Mrs. CraddockMaugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
General
Mrs. Craddock
Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
Marriage -- Fiction
But it seemed that the more passionately Bertha yearned for her
husband’s love, the more frequent became their differences. As time went
on the calm between the storms was shorter, and every quarrel left its
mark, and made Bertha more susceptible to affront. Realizing, finally,
that Edward could not answer her demonstrations of affection, she became
ten times more exacting; even the little tendernesses which at the
beginning of her married life would have overjoyed her, now too much
resembled alms thrown to an importunate beggar, to be received with
anything but irritation. Their altercations proved conclusively that it
does not require two persons to make a quarrel. Edward was a model of
good-temper, and his equanimity was imperturbable. However cross Bertha
was, Edward never lost his serenity. He imagined that she was troubling
over the loss of her child, and that her health was not entirely
restored: it had been his experience, especially with cows, that a
difficult confinement frequently gave rise to some temporary change in
disposition, so that the most docile animal in the world would suddenly
develop an unexpected viciousness. He never tried to understand Bertha’s
varied moods; her passionate desire for love was to him as unreasonable
as her outbursts of temper and the succeeding contrition. Now, Edward
was always the same--contented equally with the universe at large and
with himself; there was no shadow of a doubt about the fact that the
world he lived in, the particular spot and period, were the very best
possible; and that no existence could be more satisfactory than happily
to cultivate one’s garden. Not being analytic, he forbore to think about
the matter; and if he had, would not have borrowed the phrases of M. de
Voltaire, whom he had never heard of, and would have utterly abhorred as
a Frenchman, a philosopher, and a wit. But the fact that Edward ate,
drank, slept, and ate again, as regularly as the oxen on his farm,
sufficiently proved that he enjoyed a happiness equal to theirs--and
what more can a decent man want?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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