CHAPTER 5 The Withered Heart!
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It was the desire of Mr. and Mrs. Enfield, that their daughter should remain with them, at least for a time, and that her husband should make their house his home. This was the desire also of the young wife; expressed, as well before as after the marriage. But Mr. Hardy had made up his mind, from the very first, that he would have a home of his own, that he might be master there — and he had never wavered from this purpose for a
single moment. All the warmly expressed wishes of his bride and her parents did not weigh with him a feather in the opposing scale. It was one of his theories, that, in marriage, man was the head, and must rule — that his judgment was to determine what was best; and that what was his will — ought to be a wife's pleasure. Accordingly, at the very beginning of his wedded relation, he sought to make the gentle, loving one who had given her happiness into his keeping, comprehend this as his view of the matter — not in clear, outspoken words, indeed, but in such hints as he deemed clear enough, yet not so broad as to give offence.
But the idea of rule on one part, and submission on the other, had never been even remotely conceived of by the young bride; and the intimations given by her husband were not comprehended. All her life long she had lived in an atmosphere of mutual love, forbearance, concession, and the denial of self for the pleasure of others. The utterance of a wish by any member of the family, was the signal for all to do some part in the gratification of that desire. Love, not self-will, or nicely discriminated precedence, was the ruling power in Mr. Enfield's household; and if any wore the chain of obedience, the flower-links were so light, that they were not in the slightest degree felt to be a burden.
It was a new experience in Jane's life, to find her wishes altogether disregarded; and, under the circumstances, a very painful one. She had felt certain that an expressed desire on her part to remain with her parents, at least for a short period after their marriage, would have received a cordially approving response from her husband; and when he met her proposal with the smiling remark, "Young married people should always begin life in their own home," she did not imagine that behind the words lay a resolute purpose to make the sentiment a practical one in their case. At no time previous to their marriage had she urged the matter, for she believed that her lover would esteem it a pleasure to meet her wishes. Whenever an allusion was made to the subject, either by Jane or her parents, the young man did not fail to reply in the words just given, or in others of similar import; but he spoke so mildly and pleasantly, that Jane, at least, had no suspicion of the fact, that his mind was made up to remove her from the home of her parents as soon after their marriage, as might be practical.
"There is a house in Garden Street, which I think will suit us exactly," said Mr. Hardy, just one week after their wedding-day. They were sitting alone in the dimness of the falling twilight, the young wife's head resting lovingly upon the bosom of her husband, and her heart full to overflowing of new and glad emotions.
Jane did not reply; but her husband was conscious, though not from any sign perceptible by the senses, that the remark gave her no pleasure.
"The situation is a very desirable one; the house new and handsome. I want you to go with me to look at it tomorrow."
Jane was on the point of saying that she would go, but she could not trust herself to speak, and so, almost from necessity, remained silent. This silence annoyed Mr. Hardy, who in part attributed it to the right cause.
"Will you go with me?" he asked, in a tone which, to Jane's ears, was so new, that it startled — almost frightened her.
She rose up quickly from her reclining posture, and said —
"Of course, Mr. Hardy, I will go with you!"
"I did not know," he answered a little coldly. "Silence is not always to be taken for consent."
Jane felt an icy chill go shuddering through her whole being.
"You know," said Mr. Hardy, after both had remained for nearly a minute without again speaking, "that I have intimated my wish, from the beginning, to have a house of my own; and not for an instant have I ever designed anything else." He spoke with unusual gravity of tone and manner, and with something of an imperative air. "When a man takes a wife, he expects to have a home of his own, and household goods of his own. If he is a true man, he will be satisfied with nothing less. I certainly cannot, and will not be."
For some moments it seemed to the young wife as if her heart ceased to beat, and her lungs to respire. Then, in spite of her strong effort at self-control, tears gushed from her eyes, and sobs convulsed her frame.
Now, for such an exhibition of feeling Mr. Hardy could see no real cause, and he very coolly set it down to the account of design on Jane's part, as if she were striving to work upon his sensibilities, and thus to extort from him an acquiescence in her views. This only made him the more determined to execute his purpose. So he uttered not one gentle or soothing word, but sat perfectly silent until the grieving creature at his side had, by many efforts, repressed the up heaving emotions of a stricken heart.
Neither referred again to the subject. When the family met at the tea-table, half an hour afterwards, the quick eyes of Mr. Enfield read trouble in the face of his daughter, for it was picturing its image there, even through a veil of smiles.
