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    Victorian Short Stories - The Troubled Marriage
    Victorian Short Stories - The Troubled Marriage
    Victorian Short Stories - The Troubled Marriage
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    Victorian Short Stories - The Troubled Marriage

    By Arthur Conan Doyle, Rudyard Kipling and George Gissing

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    It seems unlikely that there could be any subject to have preoccupied writers throughout the ages more than the pursuit of love. This may have reached an all time high in the Victorian era when a new age of romanticism captured hearts and minds. However, whilst love might have been the ultimate quest there were numerous practical formalities that preceded it and after the immensely complicated and ritualised courtship, a good match was of paramount importance for both men and women. Women were on average in their early twenties when they married and by the age of 30 were ill considered as a good match and were very much 'on the shelf'. Once married, a man had total ownership and control over all physical property and income that belonged to his wife. She not only lost the little independence that had previously been afforded her but was now the domestic servant of her husband, responsible in ensuring that every aspect of the house from food to kids ran smoothly and caused no trouble to her husband. Divorce was only available to the extremely wealthy until 1857 so for a woman the man she married determined her life whilst the married man always had options. This series of short stories wonderfully captures the Victorian world of matrimony with gems from Rudyard Kipling, Arthur Conan Doyle and many more.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateJan 13, 2015
    ISBN9781785430503
    Victorian Short Stories - The Troubled Marriage
    Author

    Arthur Conan Doyle

    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1859. Before starting his writing career, Doyle attended medical school, where he met the professor who would later inspire his most famous creation, Sherlock Holmes. A Study in Scarlet was Doyle's first novel; he would go on to write more than sixty stories featuring Sherlock Holmes. He died in England in 1930.

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      Book preview

      Victorian Short Stories - The Troubled Marriage - Arthur Conan Doyle

      Victorian Short Stories; Troubled Marriages

      It seems unlikely that there could be any subject to have preoccupied writers throughout the ages more than the pursuit of love.  This may have reached an all time high in the Victorian era when a new age of romanticism captured hearts and minds.  However, whilst love might have been the ultimate quest there were numerous practical formalities that preceded it and after the immensely complicated and ritualised courtship, a good match was of paramount importance for both men and women. 

      Women were on average in their early twenties when they married and by the age of 30 were ill considered as a good match and were very much 'on the shelf'.  Once married, a man had total ownership and control over all physical property and income that belonged to his wife.  She not only lost the little independence that had previously been afforded her but was now the domestic servant of her husband, responsible in ensuring that every aspect of the house from food to kids ran smoothly and caused no trouble to her husband.   Divorce was only available to the extremely wealthy until 1857 so for a woman the man she married determined her life whilst the married man always had options.  

      This series of short stories wonderfully captures the Victorian world of matrimony with gems from Rudyard Kipling, Arthur Conan Doyle and many more. 

      Index of Stories

      The Bronckhorst Divorce Case by Rudyard Kipling

      Irremediable by Ella D'Arcy

      'A Poor Stick' by Arthur Morrison

      The Adventure Of The Abbey Grange by Arthur Conan Doyle

      The Prize Lodger by George Gissing

      THE BRONCKHORST DIVORCE CASE

      By Rudyard Kipling

      In the daytime, when she moved about me,    

      In the night, when she was sleeping at my side,

      I was wearied, I was wearied of her presence,

      Day by day and night by night I grew to hate her

      Would God that she or I had died!

      CONFESSIONS

      There was a man called Bronckhorst, a three-cornered, middle-aged man in the Army, grey as a badger, and, some people said, with a touch of country-blood in him. That, however, cannot be proved. Mrs. Bronckhorst was not exactly young, though fifteen years younger than her husband. She was a large, pale, quiet woman, with heavy eyelids over weak eyes, and hair that turned red or yellow as the lights fell on it.

