CAPÍTULO 25.

 

            AS January approached its close, one thought occupied all minds in Mexico. The combined forces of England, France, and Spain had landed at Vera Cruz, and people were anxiously wondering what would be the result of the agreement between the European powers to compel Mexico to fulfil the obligations

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already solemnly contracted, and to give a guarantee for the effectual protection of the persons and property of their countrymen.’

 

            Intimately acquainted, as Maynard was, with the Spanish pride and more than Spanish obstinacy of the ruling classes, he feared the worst consequences from the hostile tone of this manifesto; and his apprehensions were by no means allayed by the additional announcement that the allied powers declined any intervention in the domestic affairs of the country, and especially any exercise of pressure on the will of the population with regard to their choice of a government; because he thought he perceived in it an appeal to the masses, who were only too ready to rise against their domestic oppressors, and who, in doing so, would doubtless overwhelm all foreigners in one general catastrophe.

 

            ‘If the allied governments,’ said Maynard to Noel, ‘would only make terms with Juarez, who is out and out the best president Mexico has had for years, and enable him to hold his position until he can raise the people in his favour, and defy the nobles with safety, all will go well. Hitherto the emancipation of the serfs has been but a curse to them. Make Juarez strong enough to follow his own wishes and give them the lands to which they are undoubtedly entitled, and Mexico will be far on the high road to its regeneration. I never felt so inclined as at this moment to become a meddler in other people’s affairs. Were I a free man, and no one’s interests at stake but my own, I would go straight to Juarez and the leaders of the expedition, and give them no peace until I had made them see the matter in my own light.’

 

            ‘But you said that Juarez already holds this view,’ observed Noel.

 

            ‘So he does, but he believes that the aristocratic governments of Europe are incapable of admitting it to a moment’s consideration. And I am afraid he is right.’

 

            While thus revolving the situation, letters arrived from England. Among Noel’s was this from Sophia Bevan, in reply to one that he had written to her about a month after his arrival at the Real:

 

            ‘I suppose that by the time this reaches you, you will have forgotten all about the letter to which it is an answer. But I can’t help that. I can only judge you as you were; not as you will be.

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            ‘I am not a bit satisfied with your account of yourself or of the Maynards. You don’t tell me a quarter enough. I infer more, perhaps, than you will allow that I have a right to infer; but if you will speak in riddles, and deal in the abstract and general when I want particulars, you must take your chance of what I may say in reply.

            ‘My recommendation to you to come home and get married, and settle down, seems to have come somewhat mal à propos, to judge by the comments to which you give vent concerning the honourable state of matrimony in general. I should like to know what you have seen in your travels, and what people you have been among, to produce the bitterness that pervades your observations. I am sure mine could not have done it all. Now, please, don’t go and charge me with jumping at conclusions, but for once praise my penetration, if I am right in believing that the hints I have before given you about our friends are founded in fact in short, that you, witnessing their incongruity, commiserating their unhappiness, or, perhaps, sympathising with at least one of them, have written under a feeling of irritation at the strength of the tie that binds them to each other.

            ‘You know that I never mince matters with a friend; so that if I ever have an idea involving an injustice, I always put myself in the way of getting myself set right. I may be going off on a false scent entirely; but off I go anyhow, leaving it to you to bring me back to the right track.

            ‘Do you know that I sometimes think you have commissioned our old friend, the “— Review,” to preach at me in your absence. I am constantly finding the subjects that we have discussed together, treated of in such fashion as to make me think you dictate articles for it by some somnambulic or mesmeric process; and they always take your side of the questions, too, which is very aggravating.

