Virginibus Puerisque, and Other Papers — John Shaqi
Virginibus Puerisque, and Other PapersStevenson, Robert Louis
General
Virginibus Puerisque, and Other Papers
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Essays
And goodness in marriage is a more intricate problem than mere single
virtue; for in marriage there are two ideals to be realised. A girl, it
is true, has always lived in a glass house among reproving relatives,
whose word was law; she has been bred up to sacrifice her judgments and
take the key submissively from dear papa; and it is wonderful how swiftly
she can change her tune into the husband’s. Her morality has been, too
often, an affair of precept and conformity. But in the case of a
bachelor who has enjoyed some measure both of privacy and freedom, his
moral judgments have been passed in some accordance with his nature. His
sins were always sins in his own sight; he could then only sin when he
did some act against his clear conviction; the light that he walked by
was obscure, but it was single. Now, when two people of any grit and
spirit put their fortunes into one, there succeeds to this comparative
certainty a huge welter of competing jurisdictions. It no longer matters
so much how life appears to one; one must consult another: one, who may
be strong, must not offend the other, who is weak. The only weak brother
I am willing to consider is (to make a bull for once) my wife. For her,
and for her only, I must waive my righteous judgments, and go crookedly
about my life. How, then, in such an atmosphere of compromise, to keep
honour bright and abstain from base capitulations? How are you to put
aside love’s pleadings? How are you, the apostle of laxity, to turn
suddenly about into the rabbi of precision; and after these years of
ragged practice, pose for a hero to the lackey who has found you out? In
this temptation to mutual indulgence lies the particular peril to
morality in married life. Daily they drop a little lower from the first
ideal, and for a while continue to accept these changelings with a gross
complacency. At last Love wakes and looks about him; finds his hero sunk
into a stout old brute, intent on brandy pawnee; finds his heroine
divested of her angel brightness; and in the flash of that first
disenchantment, flees for ever.
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