Divers Women — 07 - Vida, part 1

VIDA.

There was an audible rustle in the large congregation of St. Paul's Church, well-bred people though they were, as their young minister came up the aisle with his bride and seated her in the minister's pew.

They not only turned their heads, giving one slight glance, seeing all without seeming to, as cultured people know how to do, but they broke all rules in their code of good manners by a succession of twistings of the neck.

It was not easy to settle down content after one short look at the beautiful being who glided by the minister's side.

Had he seated a veritable fairy in that pew the sensation could scarcely have been greater.

Her beauty was of that rare blonde type--hair of spun gold, eyes of sapphire, and complexion fine and delicate as a rose-leaf.

She was youthful and richly dressed, the dark-green velvet suit, white plumes and fine laces, well setting off her marvellous beauty.

Her eyes fairly drooped before the undisguised admiration expressed in many faces.

The minister himself saw nothing of it at all.

He was annoyed at finding himself actually late, and his thoughts were intent on getting to his place in the pulpit with all possible speed.

It was not one of his ambitions to be conspicuous; he was accustomed to slip quietly into his place from the chapel door, and his apparently triumphal march into his church on the first Sabbath of his return, after all the people had assembled, as if to say, "Behold us now!"

was not to his taste nor of his planning; all this threw his thoughts into a tumult unfitting him in part for his sacred duties.

At the close of service that day, the congregation did not discuss the minister's sermon, they were absorbed in another subject: the minister's wife.

The opinions were various.

Grave old deacons looked askance at her in her regal beauty as they passed out, shook their heads, and repeated to each other the familiar saying, that wise men often make fools of themselves when they come to the business of selecting a wife.

One lady said she was "perfectly lovely;" another, that she had "a great deal of style;" another, that "her dress must have cost a penny, and she did not see for her part how a Christian could find it in her conscience to dress like that."

"One would have thought," Mrs. Graves said, "that a man like Mr. Eldred would have chosen a modest, sensible person for his wife, who would be useful in the church, but then, that was the way, a minister was just like any other man, money and a pretty face would cover up a good many failings."

Mrs. Graves was the mother of three sensible, modest girls, who would have made capital ministers' wives.

Why will ministers be so shortsighted?

"But, mother," Tom Graves asked, "aren't you pretty fast?

How do you know but she is sensible and modest; you never heard her speak a word?"

"Anybody with half an eye don't need to hear her speak to know all about her."

"The idea of a minister's wife," said Mrs. Meggs, "with her hair frizzed, and such a long trail for church!"

"She paints, I know she does!"

said sallow Miss Pry.

"There never was such a complexion as that born on to a human being."

Those who did not say anything, who made it a rule never to speak uncharitably of anyone, seemed well satisfied to have others to do it for them, and looked and sighed their holy horror that their minister should have shown so little discretion in choosing a wife.

Just to think of her leading the female prayer-meeting and being president of the Missionary society, humph!

Ah!

if there had been one dear "mother in Israel," with love enough to bear this young thing in the arms of her faith to the mercy seat and plead a blessing for her--with courage enough to try to win her to see the blessedness of living a consecrated life, it might all have been different.

When Thane Eldred first met Vida Irving he was immediately taken captive.

So fair a vision never crossed his path before; whatever of enchantment might have been wanting in golden curls and blue eyes was completed by a voice such as few possess, rich, sweet, and fine compass; had she been poor it might have brought her a fortune.

When he heard her sing in such angelic strains the sweet hymns he loved, he took it for granted that the words of fervent devotion but gave voice to the feelings of her own heart.

So fair a bit of clay, he reasoned, must contain a soul of corresponding beauty, and he forthwith invested her with all the charms of an angel.

A slight misgiving, it is true, sometimes crossed his mind as to whether she could adapt herself easily to the difficult position of a pastor's wife.

She had the air of an empress, and the hauteur of her manner was often so great as to gain her positive enemies, and yet the deluded man, with blind eyes, reasoned, "I can mould her to what I will when she is mine; it is the fault of a false education, I am quite sure her heart is all right."

And why did the spoiled beauty condescend to smile upon one, who by his very profession, if closely following in the footsteps of the lowly Master, must needs abjure the vanities and enticements of this world, and live a life of self-denying toil.

Not a thought of that kind had ever entered her pretty head.

A minister in her estimation was an orator, the idol of a wealthy people, and a gentleman of elegant ease.

There was a fascination about this dark-eyed young minister; his graceful dignity and impassioned eloquence pleased her fancy, so the sudden attachment was mutual.