            ‘Your life generally has been one so detached from the ties that ordinarily bind people, and your liberty is so inseparable a part of yourself, that you naturally are apt to fancy that ties must be bad things in themselves. Hence, the spectacle of any special hardship or inconvenience caused by one, makes you revolt against all. But does it never strike you and other be-wailers of the irrevocability of the tie matrimonial, that there are other ties as irrevocable, binding, and galling? One can’t get rid of a “stern parent” or a refractory child. One has to

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bear them for life, and make the best of them. In the case of women, especially, is this so. We have to live together for life, almost as closely, morally, as husband and wife, and to adapt ourselves as painfully to each other’s tempers and peculiarities. Luckily for me my stepmother is an angel (though she does flirt so outrageously with your darling of an uncle); and, luckily for her, I’m another. Perhaps I am not sufficiently alive to the special repugnances that may exist between husband and wife. Still, I do see so much oppression arising from family relationships, which are not in any way elected or chosen as in marriage, that I am provoked at finding all the sympathy claimed by those who have made their own unhappiness by an injudicious choice. No doubt a life-long tie to a distasteful companion is a hard penance for lack of discrimination of character; only it would be more true were character and suitability really the things chiefly looked for in most marriages. And, if you are honest with yourself, you will admit that such qualification is only secondary in the choice with most men. (I say men advisedly, as they are the only real choosers.) They are tempted by either beauty, money, or position; and the character – the relative character to their own, I mean – is taken for granted, or read into the chosen one, if thought of at all. And then it is always equally taken for granted that all modification, and adaptation, and tuning to harmony, are to be done by the poor she. I believe that, as a rule, the richer and larger nature of the two has to prune and adapt itself to the poorer and smaller; because the former can stoop, while the latter can’t add a cubit to its stature. I doubt, however, if there is any real descent in the process. One is really on a nobler platform forcing oneself down into agreement with one’s partner, than soaring alone. That one shows most weakness who is least able to tune itself to the pitch of the other.

            ‘I know you affect a keen ear for human discords, and an ardent longing to make music of life. But I like the musician who tunes himself to his fellows or his circumstances, and shows himself capable of solution into the great whole of humanity. Sometimes I think difference of degree or temperature more difficult to harmonise than radical difference of character. The warmer nature feels the chill and contrast more painfully than the complacent self-sufficing iceberg. Polar regions are not sociable regions, and even icebergs must “bow their heads, and sink, and sail in the sea,” if they seek warmer latitudes.

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            ‘Bear with me if I persist in asserting that it is the proof and prerogative of man’s sovereignty to modify himself to suit his surroundings. Women, you know, are only sovereigns over men, and have no will to spare for governing themselves!

            ‘I suppose, however, it is all a puzzle, and you will be writing me down a goose for trying my maiden hand upon it. Perhaps the spell is in the ring! The man I know who most utterly fails to adapt himself to his wife and his wife to himself, is, in the domain of simple friendship, the most adaptable man I know; and though holding his own bravely, is yet most amenable to criticism. He is a clergyman, as usual with my flames, a prophet – not a priest – parson; and a philosopher as well as a bit of a wag. He lately gave what he called a practical discourse on the faults and failings of the day, in which I rather looked for a little self-abasement on his part. But he had the impudence, in recommending the practice of more self-sacrifice to men, to select marriage as one, of their neglected duties, and say that in most cases it is more of a sacrifice to marry that to remain single. And in this way he defended Christianity from the reproach so often brought against it, of not taking man’s physical nature into account in its system of morality.

            ‘It always seems to me odd that, while the woman’s motherhood is so prominently put forth as her only claim to exaltation, the man’s fatherhood is absolutely ignored. As to God’s fatherhood, cela va sans dire; but as Creator chiefly. I have contented myself, however, with the explanation that the old creeds had so over-weighted the masculine faculty as an object of adoration, that perhaps we needed the balance of a religion which undervalued that element. My parson, however, pretended that, in setting forth an example of self-sacrifice, religion is really urging to marriage!