      Bronckhorst was not nice in any way. He had no respect for the pretty public and private lies that make life a little less nasty than it is. His manner towards his wife was coarse. There are many things, including actual assault with the clenched fist, that a wife will endure; but seldom a wife can bear, as Mrs. Bronckhorst bore, with a long course of brutal, hard chaff, making light of her weaknesses, her headaches, her small fits of gaiety, her dresses, her queer little attempts to make herself attractive to her husband when she knows that she is not what she has been, and, worst of all, the love that she spends on her children. That particular sort of heavy-handed jest was specially dear to Bronckhorst. I suppose that he had first slipped into it, meaning no harm, in the honeymoon, when folk find their ordinary stock of endearments run short, and so go to the other extreme to express their feelings. A similar impulse makes a man say, 'Hutt, you old beast!' when a favourite horse nuzzles his coat-front. Unluckily, when the reaction of marriage sets in, the form of speech remains, and, the tenderness having died out, hurts the wife more than she cares to say. But Mrs. Bronckhorst was devoted to her 'Teddy' as she called him. Perhaps that was why he objected to her. Perhaps, this is only a theory to account for his infamous behaviour later on, he gave way to the queer, savage feeling that sometimes takes by the throat a husband twenty years married, when he sees, across the table, the same, same face of his wedded wife, and knows that, as he has sat facing it, so must he continue to sit until the day of its death or his own. Most men and all women know the spasm. It only lasts for three breaths as a rule, must be a 'throw-back' to times when men and women were rather worse than they are now, and is too unpleasant to be discussed.

      Dinner at the Bronckhorsts' was an infliction few men cared to undergo. Bronckhorst took a pleasure in saying things that made his wife wince. When their little boy came in at dessert Bronckhorst used to give him half a glass of wine, and, naturally enough, the poor little mite got first riotous, next miserable, and was removed screaming. Bronckhorst asked if that was the way Teddy usually behaved, and whether Mrs. Bronckhorst could not spare some of her time 'to teach the little beggar decency'. Mrs. Bronckhorst, who loved the boy more than her own life, tried not to cry, her spirit seemed to have been broken by her marriage. Lastly, Bronckhorst used to say, 'There! That'll do, that'll do. For God's sake try to behave like a rational woman. Go into the drawing-room.' Mrs. Bronckhorst would go, trying to carry it all off with a smile; and the guest of the evening would feel angry and uncomfortable.

      After three years of this cheerful life, for Mrs. Bronckhorst had no women-friends to talk to, the station was startled by the news that Bronckhorst had instituted proceedings on the criminal count, against a man called Biel, who certainly had been rather attentive to Mrs. Bronckhorst whenever she had appeared in public. The utter want of reserve with which Bronckhorst treated his own dishonour helped us to know that the evidence against Biel would be entirely circumstantial and native. There were no letters; but Bronckhorst said openly that he would rack Heaven and Earth until he saw Biel superintending the manufacture of carpets in the Central Jail. Mrs. Bronckhorst kept entirely to her house, and let charitable folks say what they pleased. Opinions were divided. Some two-thirds of the station jumped at once to the conclusion that Biel was guilty; but a dozen men who knew and liked him held by him. Biel was furious and surprised. He denied the whole thing, and vowed that he would thrash Bronckhorst within an inch of his life. No jury, we knew, would convict a man on the criminal count on native evidence in a land where you can buy a murder-charge, including the corpse, all complete for fifty-four rupees; but Biel did not care to scrape through by the benefit of a doubt. He wanted the whole thing cleared; but, as he said one night, 'He can prove anything with servants' evidence, and I've only my bare word.' This was almost a month before the case came on; and beyond agreeing with Biel, we could do little. All that we could be sure of was that the native evidence would be bad enough to blast Biel's character for the rest of his service; for when a native begins perjury he perjures himself thoroughly. He does not boggle over details.

      Some genius at the end of the table whereat the affair was being talked over, said, 'Look here! I don't believe lawyers are any good. Get a man to wire to Strickland, and beg him to come down and pull us

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