Early left a widow, with a large fortune, Mrs. Irving devoted herself to her idol, her only child, with unremitting devotion; nothing that would add to her happiness or her attractions was neglected, and now with her education completed, the fond mother looked about her, seeking a brilliant alliance for this rare daughter, when lo!

she found the matter settled.

Vida's own sweet will had been the ruling power ever since she came into the world, and the mother was obliged to submit to the inevitable with as good grace as she could command under the circumstances.

A poor minister!

who could have dreamed that the daughter would have made such a choice.

With this mother's views of life, and life eternal, it is not to be wondered at that she felt bitter disappointment.

The prospect, though, was not wholly dark, he was "handsome and talented," and that went far toward consolation; then, too, he would probably be called in time to a large, important church, and have D. D.

at the end of his name, and it would sound well to say "My son-in-law, Rev. Dr. Eldred, of Boston, or New York City," and to discourse of his brilliant preaching, his wealthy parishioners, the calls he had declined, etc. St. Paul's Church was situated in a small city of large manufacturing interests, and while there were many families of wealth and position in the church, there were also many who were obliged to toil hard and practice the utmost economy in order to have any left to pay their subscription with.

Some of these looked with no kindly eyes on the magnificent changes of toilet that Mrs. Eldred brought out Sabbath after Sabbath; now a sealskin sacque, then an Indian shawl, and suits innumerable of rich silks in all possible tints, suited to all possible occasions.

"It makes a body feel as if they hadn't a thing fit to wear, the way Mrs. Eldred comes out in her silks and velvets," Mrs. Jenks, a mechanic's wife, remarked to her neighbour.

I wonder what she'd say to wearing a black alpaca dress seven years running, for her best dress!

I declared, it made me feel as if there wa'n't any sort of use scrimping and saving as we do, to pay fifteen dollars a year to support the minister; I told John we better not pay but five next year, and I'd put the other ten on my back.

He's got a rich wife, he don't need much salary now.

Just to think of her fur sacque, and great handsome shawl, and here I havn't had a new cloak this ten years--have to wear my blanket shawl to church.

"Yes, I think's much!"

answered Mrs. Myers, emphatically.

"She's as proud as Lucifer, too.

Mr. Eldred shook hands with me real friendly like last Sunday, and asked 'How is the little one?'

--as he always calls my Tommy--then he introduced me to her, and she turned her head toward me, and looked at me from head to foot, exactly as if she was saying to herself 'Dress, twenty-five cents a yard; shawl five dollars, hat, two dollars;' then she gave me what she'd call a bow may be, she swept her eyelashes down, and tilted her head back, instead of forward, and I thought I saw the least mite of a curl on her lip, (she's got a dreadful proud mouth, anyway;) she didn't offer to put out her hand, not she!

she was afraid I'd soil her white kids, with something less than a dozen buttons on them."

"Well, it's too bad," Mrs. Jenks said, "and he such a good Christian man as he is--wonder what he wanted to go and marry such a wife for, anyhow; I don't believe he more than half approves of her himself, now he sees how she goes on, but, poor man, he's got to make the best of it now; I shall always think everything of him though, he was so kind to us when Peter was sick."

Mrs. Eldred was not entirely ignorant of the duties expected from a minister's wife, but she had resolved, as far as she was concerned, to ignore them.

Because she had married a minister was no sign that she was to be subject to the whims of a whole parish; she could consider herself bound by no rules that did not apply equally as well to every other member of the church.

Her mother had forewarned her, and advised her to this course: "A minister's wife, my dear," said the worldly-wise mother, "is usually a slave.

So just put your foot down in the beginning, and don't wear yourself out.

Enjoy yourself all you can.

Poor child!

it is a dismal life at best that you have chosen for yourself, I fear."

Mrs. Eldred did not state her peculiar views to her husband, by any means; she should just quietly carry out her plans, and he would learn to submit in time.

Mother said that was the way to manage a husband.

It was Thursday night.

The first bell for prayer-meeting was ringing when Mr. Eldred came down from his study.

His young wife sat under the drop-light cosily established in a large easy-chair, absorbed in the last number of Scribner.

She was robed in a white flannel wrapper, and her long, fair hair was unbound, lying in bright waves about her shoulders.

Mr. Eldred contemplated the pretty picture a moment, then he said: "You look comfortable, my dear: but do you know that is the first bell for prayer meeting?"

"Oh, I am not going to meeting.

I am perfectly delighted to have an evening to myself once more, when that indefatigable people of yours are engaged.

I am actually worn out receiving calls," she said, languidly.

Mr. Eldred was disappointed.

He had thought more than once that day how he should enjoy it; to have his dream realized, Vida walking with him, to his own meeting, and sitting near, singing as none but she could sing.

A spice of vanity mingled with it too.

How the people would listen and admire!

