of
domestic drama which looked very like comedy at first sight, but which
were really quivering, torturing tragedy.
It is strange that the jars of married life have been so constantly
made the subject for joking. The attitude of the ordinary witling is
well known; but even great men have made fun out of a subject which is
the most momentous of all that can engage the attention of the
children of men. In running through Thackeray's works lately I was
struck by the flippancy with which some of the most heartbreaking
stories in literature are treated. Thackeray was one of the sweetest
and tenderest beings that ever lived, and no doubt his jocularity was
assumed; but minor men take him seriously, and imitate him. Look at
the stories of Frank Berry, of Rawdon Crawley, of Clive and Rosie
Newcome, and of General Baynes--they are sad indeed, but the tragic
element in them is only shadowed forth by the great master. There is
nothing droll in the history of mistaken marriages. At the very best
each error leads to the ruin or deterioration of one soul, and that is
no laughing matter.
VIII.
HAPPY MARRIAGES.
Although a strong modern school of writers care only to talk of misery
and gloom and frustration, I retain a taste for joy and sweetness and
kindliness. Life has so many sharp crosses, so many inexplicable
sorrows for us all, that I hold it good to snatch at every moment of
gladness, and to keep my eyes on beautiful things whenever they can be
seen. During the days when I was pondering the subject of tragic
marriages, I read the letters of the great Lord Chatham. The mighty
statesman was not distinguished as a letter-writer; like Themistocles,
he might have boasted that, though he was inapt where small
accomplishments were concerned, he converted a small state into a
great empire. John Wilkes called our great man "the worst
letter-writer of his age." Yet to my mind the correspondence of
Chatham with his wife is among the most charming work that we know.
Here is one fragment which is delightful enough in its way. He had
been out riding with his son William, who afterwards ruled England,
becoming Prime Minister at an age when other lads are leaving the
University. His elder son stayed at home to study, and this is the
fashion in which Chatham writes about his boys--"It is a delight to
let William see nature in her free and wild compositions, and I tell
myself, as we go, that the General Mother is not ashamed of her child.
The particular loved mother of our promising tribe has sent the
sweetest and most encouraging of letters to the young Vauban. His
assiduous application to his profession did not allow him to accompany
us in learning to defend the happy land we were enjoying. Indeed, my
life, the promise of our dear children does me more good than the
purest of pure air." Observe how this pompous and formal statement is
framed so as to please the mother. The writer does not say much about
himself; but he knows that his wife is longing to hear of her
darlings, and he tells her the news in his high-flown manner. He was
not often apart from the lady whom he loved so well; but I am glad
that they were sometimes separated, since the separations give us the
delicate and tender letters every phrase of which tells a long story
of love and confidence and mutual pride. That unequalled man who had
made England practically the mistress of the world, the man who gained
for us Canada and India, the man whom the King of Prussia regarded as
our strongest and noblest, could spend his time in writing pretty
babble about a couple of youngsters in order to delight their mother.
If he had gone to London, the people would have taken the horses out
of his carriage, and dragged him to his destination. He was far more
powerful than the king, and he was almost worshipped by every officer
and man in the Army and Navy. Excepting the Duke of Wellington, it is
probable that no subject ever was the object of such fervent
enthusiasm; and many men would have lived amidst the whirl of
adulation. But Chatham liked best to remain in the sweet quiet
country; and the story of his life at Lyme Regis is in reality a
beautiful poem.
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