Part 29 (1/2)
”But your mother's stove, though a good one for those days,” said Mrs. Wilson, ”was one of the first invented, and dest.i.tute of most of the conveniences which now accompany them. It consumed, beside, double the amount of fuel required in one of the modern stoves.”
”What an absurd idea! A stove is a stove. I take it, and what was good enough for my mother is good enough for my wife. That which answered all the purposes of cooking in so large a family as my father's, might suffice, I should imagine, in our small one. At any rate, I choose to get this pattern, and therefore no more be said on the subject.”
It was nothing to Mr. Wilson, that the expenditure of fuel, and time, and labour was so greatly increased by his arrangement--it was nothing that his wife was constantly annoyed by complaints, threats, and changes in her kitchen, or that several mortifying failures in her _cuisine_ had resulted from the obstinate refusal of the oven to bake--what was all this to the luxury of having his own way in his own house?
But the pleasures of absolutism are not unalloyed. Mr. Wilson, like other despots, was obeyed only from necessity; and whenever an opportunity occurred of cheating him, it was generally improved. His wife was a quiet, timid woman, with no pretensions to brilliancy of intellect, but possessing what is far better, good common sense, a warm heart, and tastes and feelings thoroughly domestic. With a different husband--one who understood her disposition, and would have encouraged her to rely on her own judgment, and to act with energy and efficiency, she would have made a useful and happy wife and mother; but as it was, neglected and regarded as a mere household drudge--with all her warm affections chilled and driven back upon her own heart--she became a silent schemer, an adroit dissimulator, seeking only (in self-defence as she believed) to carry out her own plans as often as possible, in spite of her lord and master.
Mr. Bennet, the neighbour and friend of Mr. Wilson, was shocked at the petty tyranny he evinced, and thanked his stars that he knew better than to follow such an example. Though so long accustomed to consult only his own inclinations (for Mr. Bennet married late in life), he took pleasure in referring everything to the choice of his amiable companion, only reserving to himself the privilege of the veto, that indispensable requisite to a ”proper balance of power.”
Let us intrude on the conjugal _tete-a-tete_, the first year after marriage, that we may better understand the meaning of this ”reserved right.” The parties were about to commence housekeeping, and the subject under consideration was the renting of a house.
”Which of those houses do you intend to take?” inquired the wife.
”Just which you prefer, my dear. I wish you to please yourself in the matter.”
”Well, then, if I may choose, I shall say the cottage by all means--the other house is sadly out of repair, much larger than we need, and will require so much furniture to make it comfortable.”
”I am rather surprised at your choice, my dear--the rooms at the cottage are so small, and those in the other house so large and airy--do as you please, but I must say I am surprised. Such nice airy rooms.”
”But they are gloomy and dilapidated, and will require so much expense to make them comfortable. Still, if you prefer them--”
”Oh, that is nothing, you are to choose, you know, but I dislike small, confined rooms, and the cottage is nothing but a bird's-nest.”
”Do you not remember how we used to admire it when Mrs. Murray lived there?”
”Oh, certainly, certainly, take it if you like; but the rooms are so small, and I never can breathe in a small room. Those in the large house are just the right size, and not at all gloomy in my eyes; but of course do as you please. I rather wonder at your choice, however.”
”Well, then, what do you say to the new house on the hill? That is neither too large nor too small, and it is such a convenient distance from your office; besides the grounds are delightful. I could be very happy there.”
”Really, Mrs. Bennet, you have a singular taste. The neighbourhood is, I dare say, detestable, and the dampness of the walls, the smell of new paint, and a hundred other things, would be hard to bear.
Notwithstanding, if you choose the new house, we will take it; but the rooms in the other tenement are so large and airy, and I do so like large rooms--well, what do you say?”
With a suppressed sigh, the young wife answered--”I think, on the whole, we had better take the large house.”
”I was sure you would come over to my opinion!” was the husband's exulting exclamation; ”see what it is to have a sensible wife, and an accommodating husband.”
The large house was taken, and various were the discomforts experienced by Mrs. Bennet in her new abode. The chimneys smoked, the rain came in through numerous crevices in the roof, and the wide halls, and lofty apartments, many of which were unfurnished, struck a chill to the heart of the lonely wife, who, if she visited them after sunset, trembled at the sound of her own footfalls echoing through the house. But she made few complaints, and Mr. Bennet, even if aware of some trifling annoyances, was happy in the consciousness that he had magnanimously submitted to his wife the choice of a habitation. Fortunately for him, that wife was a woman of sense, firmness, and principle, who studied her husband's peculiarities that she might as far as possible adapt herself to them; though, it must be confessed, the attempt was often fruitless, and she was compelled to acknowledge to her own heart, that the open a.s.sumption of authority is not the only way in which domestic despotism manifests itself.
When Mr. Bennet became a father, in the first gush of parental emotion he forgot even the exercise of the _veto_, in reference to the arrangements for the comfort of the little stranger, so that for a few weeks the happy mother carried out her own plans without any interference.
”Have you decided on a name for this dear little girl?” said Mrs.
Bennet, as they sat together, one morning, caressing the object of so many hopes, and of so much affection.
”I wish you to name her, my dear,” he replied; ”it is your privilege to do so.”
”I should like to call her Mary, if you have no objection--it is the name of my mother, therefore very dear to me.”
”Is it possible you can like that common name so well? For my part I am tired of the very sight and sound of it. It can be nicknamed, too, and Molly, you must confess, is not very euphonious. I hoped you might choose the name of Ruth: it is a scriptural name, simple and sweet.”
”It happens, unfortunately, to be one I particularly dislike, but as you do not like Mary, perhaps we can select one in which we shall both agree. What do you say to Martha? It is our sister's name, and a scriptural one also,” she added, with a smile.