acted his part_! It supposes, not only that he has been faithful; but,
that he has not, in any way, been the cause of temptation to the wife to
be unfaithful. If he have been cold and neglectful; if he have led a
life of irregularity; if he have proved to her that _home_ was not his
delight; if he have made his house the place of resort for loose
companions; if he have given rise to a taste for visiting, junketting,
parties of pleasure and gaiety; if he have introduced the habit of
indulging in what are called '_innocent freedoms_;' if these, or any of
these, _the fault is his_, he must take the consequences, and he has _no
right_ to inflict punishment on the offender, the offence being in fact
of his own creating. The laws of God, as well as the laws of man, have
given him all power in this respect: it is for him to use that power for
the honour of his wife as well as for that of himself: if he neglect to
use it, all the consequences ought to fall on him; and, as far as my
observation has gone, in nineteen out of twenty cases of infidelity in
wives, the crimes have been _fairly ascribable to the husbands_. Folly
or misconduct in the husband, cannot, indeed, justify or even palliate
infidelity in the wife, whose very nature ought to make her recoil at
the thought of the offence; but it may, at the same time, deprive him of
the right of inflicting punishment on her: her kindred, her children,
and the world, will justly hold her in abhorrence; but the husband must
hold his peace.
207. '_Innocent freedoms!_' I know of none that a wife can indulge in.
The words, as applied to the demeanour of a married woman, or even a
single one, imply a contradiction. For _freedom_, thus used, means an
exemption or departure from the _strict rules of female reserve_; and, I
do not see how this can be _innocent_. It may not amount to _crime_,
indeed; but, still it is not _innocent_; and the use of the phrase is
dangerous. If it had been my fortune to be yoked to a person, who liked
'innocent freedoms,' I should have unyoked myself in a very short time.
But, to say the truth, it is all a man's own fault. If he have not sense
and influence enough to prevent 'innocent freedoms,' even _before_
marriage, he will do well to let the thing alone, and leave wives to be
managed by those who have. But, men will talk to your wife, and natter
her. To be sure they will, if she be young and pretty; and would you go
and pull her away from them? O no, by no means; but you must have very
little sense, or must have made very little use of it, if her manner do
not soon convince them that they employ their flattery in vain.
208. So much of a man's happiness and of his _efficiency_ through life
depends upon his mind being quite free from all anxieties of this sort,
that too much care cannot be taken to guard against them; and, I repeat,
that the great preservation of all is, the young couple living as much
as possible _at home_, and having as few visitors as possible. If they
do not prefer the company of each other to that of all the world
besides; if either of them be weary of the company of the other; if they
do not, when separated by business or any other cause, think with
pleasure of the time of meeting again, it is a bad omen. Pursue this
course when young, and the very thought of jealousy will never come into
your mind; and, if you do pursue it, and show by your _deeds_ that you
value your wife as you do your own life, you must be pretty nearly an
idiot, if she do not think you to be the wisest man in the world. The
_best_ man she will be sure to think you, and she will never forgive any
one that calls your talents or your wisdom in question.
209. Now, will you say that, if to be happy, nay, if to avoid misery and
ruin in the married state, requires all these precautions, all these
cares, to fail to any extent in any of which is to bring down on a man's
head such fearful consequences; will you say that, if this be the case,
_it is better to remain single_? If you should say this, it is my
business to show that you are in error. For, in the first place, it is
against nature to suppose that children can cease to be born; they must
and will come; and then it follows, that they must come by promiscuous
intercourse, or by particular connexion. The former nobody will contend
for, seeing that it would put us, in this respect, on a level with the
brute creation. Then, as the connexion is to be _particular_, it must be
_during pleasure_, or for the _joint lives of the parties_. The former
would seldom hold for any length of time: the tie would seldom be
durable, and it would be feeble on account of its uncertain duration.
Therefore, to be a _father_, with all the lasting and delightful ties
attached to the name, you must first be a husband; and there are very
few men in the world who do not, first or last, desire to be _fathers_.
If it be said, that marriage ought not to be for life, but that its
duration ought to be subject to the will, the _mutual will_ at least, of
the parties; the answer is, that it would seldom be of long duration.
Every trifling dispute would lead to a separation; a hasty word would be
enough. Knowing that the engagement is for life, prevents disputes too;
it checks anger in its beginnings. Put a rigging horse into a field with
a weak fence, and with captivating pasture on the other side, and he is
continually trying to get out; but, let the field be walled round, he
makes the best of his hard fare, and divides his time between grazing
and sleeping. Besides, there could be no _families_, no assemblages of
persons worthy of that name; all would be confusion and indescribable
intermixture: the names of _brother_ and _sister_ would hardly have a
meaning; and, therefore, there must be marriage, or there can be nothing
worthy of the name of family or of father.
