Out in the World CHAPTER 5.
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The two months passed at Mrs. Woodbine's, had not been useful to Madeline. Mrs. Woodbine was a person who generally managed to obtain considerable influence over young and ardent individuals of her own gender. She had a great deal of mental magnetism about her, attracting or repelling strongly. Tolerably well-educated in the beginning, she had, by reading and fellowship with intelligent minds, enlarged her sphere of thought until it embraced philosophical and social themes. Not being a woman of well-grounded principles— it followed naturally that she lost herself in a region, the exploration of which had been attempted without chart or compass. It was a region however in which she saw much that appeared true, and in agreement with the laws of human life. But as she had accepted theories of social order which were not based on those immutable laws established for the soul by God, it was scarcely possible for her to attempt the correction of social disorder without shattering, by her meddlesome hand, a hundred delicate fibers, where she brought a single one back into harmony.
Women of Mrs. Woodbine's peculiar character of mind, culture and temperament — have generally a large amount of sympathy with those of their own gender who are wedded to "brutes," and "domestic tyrants," and elect themselves advisors to all unhappy women who are indelicate or indiscreet enough to open their hearts to them. If they do any good, it is so largely counter-balanced by harm, that we shall scarcely err in unqualified condemnation of this whole class of counselors.
Of course, an incident so strongly marked as that which befell Mrs. Jansen, could not pass without comment. The fact that her husband went away and left her to return home alone at midnight, was too clear an indication of a serious quarrel, not to be accepted as evidence. Then, the brief conflict in the music room had been observed. Also, the nearly exclusive attentions of Mr. Guyton during the whole evening. A dozen little theories were started, first taking the shape of surmise, then assuming the form of positive declarations. The ears of Mrs. Woodbine were open to all those, taking them in greedily. It soon became a settled conclusion in her mind, that Madeline had a self-willed, exacting young man for a husband, who, unless she early stood to her rights — might reduce her to the condition of a slave!
Her beauty, her sweetness of manner, her spirit, her high social qualities, interested Mrs. Woodbine, and she determined to use whatever art she possessed, in order to save her from sinking into the condition of a host of wives, whom she pitied for their helplessness, or scorned for their base submission to a power which in her view they should have cast off and despised! As soon, therefore, as Mrs. Jansen began to recover from the worst effects of her sudden illness, Mrs. Woodbine commenced the work of poisoning her mind towards her husband. We use a strong but true word, when we say poisoning.
She did not in the beginning allude even remotely to Mr. Jansen, or the disturbed relation which she knew existed — but proceeded more cautiously, and by a surer way to success. In the first place, she spoke of the social inequality of men and women. She was well informed on this subject, and few men could listen for half an hour to Mrs. Woodbine, without a shame spot on the cheek. Men-made laws and customs, wherever they affected woman, would be shown by her to be the basest of tyrannies, because they oppressed the helpless. She had peculiar eloquence when on this theme, and was scarcely to be resisted.
Human nature is weak, and in nothing is this weakness — or, if you will, depravity — shown more widely than in a love of ruling or domineering over others. And it too often happens that your emancipated slave of a real or imagined tyranny, gives the first use of his freed hands — to binding some weaker fellow. So it was at least with Mrs. Woodbine. She celebrated perpetually, her emancipation from marital subordination, by ruling her husband with a rod of iron! It so happened that he was a peace-loving man, and of inferior mind; one always ready to give way, rather than contend. He had married Mrs. Woodbine, because he admired her brilliant mental qualities even more than her personal charms, and he had continued to admire her even though she too often made him appear base and ridiculous in the eyes of the world. It was well for Mrs. Woodbine, that such was his character. If he had been of a different spirit — they would have lived in fierce antagonism, or been driven apart!
"I am your friend, dear," she said one day to Madeline, who, a month after that unhappy evening, sat up in bed, with the soft glow of returning health just tinging her pale cheeks. Mrs. Woodbine kissed her as she spoke, and looked fondly into her eyes. "Nay, not a friend only," she added, kissing Madeline again — " that word is too cold to express my feelings. In the past few weeks, you have grown into my heart. I love you, my sweet child! You seem like one of my own flesh and blood. Confide in me, as if I were your mother."
Madeline was touched by this exhibition of tenderness, and accepted it as genuine. She had been lying with shut eyes, thinking sadly over the late unhappy affair, and with less ofself-justification than before. Some rays of new light were stealing into her mind, and she was beginning to see the relation in which she stood to her husband as less favorable to herself, than it had at first appeared. As a young married woman, she might not have acted with due reserve in company. Perhaps she had too completely ignored her husband during the late party. These thoughts were troubling her at the moment when Mrs. Woodbine touched her pensive lips with a kiss, and asked for her love and confidence. Tears filled Madeline's eyes as she looked up, smiling a sad — but thankful smile, into Mrs. Woodbine's face.
"What troubles you, darling? There is something on your mind." The lady drew her arm around Madeline's neck, and her head down against her bosom. Great sobs heaved the bosom of Madeline; the pent-up trouble of her soul gave way. After a period of sobbing and weeping, she grew calm. In this calm, Mrs. Woodbine said —
"You are young, my child — have just stepped across the threshold of womanhood. Everything is new and strange. Already, I doubt not, your feet have found rough places — have been pierced, perhaps, by thorns. It is the lot of all. Your mother is not living?"
"O no. She died years ago."
"And your father?"
"He is dead also."
"Have you no near female relative?"
"None, except an aunt on my father's side; but, there is no sympathy between us. She never understood me."
