Out in the World CHAPTER 1.
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Undisciplined, wayward, some times petulant — pure, warm-hearted, loving. Life was simple feeling. Such was Madeline Spencer when she took upon herself the vows of wifehood. Her husband, Carl Jansen, was older by five or six years; a young man of placid exterior and thoughtful habits, but sensitive and proud, he had, by long continued effort, learned to govern himself; or, in exacter phrase, to hide what he felt from observation — to maintain a calm outside, even under strong interior excitement. He was considerate of those around him, as well from naturally kind feelings as from a certain ground of principle; but, there was also in this consideration, a desire to look well in the opinion of others. This love of approbation had been, in fact, a strong element in the work of self-discipline which had for years been in progress.
Jansen was selfish, as are all men, no matter of what culture or training, who have simply developed on the natural plane of life under natural motives. He had controlled his passionate impulses, not because they were evil in themselves — but because their exhibition would shadow his good name, or hurt his worldly interests. He was polite, deferential, calm, orderly, kind; in a word, gentlemanly in his whole deportment — but not from Christian ethics. It was not because he desired the well being or happiness of others, that he was so considerate of their comfort, convenience, or pleasure. It is questionable whether he ever regarded this. How will it appear — what will be thought? Herein lay the boundary of motive; but not the conscious boundary — let this be said in Jansen's favor. He thought himself better than he was. We say it not in reproach — he did notknow himself.
No matter to what extent this culture of man's natural mind may go, the good exterior will only be an assumed beauty. The root will draw nutrition from the soil of selfishness. Out in the world, the man may counterfeit the saintliest virtues. At home, he will be what he is; and the reactions of home, if against his weaknesses and desires, will give another form to his life — hard, harsh, angry; it may be cruel. He will not prefer another to himself, as on the social plane, where he bids for fair opinions. He will not yield, in pretended good nature, the point of argument. Nor will he will consider and excuse faults of character, of those in his home.
Undisciplined, wayward, petulant — yet pure, warm-hearted and loving. Such, in brief, was Madeline Spencer when she became Mrs. Jansen. And the young husband was exteriorly placid and thoughtful, but sensitive and proud. Such unions do not afford large promise of happiness; but they quicken all the elements of life — give rapid growth of character — and make men and women stronger for good or evil. They eliminate the saint — or develop the fiend.
An observer, writing in a kind of playful seriousness, on the phenomena of love, says that one man is enamored with a curl, another with a graceful ankle, a third with blue or brown eyes, a fourth with a swan-like neck, a fifth with a fine profile, and so on; the real character and quality of the enchantress rarely if ever, coming into view, thus making marriage something akin to blind guess-work. Alas for many, when the curl loses its crisp circles; when the ankle's fine symmetry departs; when the blue eyes grow leaden, and the brown eyes swim in tears; when the neck shrinks into lines and angles, and the fine profile sports a peevish face!
It was the beauty of Madeline that first attracted Jansen; the beauty of her whole face when life flowed into it — the life of joy. Her complexion was of that pure, transparent pink and white, seen occasionally, and always so charming if accompanied by regular features; in her case made more striking by hazel eyes, close brown eyebrows, and long lashes of the same color. If the eyes had been blue, Jansen might not have been captivated. The brown eyes did the final work. Love takes for granted almost everything. The curl represents grace of mind; the blue eyes, tenderness; the brown eyes, depth of feeling; the nobly formed neck, dignity of character; the clear cut profile, internal symmetry. Love takes all for granted. Never questions — never doubts; and goes blindly to the altar!
Undisciplined, wayward, and sometime petulant — for all the pink flesh and chestnut eyes! Jansen might have seen this; he did see it in fact — but, in his infatuation, doubted the evidence. There was an error in the observation, he thought, some false adjustment of the instrument. It was impossible for imperfections like these, to dwell in a casket so fair to look upon.
