He Knew He Was Right - Anthony Trollope (rainbow fish read aloud txt) 📗
- Author: Anthony Trollope
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wife. As he thought of all this, he almost regretted that he had
ever visited the Mandarins, or ever heard the name of Sir Marmaduke
Rowley.
He should have nourished no such thoughts in his heart. He had,
indeed, been generous to his wife and to his wife’s family; but we
may almost say that the man who is really generous in such matters
is unconscious of his own generosity. The giver who gives the most,
gives, and does not know that he gives. And had not she given too?
In that matter of giving between a man and his wife, if each gives
all, the two are equal, let the things given be what they may!
King Cophetua did nothing for his beggar maid, unless she were to
him, after he had married her, as royal a queen as though he had
taken her from the oldest stock of reigning families then extant.
Trevelyan knew all this himself, had said so to himself a score
of times, though not probably in spoken words or formed sentences.
But, that all was equal between himself and the wife of his bosom,
had been a thing ascertained by him as a certainty. There was no
debt of gratitude from her to him which he did not acknowledge to
exist also as from him to her. But yet, in his anger, he could not
keep himself from thinking of the gifts he had showered upon her.
And he had been, was, would ever be, if she would only allow it,
so true to her! He had selected no other friend to take her place
in his councils! There was no ‘dear Mary’ or ‘dear Augusta’ with
whom he had secrets to be kept from his wife. When there arose
with him any question of interest such as was this of the return
of Sir Marmaduke to her, he would show it in all its bearings to
his wife. He had his secrets too, but his secrets had all been made
secrets for her also. There was not a woman in the world in whose
company he took special delight in her absence.
And if there had been, how much less would have been her ground of
complaint? Let a man have any such friendships, what friendships he
may, he does not disgrace his wife. He felt himself to be so true
of heart that he desired no such friendships; but for a man indulging
in such friendships there might be excuse. Even though a man be
false, a woman is not shamed and brought unto the dust before all
the world. But the slightest rumour on a woman’s name is a load
of infamy on her husband’s shoulders. It was not enough for Caesar
that his wife should be true; it was necessary to Caesar that
she should not even be suspected. Trevelyan told himself that he
suspected his wife of no sin. God forbid that it should ever come
to that, both for his sake and for hers; and, above all, for the
sake of that boy who was so dear to them both! But there would be
the vile whispers, and dirty slanders would be dropped from envious
tongues into envious ears, and minds prone to evil would think evil
of him and of his. Had not Lady Milborough already cautioned him?
Oh, that he should have lived to have been cautioned about his
wife, that he should be told that eyes outside had looked into the
sacred shrine of his heart and seen that things there were fatally
amiss! And yet Lady Milborough was quite right. Had he not in his
hand at this moment a document that proved her to be right? ‘Dear
Emily’! He took this note and crushed it in his fist and then
pulled it into fragments.
But what should he do? There was, first of all considerations, the
duty which he owed to his wife, and the love which he bore her. That
she was ignorant and innocent he was sure; but then she was so
contumacious that he hardly knew how to take a step in the direction
of guarding her from the effects of her ignorance, and maintaining
for her the advantages of her innocence. He was her master, and she
must know that he was her master. But how was he to proceed when
she refused to obey the plainest and most necessary command which
he laid upon her? Let a man be ever so much his wife’s master, he
cannot maintain his masterdom by any power which the law places in
his hands. He had asked his wife for a promise of obedience, and
she would not give it to him! What was he to do next? He could,
no doubt, at least he thought so, keep the man from her presence.
He could order the servant not to admit the man, and the servant
would, doubtless, obey him. But to what a condition would he then
have been brought! Would not the world then be over for him over
for him as the husband of a wife whom he could not love unless he
respected her? Better that there should be no such world, than call
in the aid of a servant to guard the conduct of his wife!
As he thought of it all it seemed to him that if she would not obey
him, and give him this promise, they must be separated. He would
not live with her, he would not give her the privileges of his
wife, if she refused to render to him the obedience which was his
privilege. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he was
that he ought not to yield to her. Let her once yield to him, and
then his tenderness should begin, and there should be no limit to
it. But he would not see her till she had yielded. He would not see
her; and if he should find that she did see Colonel Osborne, then
he would tell her that she could no longer dwell under the same
roof with him.
