stand;' and it _is_ divided against itself if there be a _divided
authority_. The wife ought to be _heard_, and _patiently_ heard; she
ought to be reasoned with, and, if possible, convinced; but if, after
all endeavours in this way, she remain opposed to the husband's opinion,
his will _must_ be obeyed; or he, at once, becomes nothing; she is, in
fact, the _master_, and he is nothing but an insignificant inmate. As to
matters of little comparative moment; as to what shall be for dinner; as
to how the house shall be furnished; as to the management of the house
and of menial servants; as to these matters, and many others, the wife
may have her way without any danger; but when the questions are, what is
to be the _calling_ to be pursued; what is to be the _place of
residence_; what is to be the _style_ of living and _scale_ of expence;
what is to be done with _property_; what the manner and place of
educating children; what is to be their _calling_ or state of life; who
are to be employed or entrusted by the husband; what are the principles
that he is to adopt as to public matters; whom he is to have for
coadjutors or friends; all these must be left solely to the husband; in
all these he must have his will; or there never can be any harmony in
the family.
190. Nevertheless, in some of these concerns, wives should be heard with
a great deal of attention, especially in the affairs of choosing your
male acquaintances and friends and associates. Women are more
quick-sighted than men; they are less disposed to confide in persons
upon a first acquaintance; they are more suspicious as to motives; they
are less liable to be deceived by professions and protestations; they
watch words with a more scrutinizing ear, and looks with a keener eye;
and, making due allowance for their prejudices in particular cases,
their opinions and remonstrances, with regard to matters of this sort,
ought not to be set at naught without great deliberation. LOUVET, one of
the Brissotins, who fled for their lives in the time of ROBESPIERRE;
this LOUVET, in his narrative, entitled '_Mes Perils_' and which I read,
for the first time, to divert my mind from the perils of the
yellow-fever, in Philadelphia, but with which I was so captivated as to
have read it many times since; this writer, giving an account of his
wonderful dangers and escapes, relates, that being on his way to Paris
from the vicinity of Bordeaux, and having no regular _passport_, fell
lame, but finally crept on to a miserable pot-house, in a small town in
the Limosin. The landlord questioned him with regard to who and what he
was and whence he came and was satisfied with his answers. But the
landlady, who had looked sharply at him on his arrival, whispered a
little boy, who ran away, and quickly returned with the mayor of the
town. LOUVET soon discovered that there was no danger in the mayor, who
could not decipher his forged passport, and who, being well plied with
wine, wanted to hear no more of the matter. The landlady, perceiving
this, slipped out and brought a couple of aldermen, who asked _to see
the passport_. 'O, yes; but _drink first_.' Then there was a laughing
story to tell over again, at the request of the half-drunken mayor; then
a laughing and more drinking; the passport in LOUVET'S hand, but _never
opened_, and, while another toast was drinking, the passport slid back
quietly into the pocket; the woman looking furious all the while. At
last, the mayor, the aldermen, and the landlord, all nearly drunk, shook
hands with LOUVET, and wished him a good journey, swore he was a _true
sans culotte_; but, he says, that the 'sharp-sighted woman, who was to
be deceived by none of his stories or professions, saw him get off with
deep and manifest disappointment and chagrin.' I have thought of this
many times since, when I have had occasion to witness the
quick-sightedness and penetration of women. The same quality that makes
them, as they notoriously are, more quick in discovering expedients in
cases of difficulty, makes them more apt to penetrate into motives and
character.