210. The _cares_ and _troubles_ of the married life are many; but, are
those of the single life few? Take the _farmer_, and it is nearly the
same with the tradesman; but, take the farmer, for instance, and let
him, at the age of twenty-five, go into business unmarried. See his maid
servants, probably rivals for his smiles, but certainly rivals in the
charitable distribution of his victuals and drink amongst those of their
own rank: behold _their_ guardianship of his pork-tub, his bacon rack,
his butter, cheese, milk, poultry, eggs, and all the rest of it: look at
_their_ care of all his household stuff, his blankets, sheets,
pillow-cases, towels, knives and forks, and particularly of his
_crockery ware_, of which last they will hardly exceed a single
cart-load of broken bits in the year. And, how nicely they will get up
and take care of his linen and other wearing apparel, and always have it
ready for him without his thinking about it! If absent at market, or
especially at a distant fair, how scrupulously they will keep all their
cronies out of his house, and what special care they will take of his
_cellar_, more particularly that which holds the strong beer! And his
groceries and his spirits and his _wine_ (for a bachelor can _afford_
it), how safe these will all be! Bachelors have not, indeed, any more
than married men, a security for _health_; but if our young farmer be
sick, there are his couple of maids to take care of him, to administer
his medicine, and to perform for him all other nameless offices, which
in such a case are required; and what is more, take care of every thing
down stairs at the same time, especially his desk with the money in it!
Never will they, good-humoured girls as they are, scold him for coming
home too late; but, on the contrary, like him the better for it; and if
he have drunk a little too much, so much the better, for then he will
sleep late in the morning, and when he comes out at last, he will find
that his men have been _so hard_ at work, and that all his animals have
been taken such good care of!
211. Nonsense! a bare glance at the thing shows, that a farmer, above
all men living, can never carry on his affairs with profit without a
wife, or a mother, or a daughter, or some such person; and _mother_ and
_daughter_ imply matrimony. To be sure, a wife would cause some
_trouble_, perhaps, to this young man. There might be the midwife and
nurse to gallop after at midnight; there might be, and there ought to
be, if called for, a little complaining of late hours; but, good God!
what are these, and all the other _troubles_ that could attend a married
life; what are they, compared to the one single circumstance of the want
of a wife at your bedside during one single night of illness! A nurse!
what is a nurse to do for you? Will she do the things that a wife will
do? Will she watch your looks and your half-uttered wishes? Will she use
the urgent persuasions so often necessary to save life in such cases?
Will she, by her acts, convince you that it is not a toil, but a
delight, to break her rest for your sake? In short, now it is that you
find that what the women themselves say is strictly true, namely, that
without wives, _men are poor helpless mortals_.
212. As to the _expense_, there is no comparison between that of a woman
servant and a wife, in the house of a farmer or a tradesman. The wages
of the former is not the expense; it is the want of a _common interest_
with you, and this you can obtain in no one but a wife. But there are
_the children_. I, for my part, firmly believe that a farmer, married at
twenty-five, and having ten children during the first ten years, would
be able to save more money during these years, than a bachelor, of the
same age, would be able to save, on the same farm, in a like space of
time, he keeping only one maid servant. One single fit of illness, of
two months' duration, might sweep away more than all the children would
cost in the whole ten years, to say nothing of the continual waste and
pillage, and the idleness, going on from the first day of the ten years
to the last.
213. Besides, is the money _all_? What a life to lead!! No one to talk
to without going from home, or without getting some one to come to you;
no friend to sit and talk to: pleasant evenings to pass! Nobody to share
with you your sorrows or your pleasures: no soul having a common
interest with you: all around you taking care of themselves, and no care
of you: no one to cheer you in moments of depression: to say all in a
word, no one to _love_ you, and no prospect of ever seeing any such one
to the end of your days. For, as to parents and brethren, if you have
them, they have other and very different ties; and, however laudable
your feelings as son and brother, those feelings are of a different
character. Then as to gratifications, from which you will hardly abstain
altogether, are they generally of little expense? and are they attended
with no trouble, no vexation, no disappointment, no _jealousy_ even, and
are they never followed by shame or remorse?
