The International Monthly, Volume 3, No. 3, June, 1851Various
History
The International Monthly, Volume 3, No. 3, June, 1851
Various
Art, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- History -- Periodicals
A perfect angel of peace and gentleness she was. She bore, with
unexampled resignation, the thraldom which was destroying her health
and comfort. She tried, with patience, every means of pleasing a man
who never allowed her to know what he liked, as it would have taken
away all room for grumbling. With scrupulous care she attended to his
little vexatious wants, his epicurean tastes, his trifling whimsical
peculiarities. If she wished to remain at home, he forced her to go
abroad; if she were desirous of going out, he made her stay within
doors. If she liked a person more than commonly, he, in the words of
the vulgar, "made the house too hot to hold them." If, on the
contrary, she was annoyed by the presence of one of his acquaintances,
she had time and opportunity to get rid of her abhorrence, since she
was continually visited with their company. He scolded, grumbled, and
found fault with every thing she did; with her acts and her intentions
alike. If she ordered a servant to perform any particular duty, he
immediately countermanded the orders; if she made any change, however
slight, in the family arrangements, no penance could expiate the
offence. So she lived on, with almost a struggle for her existence,
having learned the important mythological lesson, that Hymen, like
Janus, wears two faces, and that the temple of the former god, unlike
that of the latter, is _never_ closed. She had several children (who
fortunately all died before their mother), but Boldenough, on the
ground that women were not fit to bring up boys, constantly interfered
in the education of the girls, and made his wife as wretched by this
means as by any other. He punished when she rewarded, and indulged
when she reproved; he sent them to school when she would have educated
them at home, and reaped his reward, by having them secretly fear and
hate him. Poor Mrs. Boldenough complained not, but she grew thinner
and paler every year, and her voice, as if lost amid the loud tones,
forever reverberating in her ears, became so low as to be scarcely
audible.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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