Edwin Forrest — What Makes a Man's Life Large or Small?

A Mix Up of Large and Small in Marriage

The purpose of love, Aesthetic Realism taught me, is through being close to another person, to like the world itself "as a large and unlimited fact." A man needs to see, too, that his wife comes from the whole world and has reality's opposites in her. When he doesn't, a kitchen implement looms large and everything else is made insignificant.

Eugene Henderson, 32 years old, told us that he and his wife, Linda, had a very good time going out one afternoon, but when they got home they got into an argument:

Eugene Henderson:  It started very small and escalated to really something I didn't expect—with tears. And I felt bad especially because we had a great time, and then domestic issues pop up...She was cooking, making veggie burgers, and I have a habit, as she's using a spatula, of putting it in the sink.

Consultants:  Before she's finished?

Eugene Henderson:  Yes. But she objected and said, "Please don't put the spatula in the sink." Then she said why she didn't like it, that I do this often and it's a war--she takes it out, I put it in. And I felt, "Why is she going on about this?" So I said, "This is not a big deal."

Consultants:  Does Linda Henderson have any feeling that you want to neaten her up? Get her in order?

Eugene Henderson:  Perhaps she does.

Consultants:  Men can want to straighten a woman up. Is that an ethical matter—and should a woman object?

Eugene Henderson:  Yes, she should.

Eugene Henderson:  Yeah, work-wise and then personally. But I don't like getting into fights.

Consultants:  Well, maybe. But we've seen that men and women can have a large feeling, and all of a sudden, an argument. Mr. Siegel said if love is going to go well, people have to study that in themselves which is against loving anything. Do you have that?

Eugene Henderson:  Yes, I do.

Consultants:  The desire not to care for anything, and the desire to care—can those two things be raging in a person?

Eugene Henderson:  Yes, they can. Thank you for explaining that.

Those two things were raging in Edwin Forrest in his marriage to Catherine Sinclair. When they met in London, Forrest was 30, she was 18, and he was taken by her vivacity, her beauty and her keen mind. But soon after bringing his new bride to New York, Forrest made the mistake of many husbands—he wanted a snug haven with her apart from the world. He bought an impressive house on West 23rd Street, which, as Richard Moody writes, "sheltered the...newlyweds in solitary splendor," and where Forrest "settled in as Lord of the Manor."

How lucky I was to hear questions just after I was married to Meryl Nietsch-Cooperman about my tendency to be complacent—which was rather intense. In one class Ellen Reiss asked, "Is there anything in Bennett Cooperman that would like to rest now, and feel he's achieved certain things that are valuable. Rest and get pats on the cheek?" And she asked if I wanted to use Meryl as "a harbor or a lighthouse?" It was too much the first, but I'm very glad to say that has changed!

Much went on with Forrest and his wife. It seems he mainly wanted her at home to serve and soothe him when he returned from the rigors of the theatre. Catherine Sinclair was a cultured woman and she did not like this, writing once to a friend that, "the relative position of husband and wife must be that of companions; not master on one side, and dependence on the other."

I learned that when a couple use each other to have a separate world, and when a man lessens the largeness of the world in his wife, there will inevitably be distrust and pain. This came to a head when, at home, Forrest found a letter written to his wife by a male friend, expressing ardent feelings for her. She vehemently denied any infidelity, but once this was in Forrest's mind it "gnawed at him day after day." He became cold and distant, finally forcing his wife to leave their home. A bitter, scandalous divorce trial followed, which Forrest lost.

Article Sections
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5