214. It does very well in bantering songs, to say that the bachelor's
life is '_devoid of care_.' My observation tells me the contrary, and
reason concurs, in this regard, with experience. The bachelor has no one
on whom he can in all cases rely. When he quits his home, he carries
with him cares that are unknown to the married man. If, indeed, like the
common soldier, he have merely a lodging-place, and a bundle of clothes,
given in charge to some one, he may be at his ease; but if he possess
any thing of a home, he is never sure of its safety; and this
uncertainty is a great enemy to cheerfulness. And as to _efficiency_ in
life, how is the bachelor to equal the married man? In the case of
farmers and tradesmen, the latter have so clearly the advantage over the
former, that one need hardly insist upon the point; but it is, and must
be, the same in all the situations of life. To provide for a wife and
children is the greatest of all possible spurs to exertion. Many a man,
naturally prone to idleness, has become active and industrious when he
saw children growing up about him; many a dull sluggard has become, if
not a bright man, at least a bustling man, when roused to exertion by
his love. Dryden's account of the change wrought in CYMON, is only a
strong case of the kind. And, indeed, if a man will not exert himself
for the sake of a wife and children, he can have no exertion in him; or
he must be deaf to all the dictates of nature.
215. Perhaps the world never exhibited a more striking proof of the
truth of this doctrine than that which is exhibited in me; and I am sure
that every one will say, without any hesitation, that a fourth part of
the labours I have performed, never would have been performed, _if I had
not been a married man_. In the first place, they could not; for I
should, all the early part of my life, have been rambling and roving
about as most bachelors are. I should have had _no home_ that I cared a
straw about, and should have wasted the far greater part of my time. The
great affair of home being _settled_, having the home secured, I had
leisure to employ my mind on things which it delighted in. I got rid at
once of all cares, all _anxieties_, and had only to provide for the very
moderate wants of that home. But the children began to come. They
sharpened my industry: they spurred me on. To be sure, I had other and
strong motives: I wrote for fame, and was urged forward by
ill-treatment, and by the desire to triumph over my enemies; but, after
all, a very large part of my _nearly a hundred volumes_ may be fairly
ascribed to the wife and children.
216. I might have done _something_; but, perhaps, not a _thousandth_
part of what I have done; not even a thousandth part: for the chances
are, that I, being fond of a military life, should have ended my days
ten or twenty years ago, in consequence of wounds, or fatigue, or, more
likely, in consequence of the persecutions of some haughty and insolent
fool, whom nature had formed to black my shoes, and whom a system of
corruption had made my commander. _Love_ came and rescued me from this
state of horrible slavery; placed the whole of my time at my own
disposal; made me as free as air; removed every restraint upon the
operations of my mind, naturally disposed to communicate its thoughts to
others; and gave me, for my leisure hours, a companion, who, though
deprived of all opportunity of acquiring what is _called learning_, had
so much good sense, so much useful knowledge, was so innocent, so just
in all her ways, so pure in thought, word and deed, so disinterested, so
generous, so devoted to me and her children, so free from all disguise,
and, withal, so beautiful and so talkative, and in a voice so sweet, so
cheering, that I must, seeing the health and the capacity which it had
pleased God to give me, have been a _criminal_, if I had done much less
than that which I have done; and I have always said, that, if my country
feel any gratitude for my labours, that gratitude is due to her full as
much as to me.
217. _'Care'!_ What _care_ have I known! I have been buffeted about by
this powerful and vindictive Government; I have repeatedly had the fruit
of my labour snatched away from me by it; but I had a partner that never
frowned, that was never melancholy, that never was subdued in spirit,
that never abated a smile, on these occasions, that fortified me, and
sustained me by her courageous example, and that was just as busy and as
zealous in taking care of the remnant as she had been in taking care of
the whole; just as cheerful, and just as full of caresses, when brought
down to a mean hired lodging, as when the mistress of a fine country
house, with all its accompaniments; and, whether from her words or her
looks, no one could gather that she regretted the change. What '_cares_'
have I had, then? What have I had worthy of the name of '_cares_'?
218. And, how is it _now_? How is it when the _sixty-fourth year_ has
come? And how should I have been without this wife and these children? I
_might_ have amassed a tolerable heap of _money_; but what would that
have done for me? It might have _bought_ me plenty of _professions_ of
attachment; plenty of persons impatient for my exit from the world; but
not one single grain of sorrow, for any anguish that might have attended
my approaching end. To me, no being in this world appears so wretched as
an _Old Bachelor_. Those circumstances, those changes in his person and
in his mind, which, in the husband, increase rather than diminish the
attentions to him, produce all the want of feeling attendant on disgust;
and he beholds, in the conduct of the mercenary crew that generally
surround him, little besides an eager desire to profit from that event,
the approach of which, nature makes a subject of sorrow with him.
