Ivy Compton-Burnett - Men and Wives

“And it must happen again. They are young, and are planning their lives for themselves in the way of the young. They need forbearance even from those who have strength for it, and I have no strength. I feel that anything less than perfection would break down my brain. And my poor ones do not reach it — how should they, being children of mine? — and the round begins. And the night comes again. And, what is the worst, I am estranging my husband, my dear, good husband, who has always been generous and just to me; who does not number his forbearances, who would love me now, if I could support his love, and who does not know that I still love him, though to see and hear him is anguish. May you never know what it is, Antony, to be tortured by those you love, tortured in innocence, for a conscious wrong would be a simple thing. Now I have to say to you that things are too much. For you, I have already said it. I have tried to stand against them, and my strength has failed. It will never return. My impulse to react is dead. I have come to throw myself on your mercy, on the human compassion I have felt you had, through all that has been said against you. I beseech you to grant me from your pity and the power your science gives, what will put in my hands the means of escape. I know I am asking a thing forbidden to one of my beliefs. To me it is forbidden. But my power to help myself is gone, and I believe I shall be judged as helpless.”

Dufferin had heard her in silence, and stood with his eyes on her face.

“What are you asking me?” he said.

“What you know I have asked you. What I shall ask you again and again with my eyes, if I dare not ask it with my lips, until you grant it. I am imploring that of you, Antony.”

Dufferin remained with his brows knit, and Harriet waited willingly, for him to take the necessary counsel with himself. He turned his gaze on her face again, and she lifted her eyes to his, to let him see what was to be seen. By the way his own eyes fell she knew that he had seen it, and again waited.

“Well, and you say you have no self-control,” said Dufferin.

“No, I have none, Antony,” said Harriet, and at the sound in her voice he spoke.

“Look here, I will give you this. You give me no choice. No, that is not true. Every man has a choice. I choose to give you this.”

He unlocked a closet, and gave a bottle containing a tablet, into Harriet’s hand. “An hour or two after you have swallowed that, you will sink into a sleep, into the sleep you mean. You have it in your hands. But you will not use it. You are a person of too much quality to leave it to somebody else to feel he helped you to that. But if you should ever take it, and regret it the next moment, as I know you are human enough and woman enough to do, take that moment to send for my help.”

He turned and fastened the door of the closet, and Harriet stood with the bottle in her hand, and a great security in her face. As they went downstairs she turned to him with a natural voice and smile.

“Mrs. Christy has come to shepherd her lamb,” she said.

“Why, Lady Haslam, when I came to recover my truant, I did not expect a definite reward for my duty. It is the drawback of our little town, that while we have plenty of society among ourselves in our Cranford-like way, few towns more, I should think, we do not often see our friends from the wider sphere. We go in for depth rather than breadth of intercourse. Of the two I give the palm to depth, but it is refreshing to feel we are debarred from nothing under the pleasant head of fellowship.”

“Poor Mother! What depths of middle-class yearning you reveal!” said Camilla.

“I have come to take you home, you fly-away girl. Lady Haslam will blame me for all your wildness. I ought always to have kept a firmer hand on you.”

“I am not in the town so very seldom. You must let me come and see you,” said Harriet, who never showed social or moral aloofness. “I am fond of our little town.”

“I am so glad you agree with me in recognising its appeal. So many of my friends accuse me of eccentricity in electing to live in it.”

“They could hardly accuse you of poverty in being forced to,” said her daughter.

“Its old-world charm, its hints of memory and atmosphere, it echoes of the older, graver things of the past! I was under the spell in a moment. I confess it without any beating about the bush.”

“You don’t manage that,” said Camilla.

“And these revelations that the restored church has made to our enchanted scrutiny! The shaping of those old lineaments, so quaint and strong, so almost threatening to our modern eyes! It goes to confirm my original view. I almost feel I was a person gifted with vision.”

“I must make a point of seeing them,” said Harriet.

“No, don’t make a point of being threatened by those gargoyles, dear Lady Haslam,” said Camilla. “They are so rude and useless. They haven’t even threatened Mother out of the town.”

“Don’t you like the town, my dear? Do you mean you want a larger town? I love the country myself.”

“Lady Haslam, the country throws so much counterweight into the scales. It offers such an unfailing appeal to our aesthetic side. The sobering tints of the autumn, the high lights of the spring, even the hard austerity of winter with its promise of what is to come! The call of Nature has always struck me as the deepest and truest summons that we have.”

“I hope I shall stay in the country all my life,” said Harriet. “I think I may say that I shall. I feel sometimes that my sons should try their wings further afield.”

“I have such an admiration for your sons, and their disinterested subordination of themselves to their ideals. Matthew sacrificing London success to the austerer claims of essential science, so much more abstract, and fraught with so much less worldly reward! And Jermyn finding the service to his Muse ample exchange for academic laurels! I often think that, if any mother has true pride in her children, you must be that mother, Lady Haslam.”

“You feel the force of contrast,” said Camilla.

“I think an ordinary pride does an ordinary mother as well,” said Harriet, as she took her leave.

“Mother, what a spectacle you make of yourself!” said Camilla. “You remind me of a dog waiting to snap, when you stand there panting to put in your words.”

“Camilla, how can you speak in such a way? Lady Haslam and I would have so much in common, if we could see more of each other. You heard her say she must come and see me. Your talking like that only shows how little observation you have.”

“I observed her. She is a high-minded old tyrant. I quite adore her. But it is no part of my duty to do her bidding.”

Harriet Was In her seat at the table when her family came in to luncheon after church. Her eyes seemed to pierce at once to the truth, that the religious observance was a basis for their meeting with herself. Jermyn began to speak as he entered the room.

“Well, Bellamy was in great form this morning, Mother. He showed himself prodigal of his histrionic powers. It is well enough for Bellamy, who simply concentrates on making the best of himself, but less satisfying for anyone else. We had only to sit and feel nothing in comparison.”

“Ah, my dear boys! You were there all together with your father,” said Godfrey, walking in a subdued manner to his seat.

“Was it a good sermon?” said Harriet in a colourless tone.

“The best we have had for a long time. We had a word with Bellamy afterwards. He is coming in to tea,” said Gregory.

“Yes, he said he would come in,” said Griselda, striking her knee with her hand.

“It is a trying time for him just now,” said Harriet.