191. I now come to a matter of the greatest possible importance; namely,
that great troubler of the married state, that great bane of families,
JEALOUSY; and I shall first speak of _jealousy_ in the _wife_. This is
always an unfortunate thing, and sometimes fatal. Yet, if there be a
great propensity towards it, it is very difficult to be prevented. One
thing, however, every husband can do in the way of prevention; and that
is, _to give no ground for it_. And here, it is not sufficient that he
strictly adhere to his marriage vow; he ought further to abstain from
every art, however free from guilt, calculated to awaken the slightest
degree of suspicion in a mind, the peace of which he is bound by every
tie of justice and humanity not to disturb, or, if he can avoid it, to
suffer it to be disturbed by others. A woman that is very fond of her
husband, and this is the case with nine-tenths of English and American
women, does not like to share with another any, even the smallest
portion, not only of his affection, but of his assiduities and applause;
and, as the bestowing of them on another, and receiving payment in kind,
can serve no purpose other than of gratifying one's _vanity_, they ought
to be abstained from, and especially if the gratification be to be
purchased with even the chance of exciting uneasiness in her, whom it is
your sacred duty to make as happy as you can.
192. For about two or three years after I was married, I, retaining some
of my military manners, used, both in France and America, to _romp_ most
famously with the girls that came in my way; till one day, at
Philadelphia, my wife said to me, in a very gentle manner, 'Don't do
that: _I do not like it_.' That was quite enough: I had never _thought_
on the subject before: one hair of her head was more dear to me than all
the other women in the world, and this I knew that she knew; but I now
saw that this was not all that she had a right to from me; I saw, that
she had the further claim upon me that I should abstain from every thing
that might induce others to believe that there was any other woman for
whom, even if I were at liberty, I had any affection. I beseech young
married men to bear this in mind; for, on some trifle of this sort, the
happiness or misery of a long life frequently turns. If the mind of a
wife be disturbed on this score, every possible means ought to be used
to restore it to peace; and though her suspicions be perfectly
groundless; though they be wild as the dreams of madmen; though they may
present a mixture of the furious and the ridiculous, still they are to
be treated with the greatest lenity and tenderness; and if, after all,
you fail, the frailty is to be lamented as a misfortune, and not
punished as a fault, seeing that it _must_ have its foundation in a
feeling towards you, which it would be the basest of ingratitude, and
the most ferocious of cruelty, to repay by harshness of any description.
193. As to those husbands who make the _unjust_ suspicions of their
wives a _justification_ for making those suspicions just; as to such as
can make a sport of such suspicions, rather brag of them than otherwise,
and endeavour to aggravate rather than assuage them; as to such I have
nothing to say, they being far without the scope of any advice that I
can offer. But to such as are not of this description, I have a remark
or two to offer with respect to measures of _prevention_.
194. And, first, I never could see the _sense_ of its being a piece of
etiquette, a sort of mark of _good breeding_, to make it a rule that man
and wife are not to sit side by side in a mixed company; that if a party
walk out, the wife is to give her arm to some other than her husband;
that if there be any other hand near, _his_ is not to help to a seat or
into a carriage. I never could see the _sense_ of this; but I have
always seen the _nonsense_ of it plainly enough; it is, in short,
amongst many other foolish and mischievous things that we do in aping
the manners of those whose riches (frequently ill-gotten) and whose
power embolden them to set, with impunity, pernicious examples; and to
their examples this nation owes more of its degradation in morals than
to any other source. The truth is, that this is a piece _of false
refinement_: it, being interpreted, means, that so free are the parties
from a liability to suspicion, so innately virtuous and pure are they,
that each man can safely trust his wife with another man, and each woman
her husband with another woman. But this piece of false refinement, like
all others, overshoots its mark; it says too much; for it says that the
parties have _lewd thoughts in their minds_. This is not the _fact_,
with regard to people in general; but it must have been the origin of
this set of consummately ridiculous and contemptible rules.
195. Now I would advise a young man, especially if he have a pretty
wife, not to commit her unnecessarily to the care of any other man; not
to be separated from her in this studious and ceremonious manner; and
not to be ashamed to prefer her company and conversation to that of any
other woman. I never could discover any _good-breeding_ in setting
another man, almost expressly, to poke his nose up in the face of my
wife, and talk nonsense to her; for, in such cases, nonsense it
generally is. It is not a thing of much consequence, to be sure; but
when the wife is young, especially, it is not seemly, at any rate, and
it cannot possibly lead to any good, though it may not lead to any great
evil. And, on the other hand, you may be quite sure that, whatever she
may _seem_ to think of the matter, she will not like _you_ the better
for your attentions of this sort to other women, especially if they be
young and handsome: and as this species of fashionable nonsense can do
you no good, why gratify your love of talk, or the vanity of any woman,
at even the risk of exciting uneasiness in that mind of which it is your
most sacred duty to preserve, if you can, the uninterrupted
tranquillity.
