Many joys are inherent in a true marriage. It has sympathies, the most intimate of which mortals are capable, and it calls forth affections, such as pertain to no other voluntary relation of life. But these sentiments are the fruits of love alone. Disgust and aversion cannot produce them, nor are they the growth of indifference. If there be not a peculiar interest in the society of another, and a pain in his absence, no foundation is yet laid for a genuine marriage between him and yourself.
Again, there are evils incident to this life, which lose much of their bitterness, when shared with another. There is a sorrow of spirit, which none but a near friend can soothe. Peculiar trials belong also to the marriage condition. How can these evils and trials be mitigated to the wife, or the husband? Only by the power of love. If you dislike your companion, you cannot minister cordially to his griefs, nor will he participate in yours. Marriage is an arch; if love be its keystone, it will stand firmly; it will grow stronger with time. That wanting, it will crumble in a day. Never should this relation be formed, except with such sentiments as give reasonable hope of an ever-growing love.
Our natural emotions, on witnessing a marriage without apparent affection, are painful. If a lady be compelled so to marry, we pity her doom; if she do it voluntarily, we cannot but feel a disgust at the connection. Yet how often, could we unveil human hearts, should we see at the altar, nothing deeper than stratagem, expediency, fancy, or at best, friendship, as the chief attractive cause. Is it right to complain ourselves, or should we wonder, at the spectacle of miserable matches in others, if the temple of marriage rest thus on wood, hay and stubble, instead of having gold, silver, and precious stones at its base?
“Marrying to increase love,” says a writer, “is like gaming to get rich. You are liable, in the hazard, to lose all you carry to the game.” They, who join hands, with cold hearts, often cease even to respect one another. They become, in truth, like the pith-ball, in its approach to the electrified cylinder, the more fiercely repelled, the nearer the contact. If you do not love the individual you wed, above all his sex; if nothing more than fancy and friendship draw you toward him, then your marriage will be indeed a “lottery,” and yours may be a blank. Let there be genuine love, and if alienation afterward occur, it may be overcome by time and circumstances. Enter this condition in coldness, and strange will be the exception, if that chill ever be exchanged for a glow.
A true marriage must be Free, contracted by the preference and choice of the parties. If it be done by constraint, or against the will of either, it comes short of an union, and is a mere bargain and sale. An offer may be accepted, simply to gratify a parent or a friend, when the taste of the lady would have prompted a rejection. The case of Madeline Bray, in Nickleby, is precisely of this character. She pledged herself a victim to one whom she did not love, and could not but secretly despise, and had the marriage been actually consummated, it would have hardly been a more incongruous, forced, and unnatural connection, than many which occur in real life. To marry only to please a third person, even though it be a father, or mother, is never a duty, and can be the result only of a misled judgment, or a mistaken kind of filial piety.
Yet I by no means recommend the disregard of parental advice, in this sacred transaction. Perhaps the dangers of this age lie chiefly in that direction. There is often a false independence in this matter, an idea that a certain individual must be a lady’s companion for life. She may believe that “the match was made in Heaven,” and that it is a sin, in parents and friends, to oppose it. Or, she may determine that, let what will be the consequences, she will accept the overtures of the gentleman before her. The tendencies of the times induce many parents to keep silent, and take no part, and give no advice, when their daughters receive proposals for marriage. It is thought that, let them advise as they may, their children are resolved to do just as they please, and, to preserve peace, they forbear to interfere in the least.
This state of things cannot be too deeply deplored. When a young woman has an offer of addresses, it presents a solemn occasion, one which demands of her great deliberation, thoughtfulness and discretion. The instances are rare, in which an immediate decision can with propriety be effected. Counsel and assistance are never more needed, than in this important exigency. And to whom should one go, in preference to those who best understand her character, and what traits are needed in another to render her happy, and useful to him; and who feel also the deepest interest in her welfare? The daughter should seek advice from this quarter, and the parent ought promptly to give it.
In the other extreme, where parental partiality would coerce the feelings of a child, and impel her to a step she would fain avoid, then let the daughter mildly, but firmly, maintain her own purpose. I saw recently an account of a couple who were married nearly three years since, but owing to the opposition of friends, they lived separately, and kept their secret, until circumstances permitted a disclosure. Here must have been genuine affection, a true union of souls. “Stolen waters are sweet,” and none seem more so, than the draughts of a clandestine marriage. Much as I deprecate the result of such elopements, I would rather a young lady should be even guilty of this imprudence, if she sincerely love her companion, than that she marry one she does not love, nor can hope ever to love, for the sake of gratifying any individual in the world. Let advice be sought, and let it be weighed and well heeded; but let it operate only on a free mind, and induce only to a more serious, and dispassionate consideration, for yourself, of the reply you shall give.
A good Disposition, if essential in the wife, is no less so in the husband. No young lady would marry one she believed destitute of this quality. Every instance, in which it is ultimately found to be wanting, is the result of a deception, either culpably disregarded by the lady, or so artfully conducted, during the days of “courtship,” as to be then wholly unperceived. But of what value are all other recommendations, talent, beauty, wealth, family, without an amiable spirit, and kind feelings? She, who allows herself to hazard any thing on this point, is little less than insane. If her partner prove morose, sullen, selfish, it will blight forever the joys of their marriage day. Better had she been bound to the dead, as certain offenders of her sex were said to be of old, than bound to a living mass of pollution, to one whose principles become more and more her horror, as they are daily betrayed.
Next to the disposition, I regard a good Temper as essential to domestic happiness. If nature have bestowed sparingly of this gift, and there be evidence of inward passion, unless there be also unceasing efforts at self-control, commit not your destiny to the individual. When the restraints of unfamiliar acquaintance are at length thrown off, what can you anticipate, but captiousness, and peevishness, if not actual violence? “Where surfaces,” says one, “are contiguous, every little prominence is mutually felt.” How fearful that minds subject to unrestrained anger, should be brought in so near collision, as may be produced by marriage.