He felt annoyed and was about to protest, but she looked so like an angel in her soft white dress that he had not the heart to find fault.

So he kissed her good-bye, and went his way alone.

She accompanied him the next week; to be a disappointment, however.

Her voice joined not in the hymns of praise, she remarking at the close of the meeting:-- "Do you think I could sing in all that discord?

It is horrible; it sets every nerve in my body on edge.

People always sing that way in prayer-meeting, every one trying to sing, though not knowing one note from another.

One old man by me sang five notes below the key; a woman on the other side screamed out as many above; a girl before me had a strong nasal twang.

I should think you'd go distracted; and, by the way, what a quantity of common people attend your church!"

Mr. Eldred looked into the fire and repeated half aloud, "The common people heard Him gladly."

As the weeks went on, it became evident to him that he must abandon the pleasant plans he had formed of companionship in his work.

He attended meetings alone, made calls alone, and grew weary of apologizing for Vida.

She was willing to attire herself royally and make a round of fashionable calls with him on the first families, but concerning calls on the humbler of the flock she gaily remarked, that she did not purpose turning city missionary.

"When ladies called upon her, she would return their calls, that is, if she wished to continue the acquaintance; but as for running all about town hunting out obscure people, that was out of the question."

There was a gay clique in the church who eagerly welcomed the pastor's wife to their circle.

They organised a literary society and gave Shakespearian entertainments.

Mrs. Eldred's fine literary taste and musical abilities made her a valuable acquisition.

She soon became the centre about which it revolved.

Was there a difficult part to be rendered, or a queen of beauty to be represented, Mrs. Eldred was sure to be chosen, and she gave herself with enthusiasm to the absorbing fascination.

Mr. Eldred had united with them in the beginning, but when he discovered that the members of the society were much more interested in getting up costumes than they were in their own mental improvement, and that the whole thing was degenerating into private theatricals, he withdrew, and urged his wife to do the same, but no amount of persuasion could move her in the least; her own will had been her law too long.

And this was the being he had thought to mould!

It was all so different from the picture he had sketched of these first months of their married life, the picture of sunny, happy days, flowing on with scarce a ripple.

Instead, they held long heated discussions that only served to widen the distance between them.

"I beg your pardon," Vida said, in sarcastic tones, during one of these skirmishes, "but I think it would be much more to your profit to attend the meetings of our society than to find fault with me.

If you would study Shakespeare more, it might freshen up your sermons somewhat, and lift them from the commonplace.

I cannot but think you are degenerating.

The first discourse I heard you preach was filled with poetical fancies and literary allusions, and the language was flowery and beautiful.

Your preaching seems to have changed of late;

last Sabbath, for example, it was mere 'talk' without rhetoric or eloquence; the most ignorant in the church could have understood them.

I thought you would receive a call soon to a wealthy church in a large city, but you never will make a reputation if you preach in this style."

Mrs. Eldred's angry passions were raised to a high pitch, or she would not have spoken thus plainly.

The sorely tried spirit of the man who listened could not repress a groan at the conclusion of this long tirade.

He did not trust himself to say one word, but went with a slow, heavy step, like one who had received a mortal hurt, to his study.

The irritation he might otherwise have felt at such words, was lost in sorrow at the utter lack of sympathy, and apparent ignorance of the spirit and aims of the gospel.

He had been coming nearer to Christ the last few months, had received a new baptism, and with it a new view of preaching the gospel.

He had, doubtless, spoken in an unknown tongue to scores of his hearers.

Now he turned the key on his elegant essays, and, asking the Lord for a message, he was trying to tell it with no "great swelling words," but in humility and plainness of speech, holding up Christ, hiding himself, intent only on saving souls.

Satan had told him before that the world and some Christians would count his preaching "not deep;" now his own wife had repeated the thought.

He had been so happy in his work, and he longed to throw himself into it with nothing to come between him and "This one thing I do."

But daily trials on account of one who should have been his greatest helper, saddened him, so that much of his labour was mechanical, and he carried a heavy burden.

The anxiety was continuous, for he was well aware that many busy tongues were censuring her, while kindlier critics were grieved at her course.

At rare intervals she attended the ladies' meetings, but no persuasions could induce her to take any part in them.

She visited those whom she fancied, and persistently refused to visit others;

thus he laboured under constant embarrassment, and was in a chronic state of apology for her.

And yet Mrs. Eldred could make herself the most fascinating of beings.

There were evenings when she chose to shine at home.

Then she would with artistic skill brighten the room, and beguile her husband from his books, and the time would go on wings, as they read and discussed a new book, and sung together their old and new songs.

At such times the careworn minister forgot that any clouds obscured his sky.

