Women -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
Villiers could not yield to her arguments, nor partake her wisdom; yet
he was glad that she possessed any source of consolation, however
unimaginable by himself. He buried within his heart the haughty sense of
wrong. He uttered no complaint, though his whole being rebelled against
the state of inaction to which he was reduced. It maddened him to feel
that he could not stir a finger to help himself, even while he fancied
that he saw his young wife withering before his eyes; and looked forward
to the birth of his child, under circumstances, that rendered even the
necessary attendance difficult, if not impracticable. The heaviest
weight of slavery fell upon him, for it was he that was imprisoned, and
forbidden to go beyond certain limits; and though Ethel religiously
confined herself within yet narrower bounds than those allotted to him,
he only saw, in this delicacy, another source of evil. Nor were these
real tangible ills those which inflicted the greatest pain. Had these
misfortunes visited him in the American wilderness, or in any part of
the world where the majesty of nature had surrounded them, he fancied
that he should have been less alive to their sinister influence. But
here shame was conjoined with the perpetual spectacle of the least
reputable class of the civilized community. Their walks were haunted by
men who bore the stamp of profligacy and crime; and the very shelter of
their dwelling was shared by the mean and vulgar. His aristocratic pride
was sorely wounded at every turn;--not for himself so much, for he was
manly enough to feel "that a man's a man for all that,"--but for Ethel's
sake, whom he would have fondly placed apart from all that is deformed
and unseemly, guarded even from the rougher airs of heaven, and
surrounded by every thing most luxurious and beautiful in the world.
There was no help. Now and then he got a letter from his father, full of
unmeaning apologies and unmanly complaints. The more irretrievable his
poverty became, the firmer grew his resolve not to burden with his wants
any more distant relation. He would readily give up every prospect of
future wealth to purchase ease and comfort for Ethel; but he could not
bend to any unworthy act; and the harder he felt pressed upon and
injured by fortune, the more jealously he maintained his independence of
feeling; on that he would lean to the last, though it proved a sword to
pierce him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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