"I have found a house today," said Mr. Hardy, soon after they were seated at the table, "which I think will just suit us." Both Mr. and Mrs. Enfield turned their eyes upon him with looks of surprise. "It is in Garden Street; one of the pleasantest situations in the city. Jane and I are going together to look at it in the morning."
"Don't think of such a thing," replied Mr. Enfield. "Not for an instant," said the mother. "We are not going to let you altogether deprive us of our daughter. She cannot leave her old home yet, Mr. Hardy. It is large enough for you and her; so don't talk of houses or housekeeping. When we consented that you should marry our child, we did not relinquish all claims upon her."
The young man, quite self-possessed, as he could always be when there was sufficient reason to warrant an effort, kindly replied, "I have never thought of anything else. It is one of my favourite theories, you know, that every young married couple should at once set up a home-establishment for themselves. To me, life's highest ideal is a home."
"We only ask you to defer the change for a few short months," said Mrs. Enfield, almost in a pleading voice. "It will be easier for us to part with our daughter then, than it is now."
"We shall not be far from you," answered the young man, still with a pleasant smile and tone. "Jane can see you every day."
Thus, smilingly, yet in real earnest, the controversy went on between the parents and the husband; but the young wife said not a word — a circumstance that did not escape the observation of Mr. Enfield.
"Suppose," he said, "that we leave the question to be decided by Jane."
"She is a party interested," was quickly answered by Mr. Hardy.
"So are we all," said Mr. Enfield.
A slight flush came into the daughter's face, when this reference was made to her; but she did not respond.
"You know very well," remarked Mr. Hardy, in a laughing way, "how she will decide. But our full-fledged bird must leave the mother-nest, and build one for herself. Her wings are strong enough to bear her up into the pure air of Heaven, and she will be all the happier for the effort."
Both Mr. and Mrs. Enfield, perceiving that Mr. Hardy was altogether in earnest, and that their daughter was ill at ease while the conversation went on, deemed it wisest to say no more. A slight feeling of embarrassment was experienced for a time by all parties. But Mr. Enfield broke through this by the introduction of a pleasant theme; and no farther reference was made to the subject.
From that time, Jane was conscious of a strange feeling of pressure and constriction over her heart. The unyielding spirit of her husband deeply disappointed her. Through many hours of the night that followed, while he was in a sound slumber, she lay weeping the bitterest tears that had ever wet her eyelids.
There are many who will not sympathize very deeply with the young wife in her wretchedness — who will deem her unreasonable, or weak, or even selfish. But she did not mean to be either. Love was her very life; and she had loved Mr. Hardy because she believed him pure, good, and unselfish; one who loved her with a devotion equal to her own — one, who would be to her clinging woman's nature, as the manly oak to the up-reaching vine — one, who would love and cherish her with even more than the tenderness with which the best of fathers had loved and cherished her from childhood upwards. She had never intended to set up her will against his; and as little had she dreamed that her husband would assume the love-extinguishing position — that his will was to rule in all things.
Had her parents not seemed so earnestly desirous that she should remain with them for a time, she would have yielded to her husband's wishes the moment she saw that he really preferred the new arrangement proposed. Indeed, she had never regarded him as really in earnest about the matter, until he now mentioned a particular house, as one that he thought would suit them. His doing this, in so cool and determined a way, after he had clearly understood the feelings both of herself and of her parents, was what threw the shadow over her heart. She saw in the act a moral characteristic not plainly apparent before — a savouring of self-love and self-will. It was soon — yes, too soon after their closer union by the marriage rite — to discover, that he loved and regarded her only less than himself; and that he was ready to defer to her wishes only when these did not run counter to his own. Too rudely was the veil torn from her eyes, and her vision opened to realities, the knowledge of which almost palsied her heart.
The next morning, no reference was made at the breakfast-table to the subject discussed on the previous evening; but yet it was in the thoughts of all. In Jane's heart had sprung up the hope that her husband, after reflection, would have concluded to yield his wishes to theirs. And with this hope, there had also quickened in her mind the spontaneous purpose to refer all to him, to advocate the establishment of a new home, because his heart was dwelling fondly upon that ideal. As this aspect of the case assumed a more distinct form, and was at length regarded by her as a verity — the light which had grown so dim blazed forth again, and her spirit felt an upward, bounding impulse. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled as of old. Already were her lips preparing to utter the proposal that she should go with her husband and look at the house in Garden Street, while pleasant images of the home she would beautify and make delightful for the beloved of her heart were beginning to fill her mind, when he said to her, in a quiet, cool, almost imperative tone of voice —
"Come, Jane, get ready as quickly as you can. You know we are to look at that house this morning."