196. The truth is, that the greatest security of all against jealousy in
a wife is to show, to _prove_, by your _acts_, by your words also, but
more especially by your _acts_, that you prefer her to all the world;
and, as I said before, I know of no act that is, in this respect, equal
to spending in her company every moment of your _leisure_ time. Every
body knows, and young wives better than any body else, that people, who
can choose, will be where _they like best to be_, and that they will be
along with those _whose company they best like_. The matter is very
plain, then, and I do beseech you to bear it in mind. Nor do I see the
use, or sense, of keeping a great deal of _company_, as it is called.
What company can a young man and woman want more than their two selves,
and their children, if they have any? If here be not company enough, it
is but a sad affair. The pernicious _cards_ are brought forth by the
company-keeping, the rival expenses, the sittings up late at night, the
seeing of '_the ladies home_,' and a thousand squabbles and disagreeable
consequences. But, the great thing of all is, that this hankering after
company, proves, clearly proves, that _you want something beyond the
society of your wife_; and that she is sure to feel most acutely: the
bare fact contains an imputation against her, and it is pretty sure to
lay the foundation of jealousy, or of something still worse.
197. If acts of kindness in you are necessary in all cases, they are
especially so in cases of her _illness_, from whatever cause arising. I
will not suppose myself to be addressing any husband capable of being
_unconcerned_ while his wife's life is in the most distant danger from
illness, though it has been my very great mortification to know in my
life time, two or three brutes of this description; but, far short of
this degree of brutality, a great deal of fault may be committed. When
men are ill, they feel every neglect with double anguish, and, what then
must be in such cases the feelings of women, whose ordinary feelings are
so much more acute than those of men; what must be their feelings in
case of neglect in illness, and especially if the neglect come _from the
husband_! Your own heart will, I hope, tell you what those feelings must
be, and will spare me the vain attempt to describe them; and, if it do
thus instruct you, you will want no arguments from me to induce you, at
such a season, to prove the sincerity of your affection by every kind
word and kind act that your mind can suggest. This is the time to try
you; and, be you assured, that the impression left on her mind now will
be the true and _lasting_ impression; and, if it be good, will be a
better preservative against her being jealous, than ten thousand of your
professions ten thousand times repeated. In such a case, you ought to
spare no expense that you can possibly afford; you ought to neglect
nothing that your means will enable you to do; for, what is the use of
money if it be not to be expended in this case? But, more than all the
rest, is your own _personal_ attention. This is the valuable thing; this
is the great balm to the sufferer, and, it is efficacious in proportion
as it is proved to be sincere. Leave nothing to other hands that you can
do yourself; the mind has a great deal to do in all the ailments of the
body, and, bear in mind, that, whatever be the event, you have a more
than ample reward. I cannot press this point too strongly upon you; the
bed of sickness presents no charms, no allurements, and women know this
well; they watch, in such a case, your every word and every look: and
now it is that their confidence is secured, or their suspicions excited,
for life.
198. In conclusion of these remarks, as to jealousy in a wife, I cannot
help expressing my abhorrence of those husbands who treat it as a matter
for ridicule. To be sure, infidelity in a man is less heinous than
infidelity in the wife; but still, is the marriage vow nothing? Is a
promise solemnly made before God, and in the face of the world, nothing?
