The Sister's Tragedy

— There is a charming little story by Mrs. Deland, Mr. Tommy Dove, that touches upon a subject on which, I confess, my heart has been sore for some time. True, the chief characters here are worked out in what might be called such very thin colors, that the brief milk-and-water romance between Jane. Temple and her lover (Jane meekly sacrifices the hope of happiness and a home of her own, that come to her late in life, because she thinks her relatives “ need ” her) verges close upon the ludicrous ; yet this cannot wholly blind us to the pathos of it all ; for it but reflects the fate of many single women,— very frequently an unmarried sister of husband or wife, — who, left in the world without independent means of their own, and perhaps not possessing either the mental or moral stamina to be “ self-supporting,” are unfortunate enough to have to make their home with their nearest relatives (I use the adverb quite advisedly), and whose lives might not inappropriately be called the Sister’s Tragedy, though in a sense wholly different from that of Mr. Aldrich’s most admirable poem.

So far as my observations go, I am bound to say most married people are apt to grow small and selfish, in cases, at least, where those members of society are concerned who have been left outside the pale of “ blessed matrimony,” and all their interests and sympathies become merged in their own narrow home-circle. This, perhaps, is all humanly natural enough, and might be entirely right, if only they did not insist upon drawing with them into their small domestic whirlpool other lives, which, if they be but “ meek and lowly ” enough, will go down and disappear in the flood, without so much as a bubble rising to the surface to show they ever existed. They are simply seized, swallowed, and ground into hopeless powder, by the remorseless “ family machine.” Indeed, the selfishness of people in this respect, what might perhaps be called the “ collective family selfishness,” is absolutely wonderful, unconscious though it may be ; and let me give them the benefit of the doubt. Again and again, I have been amazed and pained to see not only how much active help and service are constantly called upon, but what large and never-ending drafts are made upon interest, sympathy, counsel, moral support, in any and every shape, where actually nothing is given in return, until it seems as if the unmarried sister has no rights that the family is bound to respect. Her taste and judgment are appealed to for every patch of carpet that comes into the house, every shred of clothing that goes on the children’s back, every phase of that difficult problem, the “ servant question.” She is expected to remember all about Jackie’s first tooth and Bobbie’s first attempts at walking, and how the two young hopefuls compare ; is asked again and again to admire the baby’s delicate ears or tiny pink toes. But who ever inquires of her, How do you feel ? What are you thinking, or doing, or planning ? Whether her head aches, or her feet are weary, whether she suffers from sadness and depression, and in all the midst of the turbulent life about her, such as only noisy children know howto create, from an intolerable sense of loneliness and heartache, who knows of it, and what does it matter ? So long as she is faithfully at her post, and the family machine runs smoothly, all is well. It is simply expected of her, as a matter of course, as the most natural thing in the world, that she give her whole time and strength, sacrifice “ heart and soul, body and bones,” every hope, interest, or ambition of her own that she may have in the world, almost literally and absolutely her entire Self for the good of the family, and thank God for the chance !

It is all very fine to say, Throw yourself out into the lives of others, and forget all the claims of self, “ for of such is the kingdom of Heaven ” ! In the first place, not all natures are capable of that process ; and more, no one with any depth of mind or any strength of character could for one moment wish to be absorbed in the lives of others, to the actual extinction of her own individuality. But it requires, indeed, no inconsiderable strength of character, and perhaps a somewhat peculiar and decidedly self-poised disposition, for the “ lone woman ” to “ hold her head stiff,” and in some measure, at least, ward off the constant and insistent claims made upon her by the family ; and if she ventures to do so, for any reason whatever, refuses to immolate herself absolutely and without reserve on the family altar, be sure she will be considered intensely disagreeable and unutterably selfish, — a sort of unnatural monster, in fact ! And it is really at this point that my feeling rises highest. For why should the Golden Rule not be made to work both ways, but apply to only one of the parties, and that the weaker ? If it is not good for any of us to indulge selfishness and selfish thoughtlessness, why should the family have that privilege ? In another form, this is still the “ war of society against the individual.”

There is probably not a single reader of the Club who could not point to at least one “ victim ” of this kind, among her or his acquaintances, for the name of these silent martyrs and uncomplaining saints is legion all over the world. It is a chapter of human life never yet very fully worked by writers of fiction ; but that it is a mine rich in the pathos of suffering and unwritten tragedy, surely the Recording Angel, at least, knows, even if no one else takes the trouble to inquire.