It seemed as if the light of the sun had suddenly been removed, leaving her in thick darkness — as if the warm air around her had become icy cold. The color left her cheeks and lips, and the brightness of her beautiful eyes grew dim. All this Mr. Hardy saw and understood — or, to speak more correctly, thought he understood. He was displeased, and, to some degree irritated, by this "wilfulness," as he mentally termed it, on the part of his wife.
"One of us must rule" — such were his rapid thoughts, "and the sooner it is determined which is to be master, the better." Then speaking aloud, he said, very slowly, very emphatically, and very resolutely, "Jane, it will be better for you to understand at the outset, that I am a man not given to vacillation. It will save both you and I a great amount of trouble. I am, moreover, always in earnest in anything that I propose, and I usually grow more earnest and resolute under opposition. Now it is plain that concerning this matter of housekeeping, you have either not supposed me in earnest, or you have believed that a well-sustained opposition would lead me to alter my purpose. In this you have been altogether mistaken. I have been in earnest from the beginning; and to speak my mind plainly, I did think, Jane, that your love had in it enough of the unselfish element to lead you to give up something of your own preferences, in order to meet your husband's wishes. It seems, however, that none of us are perfect. Our ideal angels prove at last but women — the children of unhappy Eve!"
Poor Jane grew white as death, and caught her breath convulsively, like one suddenly deprived of vital air. She was standing when her husband began to speak, but strength forsook her limbs, and she sank, almost powerless, into a chair.
Mr. Hardy was not in the least softened towards her; for his interpretation of the effect produced by what he had said, was as wide from the truth in regard to her state of mind, as pole is from pole., "It is useless, Jane," he continued, "to set your will against mine. We had better understand each other completely at the first; and then all consequent misunderstanding and unhappiness will be prevented. As the husband, my judgment of things, and my decisions, must, to a certain extent, prevail. There cannot be two heads in any government — national, municipal, or domestic. This is self-evident. One has to rule, in all cases — or else disorder, discord, and anarchy, must be in the ascendant. As God is the head of the church — so is man the head of his family. Thus it has been Divinely ordained; and any deviation from this order is fraught with most disastrous consequences. In taking upon yourself the vows of a wife, you have consented to all this as a Christian woman; and I am sure a moment's reflection will give clearness to your mind, and a willing, cheerful, submissive spirit to your heart. If not, then have I greatly mistaken my wife. Heretofore, as a daughter, the will of your parents has been, more or less, the law of your life. But that law is abrogated. Your desire must be now unto your husband. His wishes, not theirs, must now be governing motives. I regret that you did not see this for yourself. The task of bringing it to your remembrance is no pleasant one."
"I speak very plainly," resumed Mr. Hardy, after a pause, and seeing that there was no movement towards a response on the part of his pale, statue-like wife, "it is, as I before said, best to do so. Clear apprehensions at the beginning, prevent a world of subsequent trouble. If all men, at the commencement of their married lives, would speak out plainly as I do now, there would be far less of misunderstanding and contention, than prevail to a sad extent, marring and deforming so many fair households. Now, I wish you to bear in mind particularly, that, when I express a desire for anything — I am in earnest; and that it will be useless for you to make any attempt to circumvent or turn me from my purpose. Your wishes I cannot, of course, disregard; and to meet them will ever be, I trust, one of the purest pleasures of my life. But, should these wishes, at any time, lift themselves against my own declared purposes — purposes that I have set myself deliberately, and from reason, to carry out, as in the present case — your efforts to turn me aside from the objects I seek to attain, will be like beating the air; or worse, beating a marble statue — which will only bruise the tender hands which strike its surface."
Still the young wife sat before him, with her long lashes laid closely down upon her pallid cheeks, her hue less lips slightly parted, and her hands clasped over her bosom. Other eyes would have seen in that form, an image of despair; but it did not appear so to the husband, whose eyes looked through a blinding veil.
"We understand each other at last, Jane," he said, in a slightly softening tone; "and now, like a dear good wife, get yourself ready, and let us go and look at our new home."
But she neither moved nor spoke.
"Jane!"
There was no response.
"Jane!" He laid his hand upon hers, and, as he did so, a thrill passed through his frame, for that hand was as icy as the hand of death!
"Jane!"
He might as well have spoken to the dead; for, before the sound of his voice had died upon the air, she fell forward, and his arms only saved her from striking the floor with a heavy concussion.
Love was the life of her soul, and he had well near trampled it out, with the crushing strokes of his iron heel!
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