Is a violation of a contract, and that, too, with a feebler party,
nothing of which a man ought to be ashamed? But, besides all these,
there is the _cruelty_. First, you win, by great pains, perhaps, a
woman's affections; then, in order to get possession of her person, you
marry her; then, after enjoyment, you break your vow, you bring upon her
the mixed pity and jeers of the world, and thus you leave her to weep
out her life. Murder is more horrible than this, to be sure, and the
criminal _law_, which punishes divers other crimes, does not reach this;
but, in the eye of reason and of moral justice, it is surpassed by very
few of those crimes. _Passion_ may be pleaded, and so it may, for almost
every other crime of which man can be guilty. It is not a crime _against
nature_; nor are any of these which men commit in consequence of their
necessities. _The temptation is great_; and is not the temptation great
when men thieve or rob? In short, there is no excuse for an act so
unjust and so cruel, and the world is just as to this matter; for, I
have always observed, that, however men are disposed to _laugh_ at these
breaches of vows in men, the act seldom fails to produce injury to the
whole character; it leaves, after all the joking, a stain, and, amongst
those who depend on character for a livelihood, it often produces ruin.
At the very least, it makes an unhappy and wrangling family; it makes
children despise or hate their fathers, and it affords an example at the
thought of the ultimate consequences of which a father ought to shudder.
In such a case, children will take part, and they ought to take part,
with the mother: she is the injured party; the shame brought upon her
attaches, in part, to them: they feel the injustice done them; and, if
such a man, when the grey hairs, and tottering knees, and piping voice
come, look round him in vain for a prop, let him, at last, be just, and
acknowledge that he has now the due reward of his own wanton cruelty to
one whom he had solemnly sworn to love and to cherish to the last hour
of his or her life.
199. But, bad as is conjugal infidelity in the _husband_, it is much
worse in the _wife_: a proposition that it is necessary to maintain by
the force of reason, because _the women_, as a sisterhood, are prone to
deny the truth of it. They say that _adultery_ is _adultery_, in men as
well as in them; and that, therefore, the offence is _as great_ in the
one case as in the other. As a crime, abstractedly considered, it
certainly is; but, as to the _consequences_, there is a wide difference.
In both cases, there is the breach of a solemn vow, but, there is this
great distinction, that the husband, by his breach of that vow, only
brings _shame_ upon his wife and family; whereas the wife, by a breach
of her vow, may bring the husband a spurious offspring to maintain, and
may bring that spurious offspring to rob of their fortunes, and in some
cases of their bread, her legitimate children. So that here is a great
and evident wrong done to numerous parties, besides the deeper disgrace
inflicted in this case than in the other.
200. And why is the disgrace _deeper_? Because here is a total want of
_delicacy_; here is, in fact, _prostitution_; here is grossness and
filthiness of mind; here is every thing that argues baseness of
character. Women should be, and they are, except in few instances, far
more reserved and more delicate than men; nature bids them be such; the
habits and manners of the world confirm this precept of nature; and
therefore, when they commit this offence, they excite loathing, as well
as call for reprobation. In the countries where a _plurality of wives_
is permitted, there is no _plurality of husbands_. It is there thought
not at all indelicate for a man to have several wives; but the bare
thought of a woman having _two husbands_ would excite horror. The
_widows_ of the Hindoos burn themselves in the pile that consumes their
husbands; but the Hindoo _widowers_ do not dispose of themselves in this
way. The widows devote their bodies to complete destruction, lest, even
after the death of their husbands, they should be tempted to connect
themselves with other men; and though this is carrying delicacy far
indeed, it reads to Christian wives a lesson not unworthy of their
attention; for, though it is not desirable that their bodies should be
turned into handfuls of ashes, even that transmutation were preferable
to that infidelity which fixes the brand of shame on the cheeks of their
parents, their children, and on those of all who ever called them
friend.
201. For these plain and forcible reasons it is that this species of
offence is far more heinous in the wife than in the husband; and the
people of all civilized countries act upon this settled distinction. Men
who have been guilty of the offence are not cut off from society, but
women who have been guilty of it are; for, as we all know well, no
woman, married or single, of _fair reputation_, will risk that
reputation by being ever seen, if she can avoid it, with a woman who has
ever, at any time, committed this offence, which contains in itself, and
by universal award, a sentence of social excommunication for life.