After the wedding day — after the honeymoon, came the sober realities, the plain facts of married life — and none escape them. The worshiped divinity steps down from her pedestal — and becomes a woman; still fair, beloved, and worshiped — but not at the old distance. If she is a true, disciplined woman, unselfish, and generously inclined to minister in all things to her husband's happiness — there will be comfort, and convenience, unless he is a tyrant or a brute. But, if she is not so disciplined and unselfish — but petulant, wayward, thoughtless — the chances are all on the other side. If, in back of this petulance, and thoughtless waywardness — lie purity, truth, and a generous loving nature — then the husband will be equally to blame with the wife, if clouds instead of sunshine hang over their dwelling place — nay, more to blame; for by virtue of his mental constitution, he may lift himself into regions of calm thought more easily than his wife, and so, rise out of the blindness of mere impulse. She loves and feels most; he dwells most inthought — and should let reason give clear sight and a just self control.
Now, in the case of Jansen, there was, as we have seen, a habit of self-control. But, we have seen also, that this was not grounded in any spiritual motive; but was simplynatural — that is, selfish. He loved the good opinion of others — he liked to stand fair with the world; and so guarded himself, lest at any time he should betray unmanly weaknesses, passion, ill-nature, or hardness of character. The self-control, therefore, was not a restraint of wrong impulses, lest they should prove harmful to others; but a restraint lest they should, through some reaction, hurt himself. Just so far, and no farther, had Carl Jansen gone in the great work of soul-discipline, at the period of his marriage.
As for his beautiful young wife, she had not yet taken her first lesson in self-command! Her impulses were her rulers. As she felt — so she acted. Her early training had not been wisely ordered. Her father had been indulgent, and her mother blind and weak. Naturally gifted, her mind imbibed rapidly, and she was better educated than most young women of her age. For music she had a passion. She performed with a taste and skill rarely acquired, and sang with a richness of vocalization, and absorbed feeling, which always drew a crowd around her when in any large company, she sat down to the piano.
In this passion for music, Carl Jansen had no share. A few notes, or a few bars, when they first struck on his ears, came in waves of sweetness; but, like honey to the taste, this sweetness soon palled on the sense. After a few minutes, he would fail to perceive any response in his soul; and thought would wander from the vibrant strings, no longer discriminating chords or passages, and merely dwelling, half conscious of their presence, in a maze of sound, that disturbed rather than tranquillized his feelings. He generally experienced a sense of relief — particularly in social companies — when, to use his own words, "the piano ceased its hum-drumming."
He had never said this to Madeline before marriage. Oh no. That would have been inconsistent with his worldly-side character. On the contrary, he pretended a polite enthusiasm for music, and would stand, as if entranced, by the piano, asking her to play piece after piece, even while wearied with the sound of jarring chords, and impatient of her long-continued beating of the keys. This he called politeness, and consideration for those with whom we associate. It was on the plane of his assumed gentlemanly bearing towards the world; but its mainspring was selfishness. He was enamored with the maiden; he was the lover and the wooer; and every act was designed to conciliate her favor — as every act before the world, was to win the world's regard.
Herein lay the danger to happiness. This outside, with Carl Jansen, did not present the real man. That shrunk away and hid itself under smoother and compliant exteriors — looked but stealthily from blinds — was always standing on guard.
It was different with Madeline. She had no concealments — never tried to veil her petulance or waywardness, more than her loving impulses. Every heart-beat showed itself in her transparent countenance. You saw the state of her feelings in her eyes. It was not a mirror only, it was a crystal window. You could look down through it into her soul. In every changing state, the past state with her was forgotten — she lived so wholly in the present. She was pure — she was true; but ignorant of the world, impulsive, wayward, and, for lack of discipline, self-willed. As to hereditary quality, she was a better woman than Jansen was a man — more sincere — less concealed. Yet, with all this, there lay undeveloped with her, strength of character — power of endurance; and a pride not easily quickened — but having latent elements that, once filled with life, would make her inflexible as iron.
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