December 25th. - Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart overflowing1 with present bliss2, and full of ardent3 hopes for the future, though not unmingled with foreboding fears. Now I am a wife: my bliss is sobered, but not destroyed; my hopes diminished, but not departed; my fears increased, but not yet thoroughly4 confirmed; and, thank heaven, I am a mother too. God has sent me a soul to educate for heaven, and give me a new and calmer bliss, and stronger hopes to comfort me.
Dec. 25th, 1823. - Another year is gone. My little Arthur lives and thrives. He is healthy, but not robust5, full of gentle playfulness and vivacity6, already affectionate, and susceptible7 of passions and emotions it will be long ere he can find words to express. He has won his father's heart at last; and now my constant terror is, lest he should be ruined by that father's thoughtless indulgence. But I must beware of my own weakness too, for I never knew till now how strong are a parent's temptations to spoil an only child.
I have need of consolation8 in my son, for (to this silent paper I may confess it) I have but little in my husband. I love him still; and he loves me, in his own way - but oh, how different from the love I could have given, and once had hoped to receive! How little real sympathy there exists between us; how many of my thoughts and feelings are gloomily cloistered9 within my own mind; how much of my higher and better self is indeed unmarried - doomed10 either to harden and sour in the sunless shade of solitude11, or to quite degenerate12 and fall away for lack of nutriment in this unwholesome soil! But, I repeat, I have no right to complain; only let me state the truth - some of the truth, at least, - and see hereafter if any darker truths will blot13 these pages. We have now been full two years united; the 'romance' of our attachment14 must be worn away. Surely I have now got down to the lowest gradation in Arthur's affection, and discovered all the evils of his nature: if there be any further change, it must be for the better, as we become still more accustomed to each other; surely we shall find no lower depth than this. And, if so, I can bear it well - as well, at least, as I have borne it hitherto.
Arthur is not what is commonly called a bad man: he has many good qualities; but he is a man without self-restraint or lofty aspirations15, a lover of pleasure, given up to animal enjoyments16: he is not a bad husband, but his notions of matrimonial duties and comforts are not my notions. Judging from appearances, his idea of a wife is a thing to love one devotedly17, and to stay at home to wait upon her husband, and amuse him and minister to his comfort in every possible way, while he chooses to stay with her; and, when he is absent, to attend to his interests, domestic or otherwise, and patiently wait his return, no matter how he may be occupied in the meantime.
Early in spring he announced his intention of going to London: his affairs there demanded his attendance, he said, and he could refuse it no longer. He expressed his regret at having to leave me, but hoped I would amuse myself with the baby till he returned.
'But why leave me?' I said. 'I can go with you: I can be ready at any time.'
'You would not take that child to town?'
'Yes; why not?'
The thing was absurd: the air of the town would be certain to disagree with him, and with me as a nurse; the late hours and London habits would not suit me under such circumstances; and altogether he assured me that it would be excessively troublesome, injurious, and unsafe. I over-ruled his objections as well as I could, for I trembled at the thoughts of his going alone, and would sacrifice almost anything for myself, much even for my child, to prevent it; but at length he told me, plainly, and somewhat testily18, that he could not do with me: he was worn out with the baby's restless nights, and must have some repose19. I proposed separate apartments; but it would not do.
'The truth is, Arthur,' I said at last, 'you are weary of my company, and determined20 not to have me with you. You might as well have said so at once.'
He denied it; but I immediately left the room, and flew to the nursery, to hide my feelings, if I could not soothe21 them, there.
I was too much hurt to express any further dissatisfaction with his plans, or at all to refer to the subject again, except for the necessary arrangements concerning his departure and the conduct of affairs during his absence, till the day before he went, when I earnestly exhorted22 him to take care of himself and keep out of the way of temptation. He laughed at my anxiety, but assured me there was no cause for it, and promised to attend to my advice.
'I suppose it is no use asking you to fix a day for your return?' said I.
'Why, no; I hardly can, under the circumstances; but be assured, love, I shall not be long away.'
'I don't wish to keep you a prisoner at home,' I replied; 'I should not grumble23 at your staying whole months away - if you can be happy so long without me - provided I knew you were safe; but I don't like the idea of your being there among your friends, as you call them.'
'Pooh, pooh, you silly girl! Do you think I can't take care of myself?'
'You didn't last time. But THIS time, Arthur,' I added, earnestly, 'show me that you can, and teach me that I need not fear to trust you!'
He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to soothe a child. And did he keep his promise? No; and henceforth I can never trust his word. Bitter, bitter confession24! Tears blind me while I write. It was early in March that he went, and he did not return till July. This time he did not trouble himself to make excuses as before, and his letters were less frequent, and shorter and less affectionate, especially after the first few weeks: they came slower and slower, and more terse25 and careless every time. But still, when I omitted writing, he complained of my neglect. When I wrote sternly and coldly, as I confess I frequently did at the last, he blamed my harshness, and said it was enough to scare him from his home: when I tried mild persuasion26, he was a little more gentle in his replies, and promised to return; but I had learnt, at last, to disregard his promises.
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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26
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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