202. If, therefore, it be the duty of the husband to adhere strictly to
his marriage vow: if his breach of that vow be naturally attended with
the fatal consequences above described: how much more imperative is the
duty on the wife to avoid, even the semblance of a deviation from that
vow! If the man's misconduct, in this respect, bring shame on so many
innocent parties, what shame, what dishonour, what misery follow such
misconduct in the wife! Her parents, those of her husband, all her
relations, and all her friends, share in her dishonour. And _her
children_! how is she to make atonement to them! They are commanded to
honour their father and their mother; but not such a mother as this,
who, on the contrary, has no claim to any thing from them but hatred,
abhorrence, and execration. It is she who has broken the ties of nature;
she has dishonoured her own offspring; she has fixed a mark of reproach
on those who once made a part of her own body; nature shuts her out of
the pale of its influence, and condemns her to the just detestation of
those whom it formerly bade love her as their own life.
203. But as the crime is so much more heinous, and the punishment so
much more severe, in the case of the wife than it is in the case of the
husband, so the caution ought to be greater in making the accusation, or
entertaining the suspicion. Men ought to be very slow in entertaining
such suspicions: they ought to have clear _proof_ before they can
_suspect_; a proneness to such suspicions is a very unfortunate turn of
the mind; and, indeed, few characters are more despicable than that of a
_jealous-headed husband_; rather than be tied to the whims of one of
whom, an innocent woman of spirit would earn her bread over the
washing-tub, or with a hay-fork, or a reap-hook. With such a man there
can be no peace; and, as far as children are concerned, the false
accusation is nearly equal to the reality. When a wife discovers her
jealousy, she merely imputes to her husband inconstancy and breach of
his marriage vow; but jealousy in him imputes to her a willingness to
palm a spurious offspring upon him, and upon her legitimate children, as
robbers of their birthright; and, besides this, grossness, filthiness,
and prostitution. She imputes to him injustice and cruelty: but he
imputes to her that which banishes her from society; that which cuts her
off for life from every thing connected with female purity; that which
brands her with infamy to her latest breath.
204. Very slow, therefore, ought a husband to be in entertaining even
the thought of this crime in his wife. He ought to be _quite sure_
before he take the smallest step in the way of accusation; but if
unhappily he have the proof, no consideration on earth ought to induce
him to cohabit with her one moment longer. Jealous husbands are not
despicable because they have _grounds_; but because they _have not
grounds_; and this is generally the case. When they have grounds, their
own honour commands them to cast off the object, as they would cut out a
corn or a cancer. It is not the jealousy in itself, which is despicable;
but the _continuing to live in that state_. It is no dishonour to be a
slave in Algiers, for instance; the dishonour begins only where you
remain a slave _voluntarily_; it begins the moment you can escape from
slavery, and do not. It is despicable unjustly to be jealous of your
wife; but it is infamy to cohabit with her if you _know_ her to be
guilty.
205. I shall be told that the _law_ compels you to live with her, unless
you be _rich_ enough to disengage yourself from her; but the law does
not compel you to remain _in the same country with her_; and, if a man
have no other means of ridding himself of such a curse, what are
mountains or seas or traverse? And what is the risk (if such there be)
of exchanging a life of bodily ease for a life of labour? What are
these, and numerous other ills (if they happen) superadded? Nay, what is
death itself, compared with the baseness, the infamy, the never-ceasing
shame and reproach of living under the same roof with a prostituted
woman, and calling her your _wife_? But, there are _children_, and what
are to become of these? To be taken away from the prostitute, to be
sure; and this is a duty which you owe to them: the sooner they forget
her the better, and the farther they are from her, the sooner that will
be. There is no excuse for continuing to live with an adultress; no
inconvenience, no loss, no suffering, ought to deter a man from
delivering himself from such a state of filthy infamy; and to suffer his
children to remain in such a state, is a crime that hardly admits of
adequate description; a jail is paradise compared with such a life, and
he who can endure this latter, from the fear of encountering hardship,
is a wretch too despicable to go by the name of man.