            ‘I do so wish that you would come home. I have so much that I want to talk to you about; and in our communion of spirits, I hold the real presence of my friend so much more comforting than his letters. Society gets more and more disjointed, and I want you to come and be Frauen-kämpfer to an oppressed class. I am quite sure that we poor women are worth much more than we are allowed to be made of, and that mankind suffers by means of our disabilities. We are kept back by our non-education and social restrictions, and men are kept back in order to keep alongside of us. Men are brought up to everything,

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and women are brought up only for one thing, marriage: – reason enough, you will say, why they don’t do that well: the education isn’t liberal enough. Thus marriage forms but one of the resources or practices of men, while women have no other. You may think the arrangement a very nice one for your side, as securing you an ample choice; but it is an excessively cruel one for mine: and I am quite certain that the advantage to you is delusive, and that what you gain in quantity, is more than lost in quality; for you have a lower order of woman to select from. The result of the present system is that it scarcely affords an example of a woman who is fit to be a helpmeet to man or a mother to children. I, a woman, say this. Uneducated, even when most “accomplished,” we are taken up by the merest trifles, absorbed in the pettiest gossipry, and destitute of all principle, except that of deceiving men to our own advantage. What we are you make us, – cunning and untruthful, for does not our strength lie in our wiles?

            ‘Now I want to see my sex – for I have a sex, and believe myself a very woman, in spite of poor Lord Littmass’s saying that no man would have me for wife or mistress. He didn’t say it to me, of course, but I overheard it, and I want to know what he meant by it, and whether it was a compliment or not. I don’t consider it one. – Well, I want to see my sex so far emancipated from their present disadvantages as to be more equal companions for men. I always hear that the best part of the talk at a dinner party comes on after “the ladies” have left the room. I cannot imagine a greater reproach to the whole system than this. We are so compelled to mediocrity that men wait for our departure that they may be free to indulge in excess, whether it be one of intellectual converse or of physical debauch.

            ‘Do you ask my remedy for this state of things? It is, to put boys and girls more on the same footing, and to bring them equally up to an active and independent life, making work the purpose and marriage the accident, – a happy one, if it may be. Why should we, more than you, be compelled to ignore our talents and individualities, and spend our lives under the parental roof as merest slaves to parental caprice, regarded, not as goods, but as bads and chattels so long as we remain single? I am sure that the average of unmarried daughters are as capable of turning their liberty to good account as the average of unmarried sons; and better, for we have our emotions to control

(p. 324)

us, while men have only their principles. I have been thinking for some time that I shall devote my money and my spinsterhood to the foundation of a college for young ladies, who, having “finished their education,” feel an impulse to learn something and do something useful in the world; and how can they do it better than by helping to carry on the education of their sex. I think you could help me in maturing my scheme. We can’t manage such matters by ourselves yet. Men have got the start of us, and have appropriated to themselves five ounces of brain a piece more than we have, (at least, so masculine anatomists say,) and we want their help to adjust the inequality. So I elect you my confessor and adviser, since by virtue of that “hieropathic affection” with which the female heart is not unduly credited, I am bound to have a priest of some sort.

            ‘Your uncle has just written to say he is sending out letters to you by some officers of this dreadful expedition. Oh! I am so alarmed lest this meddling by foreigners should bring you all into trouble. I trust to you to make everybody that one cares for come away if there is any danger. I am sure we can all contrive to live at home comfortably enough without Mexican silver. Much as Mr. Tresham once wished and urged the interference, I think he has lately changed his mind. He allows that James Maynard has managed admirably in keeping his mine from loss so far.’

 

            This letter excited as much irritation as admiration on the part of Noel in respect to its writer, and he marvelled at the vivid and rapid instinct whereby the very reticence and vagueness of his own communication had been seized upon by his vivacious and plain-speaking friend, and converted into evidence against him. Spontaneous as it appeared, he detected its real art, and saw in the latter part of it only a proof of her unwillingness to wound, and of her anxiety to withdraw him from an imagined complication, by suggesting other fields for his ambition. Even the apparently casual and jocular remark about Mr. Tresham’s intimacy with Lady Bevan, read by this light, had for him a serious meaning. But other and more pressing matters came to occupy his mind at that time.