He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (books you need to read .txt) 📕

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.