One evening Mrs. Eldred entered her husband's study, resplendent in white satin and diamonds, saying:-- "Thane, it is quite time you too were dressed."

"Dressed for what?"

he said with an astonished air.

"Why, is it possible that you have forgotten that we have an invitation to Mrs. Grantley's tonight?"

"I recall the invitation now, but I never gave it a second thought, nor did I suppose that you had.

Did you not notice from the wording that it was to be a dancing party.

I think there must be some mistake about it, as I never was invited before our marriage to these parties, nor have we been since; I cannot understand why they should ask us now."

"Why, pray, should we not be invited?

It is not necessary for you to dance, of course.

We shall be obliged to go, for I have accepted the invitation," Mrs. Eldred replied, with a nothing-further-to-be-said air.

"I am sorry you accepted an invitation for me, without consulting me, but I cannot go," her husband answered gravely.

"Oh fie!

How old and strait-laced you are for a young man; why Dr. Henry often went and looked on, and his daughter danced, and people liked him all the better for it.

You will be immensely unpopular if you pursue that course.

Don't you think," she continued, encouraged by his silence, "that it savours a little of bigotry and egotism to set one's self up to condemn an amusement that many other Christians approve?

What is your ground of objection?

One would suppose that you had received a direct revelation on the subject."

"I have," he said, and his clear eyes looked full into hers, "directly from the Master himself.

Don't you know that a person who is absorbed in Christian work, a consecrated Christian, is not absorbed in all these amusements, and one who is, has no room in his heart for Christ.

There is a law of Natural Philosophy, you know, which says that 'Two bodies cannot occupy the same place at the same time', and there is a somewhat similar law in regard to a soul, stated by the Lord himself.

'Ye cannot serve two masters.'

It is the world or Christ with every soul, and I have chosen Christ."

"I know this much," she said, coldly, "that fanatics are the most intolerable of all people.

I have danced all my life, and since I became a church-member, and never had it hinted to me before that I was not a Christian because I loved it.

You need not go; John can take me and call for me, and I will make excuses for you."

"My dear wife!

would you do that?

Surely you did not yourself intend to dance; the most liberal would be shocked, I fancy, were a minister's wife to dance."

"And why?

I am not the minister.

I recognise no restraints that do not apply as well to every Christian woman.

You told me yourself that Mrs. Graham is an excellent lady; she is a member of your church, and dances, I am told.

Why should not one professor of religion have the same privileges as another?"

"Vida," he said, in a tone of mingled pain and tenderness, "it is only a short time since we were pronounced 'no more twain hut one;'

you said then the thought made you glad.

How can you separate your interests from mine now?

Will you do what would dishonour my calling were I to do it?

The world counts us one, your action is mine, and just or unjust, they do not accord to you the right to wade quite so far into the sea of worldly pleasures as they themselves feel privileged to do.

They would point the finger of ridicule at both of us, and charge us with inconsistency.

We will not stop to argue the right and wrong of the subject now, supposing your conscience does not shut you out from the dance, let worldly prudence and a desire to keep our names from common gossip, influence you, I pray you, if indeed my wishes and opinion are of no value."

But the young wife was in no frame for recollecting tender vows, nor listening to reason.

She threw off his arm with an impatient gesture, and glancing at her watch, said:-- "I have not only accepted an invitation to this party, but promised to dance.

It is getting late and I must go."

Mr. Eldred controlled his agitation by a mighty effort, and in a low, calm tone said:-- "Then I must save you from disgracing us both.

I insist, I _command_ you not to go."

Had he struck her, she would not have been more astonished.

She stood as if stunned for a moment; then with a stately air, she swept by him and ascended the stairs to her room.

What was his consternation, as he stood gazing out into the moonlight, presently to see her pass down the walk, step into the carriage and drive away!

Turning from the window, he paced the floor with anguish keen as though she had gone from him for ever.

What obstinacy, what unreasoning wilfulness--and what would come of it?

He spent the long night brooding over his great sorrow, the root of which was the fear that his dear wife did not belong to Christ, for beloved her through all her unloveliness.

"Husbands, love your wives even as Christ loved the church."

His love had something in it of the divine pity and patience that our blessed Lord feels for his sinning, stumbling, and exasperating children.

Mrs. Eldred was not that type of womankind who spent their wrath in tears and reproaches.

When she was angry, she was unapproachably so, as frigid as an iceberg.

The crisis had come.

Her husband had dared to command.

The next morning there was not the turn of an eyelid that could be construed into penitence.

A brawling woman is but little less endurable than a perfectly silent one.

You may almost as well "flee to the house-top" from one as the other.

What few words were spoken by Mr. Eldred at the breakfast table received no replies.