There followed a pause. Then, speaking very tenderly, Mrs. Woodbine said —
"Let me be to you mother and friend. You have always interested me; and since, by a strange, perhaps not altogether unfortunate circumstance, you have been thrown into the very bosom of my family, my heart has gone out towards you with an irresistible yearning. There is something on your mind. You need a friend. You may confide in me if you will."
Madeline looked with grateful eyes at Mrs. Woodbine. No doubt shadowed her. She accepted the offer of love and counsel, as if made by one who was the very soul of truth and honor. Ruled by the dominant impulse — such was her character — she lifted the veil that no wife should lift to a stranger; nay, unless in the rarest of cases, not even to a sister or a mother; and let this meddlesome woman of the world see what was in the most sacred chamber of her life.
"I thought so." This was the woman's ejaculation, after Madeline had uncovered her heart, and made a troubled confession of the doubts which had been intruding themselves. She was bewildered in mind — and spoke that she might receive counsel.
"I thought so." It is not surprising, that Madeline looked up at the woman's face with a countenance full of questionings.
"What?" she asked, a shadow dropping over her eyes.
"I thought the trouble was here."
"Where?" The shadow was deeper in Madeline's eyes. Mystery always lays a weight upon the feelings.
"Dear child!" said Mrs. Woodbine, with a new ardor of affectionate interest in her manner, "you are accusing and tormenting yourself without cause. I cannot see that, as a wife, you have failed in anything. You are true to your husband in every thought and feeling. What more is possible? If more is demanded, then who has more to give? Not you, my child — not you!"
The large brown eyes of Madeline dilated. A look of surprise, mingled with vague questioning, came into them. She did not answer — but kept gazing at Mrs. Woodbine. Dimly the meaning of what was suggesting began to appear. Had she not been true in every thought and feeling to her husband? What more was possible?
"Men rarely understand women." The tone in which Mrs. Woodbine said this was gentle and regretful, her voice falling to a sigh on the last word. "This, however," she added, "is scarcely a matter of surprise; their training, education, and associations are so different. A false idea, strong from generations of predominance in the public mind concerning theposition of woman, warps the judgment of every man. He thinks himself superior. He assumes to be the head, in marriage, with the right to rule. Most women — a soulless herd, if I must say it — accept this doctrine, and passively submit. A few, of nobler essence, stand firm. Generally, the waves rush against them. Some are swept away — many abide to the end in their noble defiance of wrong; calm, enduring, grand in their assertion of equality. I have known many such, and I love and honor them."
The countenance of Mrs. Woodbine glowed with fervor.
Her fine eyes were full of enthusiasm. Mrs. Jansen looked at her in a kind of maze; half surprised — half startled — half in admiration.
"You, my dear, are one of the noble sisterhood."
Madeline did not startle in surprise, when Mrs. Woodbine ventured upon this remark. She was in the power of the woman's strong magnetism. Nay, instead of being thrown instantly on her guard, she felt something like a glow of pleasure in being so classed.
"Do not understand me, my dear," added Mrs. Woodbine, in a low, penetrating voice, "as assuming that your case is an extreme one, as meaning to prophecy a life of antagonism towards your husband. I do not think him made of the hard stuff out of which some masculines are built into the image of manhood. But, he is a man, and all men have in them the germ of tyrants! If you permit him to be the master in everything, he will not fail to accept the office of ruler. If you let him see that you are co-equal — possess a soul as distinctly individual, and of right as self-asserting as his own — he will admit your claims, and you will be equal and harmonious. There will, in the nature of things, be anoccasional jar. There has been already. But, if you continue true to yourself; firm in the maintenance of what is your right by nature; never yielding to command — yet always faithful in clearly defined duties — you need have no fear about the result."
"So far," answered Madeline, carried away by her dangerous friend, and seeing in the light of her eyes — "I have not yielded to arbitrary demand. It is not my nature. If I perceive a thing to be wrong — I will not do it. If I see it to be right, and only an arbitrary opposition is set up against me — I cannot be held back. It is my nature."
"So I have read you, my child; and therefore it is that I say you are one of the noble sisterhood."
Poor Madeline! This woman, at the very first effort, had succeeded in drawing her completely within the circle of her dangerous influence. The offered friendship was accepted — the solicited confidence given. From that day during the three or four weeks that elapsed before Madeline could be safely removed to her own home, this enchantress threw deeper and deeper spells around her. For hours she talked with her on the absorbing themes to which she had given so much thought. On the social disabilities of her gender — on man's dreadful wrongs to woman — on the false ideas that prevailed concerning just equality in the marriage bond — on the wife's duty to herself — and topics of a kindred nature.
Unhappily for Mrs. Jansen, Mrs. Woodbine first taught her to think and reason. So far in life, she had been mainly the child of feeling and impulse. A reflective being, in any high sense, up to this time, she was not. She felt, she perceived — and she acted. That was the simple process. But, during these few weeks, Mrs. Woodbine had lifted her into another region — had opened the door into another chamber of her mind. A theory, sustained by facts and reasonings that seemed as clear as noonday, had been presented and accepted; and she only wondered that her own thoughts had not long ago leaped to similar convictions. A few intimate friends who sympathized with Mrs. Woodbine in her peculiar ideas, were admitted to the chamber of Madeline, and she heard many conversations on the subject to which we have referred, and listened to them eagerly. Thus her mind was led to dwell upon them, and thought to gather arguments in favor of that womanly independence her nature prompted her to assert. When, at last, returning strength warranted her removal, she went back to the home of her husband, changed and matured to a degree that caused her often to look down into her own consciousness and wonder.
We shall not linger to trace all the progressive steps of alienation that too steadily separated the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Jansen. The causes have been made apparent. Two such minds, acting without concessions, and without self-denial — must, in the nature of things, steadily recede from each other. And so, unhappily, did they recede.
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