Married Part 47

When he rises from his chair, after a couple of hours, he has only enough strength left to stumble across the room. He sinks down on his bed and lies there as if Death held him in his clutches. It is not invigorating sleep which has closed his eyes, but a stupor, a long fainting fit during which he remains conscious, tortured by the horrible thought that his strength is gone, his nervous system shattered, his brain empty.

A ring at the bell of the private hotel! _Voila le facteur_! The mail has arrived.

He rouses himself and staggers out of his room. A pile of letters is handed to him. Proofs which must be read at once; a book from a young author, begging for a candid criticism: a paper containing a controversial article to which he must reply without delay, a request for a contribution to an almanac, an admonis.h.i.+ng letter from his publisher. How can an invalid cope with it all?

In the meantime the children's nurse has got up and dressed the children, drunk the coffee made for her in the hotel kitchen, and eaten the rolls spread with honey which have been sent up for her.

After breakfast she takes a stroll in the park.

At one o'clock the bell rings for luncheon. All the guests are a.s.sembled in the dining-room. He, too, is there, sitting at the table by himself.

"Where is your wife?" he is asked on all sides.

"I don't know," he replies.

"What a brute!" is the comment of the ladies, who are still in their morning gowns.

The entrance of his wife interrupts the progress of the meal, and the hungry guests who have been punctual are kept waiting for the second course.

The ladies enquire anxiously whether his, wife has slept well and feels refreshed? n.o.body asks him how he feels. There is no need to enquire.

"He looks like a corpse," says one of the ladies.

And she is right.

"Dissipation," says another.

But that is anything but true.

He takes no part in the conversation, for he has nothing to say to these women. But his wife talks for two. While he swallows his food, his ears are made to listen to rich praise of all that is base, and vile abuse of all that is n.o.ble and good.

When luncheon is over he takes his wife aside.

"I wish you would send Louisa to the tailor's with my coat; a seam has come undone and I haven't the time to sew it up myself."

She makes no reply, but instead of sending the coat by Louisa, she takes it herself and walks to the village where the tailor lives.

In the garden she meets some of her emanc.i.p.ated friends who ask her where she is going.

She replies, truthfully enough, that she is going to the tailor's for her husband.

"Fancy sending her to the tailor's! And she allows him to treat her like a servant!"

"While he is lying on the bed, taking an after-dinner nap! A nice husband!"

It is quite true, he is taking an after dinner nap, for he is suffering from anaemia.

At three o'clock the postman rings again; he is expected to answer a letter from Berlin in German, one from Paris in French, and one from London in English.

His wife, who has returned from the tailor's and refreshed herself with a cognac, asks him whether he feels inclined to make an excursion with the children. No, he has letters to write.

When he has finished his letters, he goes out for a stroll before dinner. He is longing for somebody to talk to. But he is alone. He goes into the garden and looks for the children.

The stout nurse is sitting on a garden seat, reading Mrs. Leffler's _True Women_ which his wife has lent her. The children are bored, they want to run about or go for a walk.

"Why don't you take the children for a walk, Louisa?" he asks.

"Mistress said it was too hot."

His wife's orders!

He calls to the children and walks with them towards the high road; suddenly he notices that their hands and faces are dirty and their boots in holes.

"Why are the children allowed to wear such boots?" he asks Louisa.

"Mistress said...."

His wife said!

He goes for a walk by himself.

It is seven o'clock and dinner-time. The ladies have not yet returned to the hotel. The two first courses have been served when they arrive with flushed faces, talking and laughing loudly.

His wife and her friend are in high spirits and smell of cognac.

"What have you been doing with yourself all day, daddy?" she asks her husband.

"I went for a walk with the children."

"Wasn't Louisa there?"

"Oh! yes, but she was otherwise engaged."

"Well, I don't think it's too much to ask of a man to keep an eye on his own children," says the friend.

"No, of course not," answers the husband. "And therefore I scolded Louisa for allowing the children to run about with dirty faces and worn-out boots."

"I never come home but I am scolded," says the wife; "You spoil every little pleasure I have with your fault-finding."

And a tiny tear moistens her reddened eyelids. The friend and all the rest of the ladies cast indignant glances at the husband.

An attack is imminent and the friend sharpens her tongue.

"Has anybody here present read Luther's views on the right of a woman?"

"What right is that?" asks his wife.

"To look out for another partner if she is dissatisfied with the one she has."

There is a pause.