His resolution on these points was very strong, and yet there came
over him a feeling that it was his duty to be gentle. There was a
feeling also that that privilege of receiving obedience, which was
so indubitably his own, could only be maintained by certain wise
practices on his part in which gentleness must predominate. Wives
are bound to obey their husbands, but obedience cannot be exacted
from wives, as it may from servants, by aid of law and with penalties,
or as from a horse, by punishments, and manger curtailments. A man
should be master in his own house, but he should make his mastery
palatable, equitable, smooth, soft to the touch, a thing almost
unfelt. How was he to do all this now, when he had already given
an order to which obedience had been refused unless under certain
stipulations an agreement with which would be degradation to him?
He had pointed out to his wife her duty, and she had said she
would do her duty as pointed out, on condition that he would beg
her pardon for having pointed it out! This he could not and would
not do. Let the heavens fall, and the falling of the heavens in
this case was a separation between him and his wife, but he would
not consent to such injustice as that!
But what was he to do at this moment especially with reference to
that note which he had destroyed. At last he resolved to write to
his wife, and he consequently did write and send to her the following
letter:
DEAREST EMILY,
May 4.
If Colonel Osborne should write to you again, it will be better
that you should not open his letter. As you know his handwriting
you will have no difficulty in so arranging. Should any further
letter come from Colonel Osborne addressed to you, you had better
put it under cover to me, and take no notice of it yourself.
I shall dine at the club today. We were to have gone to Mrs
Peacock’s in the evening. You had better write a line to say that
we shall not be there. I am very sorry that Nora should lose her
evening. Pray think very carefully over what I have asked of you. My
request to you is, that you shall give me a promise that you will
not willingly see Colonel Osborne again. Of course you will understand
that this is not supposed to extend to accidental meetings, as
to which, should they occur, and they would be sure to occur, you
would find that they would be wholly unnoticed by me.
But I must request that you will comply with my wish in this matter.
If you will send for me I will go to you instantly, and after one
word from you to the desired effect, you will find that there will
be no recurrence by me to a subject so hateful. As I have done,
and am doing what I think to be right, I cannot stultify myself by
saying that I think I have been wrong.
Yours always, dearest Emily,
With the most thorough love,
Louis Trevelyan.’
This letter he himself put on his wife’s dressing-room table, and
then he went out to his club.
SHEWING HOW RECONCILIATION WAS MADE
‘Look at that,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, when her sister came into her
room about an hour before dinnertime. Nora read the letter, and
then asked her sister what she meant to do. ‘I have written to
Mrs Peacock. I don’t know what else I can do. It is very hard upon
you that you should have been kept at home. But I don’t suppose Mr
Glascock would have been at Mrs Peacock’s.’
‘And what else will you do, Emily?’
‘Nothing, simply live deserted and forlorn till he shall choose to
find his wits again. There is nothing else that a woman can do. If
he chooses to dine at his club every day I can’t help it. We must
put off all the engagements, and that will be hard upon you.’
‘Don’t talk about me. It is too terrible to think that there should
be such a quarrel.’
‘What can I do? Have I been wrong?’
‘Simply do what he tells you, whether it is wrong or right. If it’s
right, it ought to be done, and if it’s wrong, it will not be your
fault.’
‘That’s very easily said, and it sounds logical; but you must know
it’s unreasonable.’
‘I don’t care about reason. He is your husband, and if he wishes
it, you should do it. And what will be the harm? You don’t mean to
see Colonel Osborne any more. You have already said that he’s not
to be admitted.’
‘I have said that nobody is to be admitted. Louis has driven me
to that. How can I look the servant in the face and tell him that
any special gentleman is not to be admitted to see me? Oh dear!
oh dear! have I done anything to deserve it? Was ever so monstrous
an accusation made against any woman! If it were not for my boy,
I would defy him to do his worst.’
On the day following Nora again became a messenger between
the husband and wife, and before dinnertime a reconciliation had
been effected. Of course the wife gave way at last; and of course
she gave way so cunningly that the husband received none of the
gratification which he had expected in her surrender. ‘Tell him
to come,’ Nora had urged. ‘Of course he can come if he pleases,’
Emily had replied.
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