Single women -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Thus was Bronson's life being twisted and bent from its natural course.
Was it a weakness in him? To be sure he might have shown his strength by
breaking loose from family ties, and, hardening his heart to his wife's
plaints, have carried out his ambitions with some degree of success. He
did attempt this, nor did he fail in his career. He was called a fairly
successful man. I dare say the majority of people never knew that he was
created for grander things. But something was sapping his energy at the
fountain-head. Was he realizing that he had helped to shatter his ideals
with his own hand?
I never am so well satisfied with my lot of single-blessedness as when I
contemplate the sort of wife Flossy makes. That may sound arrogant, but
this is a secret session of human nature, when arrogance and all
native-born sins are permissible.
Flossy is perfectly unconscious of the spectacle she presents to the
world. Ah, me! I know it is said, "Judge not, that ye be not judged." I
might have made him just such a wife, I suppose. O heavens! no, I
shouldn't. Tabby, that is making humility go a little too far.
IV
WOMEN AS LOVERS
"In every clime and country
There lives a Man of Pain,
Whose nerves, like chords of lightning,
Bring fire into his brain:
To him a whisper is a wound,
A look or sneer, a blow;
More pangs he feels in years or months
Than dunce-throng'd ages know."
I have had such a curious experience. I have been confided in, twice in
one day. Two more bits out of other lives have been given to me, and it is
astonishing to see how well they piece into mine.
To begin with, Rachel English came in early. There is something
particularly auspicious about Rachel. She fits me like a glove. She never
jars nor grates. When she is here, I am comfortable; when she is gone, I
miss something. If I see a fine painting, or hear magnificent music, I
think of Rachel before any other thought comes into my mind. One
involuntarily associates her with anything wonderfully fine in art or
literature, with the perfect assurance that she will be sympathetic and
appreciative. She understands the deep, inarticulate emotions in the
kindred way you have a right to expect of your lover, and which you are
oftenest disappointed in, if you do expect it of him. If I were a man, I
should be in love with Rachel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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