The National tribune., 1894-09-06
THE HusRANn's VERSION.

/ had thought OF every thing, and taken
every precaution. | did not want to marry
a Parisienne, because / was afraid of Paris
ian ladies. / did not want wealthy wife,
with her riches bringing after them all the
import1nate demands OF wealth. | dreaded
family connections, too, that network of
far-reaching, commonplace affections, which
imprison and belittle one, and finally suffo-
cate him.
My wife was, indeed, all that / had
dreamed of / used to think: "She will
owe everything to me, and what a pleasure
it will be to lead that artl.ss mind TO the
love of the beautiful; to let her pure soul
enter into all my enihusiasms and hopes
to breathe life into that statue"
For, indeed, she was very like statue
with her great calm. serious eyes, her regu-
lar Grecian profile, and her well-defined
features, which would have been almost
severe if they had not been softened by the
delicacy which all youthful faces owe to
their rose-tinted bloom and the shadow Of
rippling hair. She had, too, a slight pro-
yincial accent, which was my delight and
which / used to listen to with closed eyes,
as to remembrance of happy childhood; /;
the echo Of tranquil life in hidden cor
ner far away. And TO think that now that
accent has become unbearable to me!
But in those days l was hopeful. / loved
her. was happy, and ready and willing to
become even more SO. / was so full of ardor
for my work that Immediately after my
marriage / began new poem, and in the
evenings | used to read to her what had
written during the day. At first she would
say, That is very nice" and | was grateful
TO her for even these childish words of ap-
probation, hoping that some day she would
understand what meant life itself to me-
Poor thing! How | must have bored her
After reading my verses to her, I used to
explain them, seeking in her beautiful wide
opened eyes responsive gleam, and fancy
ing always that / had found it there !
used to make her give me her opinion, tell
me what she thought best, and / would
glide over the inanities of her replies, re-
membering only the few, which, by chance,
happened to be good. / wanted so much
to make her my real wife, the wife of an
artist; but no. She did not understand.
In vain did / read to her from the great
est poets, from the most beautiful, and the
most tender; the golden rhymes of their
Iove-verses fell before her with the weary
dullness and chill of rain. Once, / remem-
Der, i was reading the October Night" and
she interrupted me to ask for something
deeper" / tried 10 explain to her that
there is nothing in the, world deeper than
poetry; that it is the very essence of life, and
hoyers over it like vibrant light in which
words and thoughts rise and are trans
figured. Oh, the disdainful smile of those
pretty lips, and the condeseension in her
eyes You wonld have thought she was list
ening to a madman, or to a child.
What did l not say? What floods of elo-
guence did ] not po ur forth? But all to no
purpose. | was forever bringing up short
against what she called good, sound COM
mon sense" the neyer-failing cant of the
narrow-m minded and of those whose hearts
are dry as Summer dust"
Nor was it poetry alone that bored her.
Before we were married / had thought she
cared for music She seemed to understand
what she played, drilled, as it was, into ber
by her teacher. But Immediately after our
marriage she closed the piano and bade
good-by to music. Ii there nything sadder
than the yOung wiies giving up all that
made her young girlhOod attractive? When
once her lines are recited and her role ended
the actress doas her costume. This surface
of little accomplishments, of pretty smiles,
of passisg elegance, is only in view of mairi-
| mony. The change with her was instan ane-
ous. / thought at first that she would get,
in spite Of herself in this wonderful Paris
where the eyes and mind are refined, as it
were, unconsciously-the taste which /
could not impart to her and a compre-
hension of art and of the beautiful But
what is to be done with woman who never
opens book, to whom everything is dis
tasteful, and who will not understandY
/ soon saw that must resign myself to
my fate that she was not my wife, but only