Such a marriage could not possibly prove happy, but it was more
unfortunate in its results than could have been imagined. The man's
craving for drink grew with its indulgence. His wife, neglected by
him, followed his example and took to that sorry comforter; before long
she had acquired habits of drunkenness that disgusted even him. Soon
she had fallen so low that her life was a crying scandal for its
unrestrained vices.
The man's companions took a savage pleasure in taunting him about his
wife's depravity, until the very mention of her name was hateful to
him. He acknowledged that he himself was bad enough, but her conduct
had reached the extreme of vileness. The result was what might have
been foreseen. Quarrels and recriminations were perpetual. The man
hated the woman because of her vicious life; he hated himself because,
as his conscience reminded him in lucid intervals, he was responsible
for her downfall.
The regiment was on the eve of removing to other quarters, and much as
he would have liked to leave his wife behind to shift for herself, he
dare not face the consequences. Coming to her lodgings, therefore, to
arrange about her journey, he found the woman hopelessly incapable.
His mad rage against her was inflamed by the drink he had just taken;
in his anger he was strongly tempted to rid himself of the burden she
had become. Nothing could be easier! No one had seen him enter the
house, and there was every chance of his being able to steal away
unperceived, in the dusk of the evening.
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