Let us picture to ourselves a middle-class household, with perhaps four or five children of tender age, suddenly deprived of a mother’s care. Happy is it in one respect for the father, that his business avocations are imperative, and so in some measure distract him from his grief; but they at the same time prevent his supervision of home affairs, even if he be one of those effeminate men—happily few—who love to meddle in domestic matters. With the best of servants, and even with some female relative to ‘manage’ for him, the chances are very great that many things go wrong—that children are either spoiled or neglected, and that daily incidents so remind him of his loss, that his sorrow even after a long interval remains unassuaged. Surely, under such circumstances to marry again is often the wisest thing a widower can do. As he has had experience of married life, it is presumable that he knows the qualities in a woman which will make him happy, and is less likely to make an imprudent marriage than a young bachelor is. In point of fact, second wives are often very admirable women, and second marriages very happy ones.
Yet it cannot be denied that the step-mother is, as a rule, looked on with suspicion by the relatives of the children who pass into her care. It seems to be of no account that hitherto she has been noted for good sense and kindness of heart—it is taken for granted that she cannot exercise these qualities in reference to the little creatures intrusted to her charge. The cruel thing is that children are often absolutely set against their father’s wife by foolish people, who think they thus do homage to the memory of the dead.
‘Ah,’ sighs perhaps an aunt; ‘of course, my dear, you must call her “mother” if your father wishes it; but you must not expect her to love you as darling mamma did.’
‘But, auntie,’ the child may respond, ready with tears at the mention of the dead—‘but, auntie, she says she loves us, and kisses us as if she did.’
Upon which the auntie moans again, and with an expressive shake of the head, ejaculates: ‘I hope she does’—in a tone that implies, ‘I don’t believe it.’
Children are wonderfully quick at interpreting tones, looks, and gestures.
Children are by no means all little angels, whatever certain poets may have written in laudation of them. Ingrained characteristics show themselves very early; and when the fire of rebellion to authority is kindled in their young hearts—smoulder as it may—it makes the task of governing them terribly difficult. How much wiser and kinder would it be if friends and relatives played the part of cheerful peacemakers, instead of grave-faced watchers and doubters! How really sensible it would be to teach the children that they ought to be grateful to her who comes to console their father, and to take upon herself the dead mother’s duties. In a multitude of cases, this truth ought to be emphatically inculcated; for we suppose there are few women whose ideal of happiness is marrying a widower with children.
When the second marriage takes place comparatively late in life, and when children are grown up, the trials are of a different sort. Sons already away from home, and making for themselves careers in the world; and daughters of twenty years old, likely to marry within the next few years, have often but little feeling for the loneliness of their father’s declining years. Of course, elderly men sometimes do foolish things, as well as young ones; but even if the second marriage be in every respect a suitable one, the children are in too many instances jealous of the step-mother, and inclined to carp at all she does. Really, a great deal of this ill-feeling is a bad habit of thought, the result of a popular prejudice which falls in with the weak side of human nature.
But if we demur against the prevailing idea of step-mothers, what shall we say against the yet more absurd notions which abound concerning Mothers-in-law! Unjustly and, one may say, stupidly satirised as they are by pen and pencil in the comic papers, they still, as a rule, maintain the even tenor of their way, far more often as a beneficent influence than anything else. Represented as a synonym for everything that is meddling and mischief-making, we confess that in a pretty long experience we have seen but few very nearly approaching this type. But we have known many a mother who has taken the husband of a daughter to her heart as if he were indeed a son, he requiting her affection with reverential regard. Nor is this at all an unnatural thing to happen between right-minded sensible people.
The mother of grown-up sons and daughters is not generally the vulgar, ill-favoured shrew that caricaturists love to paint her; on the contrary, she is often a woman in the prime of life, very probably an influence in society, and with the wisdom that ought to come with experience of the world. She has not forgotten her own youth, and she sympathises with the young more than they quite believe. Whether it be the daughter’s husband or the son’s wife that has to be considered, so long as the choice be tolerably prudent, she is sure to rejoice at the prospect of happiness, and be grateful that the perils of unwise likings are over. If, unhappily, the choice has not been prudent, and yet she is unable to avert its consequences, the mother is in many cases the one to be peacemaker and make the best of everything. If it be a son’s wife who needs culture, she tries to give it; if it be a daughter’s husband of small means, she ekes out income by personal sacrifices; or if she herself be too poor to do this, we have known her to help with the needle, or in some other efficient manner, when she cannot do so with the purse.