219. Before I quit this part of my work, I cannot refrain from offering
my opinion with regard to what is due from husband to wife, when the
_disposal of his property_ comes to be thought of. When marriage is an
affair settled by deeds, contracts, and lawyers, the husband, being
bound beforehand, has really no _will_ to make. But where he has _a
will_ to make, and a faithful wife to leave behind him, it is his first
duty to provide for her future well-being, to the utmost of his power.
If she brought him _no money_, she brought him _her person_; and by
delivering that up to him, she established a claim to his careful
protection of her to the end of her life. Some men think, or act as if
they thought, that, if a wife bring no money, and if the husband gain
money by his business or profession, that money is _his_, and not hers,
because she has not been doing any of those things for which the money
has been received. But is this way of thinking _just_? By the marriage
vow, the husband endows the wife _with all his worldly goods_; and not a
bit too much is this, when she is giving him the command and possession
of her person. But does she _not help to acquire the money_? Speaking,
for instance, of the farmer or the merchant, the wife does not, indeed,
go to plough, or to look after the ploughing and sowing; she does not
purchase or sell the stock; she does not go to the fair or the market;
but she enables him to do all these without injury to his affairs at
home; she is the guardian of his property; she preserves what would
otherwise be lost to him. The barn and the granary, though they _create_
nothing, have, in the bringing of food to our mouths, as much merit as
the fields themselves. The wife does not, indeed, assist in the
merchant's counting-house; she does not go upon the exchange; she does
not even know what he is doing; but she keeps his house in order; she
rears up his children; she provides a scene of suitable resort for his
friends; she insures him a constant retreat from the fatigues of his
affairs; she makes his home pleasant, and she is the guardian of his
income.
220. In both these cases, the wife _helps to gain the money_; and in
cases where there is no gain, where the income is by descent, or is
fixed, she helps to prevent it from being squandered away. It is,
therefore, as much _hers_ as it is the husband's; and though _the law_
gives him, in many cases, the power of keeping her share from her, no
just man will ever avail himself of that power. With regard to the
_tying up_ of widows from marrying again, I will relate what took place
in a case of this kind, in America. A merchant, who had, during his
married state, risen from poverty to very great riches, and who had,
nevertheless, died at about forty years of age, left the whole of his
property to his wife for her life, and at her disposal at her death,
_provided that she did not marry_. The consequence was, that she took a
husband _without marrying_, and, at her death (she having no children),
gave the whole of the property to the second husband! So much for
_posthumous jealousy_!
221. Where there are _children_, indeed, it is the duty of the husband
to provide, in certain cases, against _step-fathers_, who are very prone
not to be the most just and affectionate parents. It is an unhappy
circumstance, when a dying father is compelled to have fears of this
sort. There is seldom _an apology_ to be offered for a mother that will
hazard the happiness of her children by a second marriage. The _law_
allows it, to be sure; but there is, as Prior says, 'something beyond
the letter of the law.' I know what ticklish ground I am treading on
here; but, though it is _as lawful_ for a woman to take a second husband
as for a man to take a second wife, the cases are different, and widely
different, in the eye of morality and of reason; for, as adultery in the
wife is a greater offence than adultery in the husband; as it is more
gross, as it includes _prostitution_; so a second marriage in the woman
is more gross than in the man, argues great deficiency in that
_delicacy_, that _innate_ modesty, which, after all, is the _great
charm_, the charm of charms, in the female sex. I do not _like_ to hear
a man _talk_ of his _first wife_, especially in the presence of a
second; but to hear a woman thus _talk_ of her _first husband_, has
never, however beautiful and good she might be, failed to sink her in my
estimation. I have, in such cases, never been able to keep out of my
mind that _concatenation of ideas_, which, in spite of custom, in spite
of the frequency of the occurrence, leave an impression deeply
disadvantageous to the party; for, after the greatest of ingenuity has
exhausted itself in the way of apology, it comes to this at last, that
the person has _a second time_ undergone that surrender, to which
nothing but the most ardent affection, could ever reconcile a chaste and
delicate woman.
222. The usual apologies, that 'a _lone woman_ wants a _protector_; that
she cannot _manage her estate_; that she cannot _carry on her business_;
that she wants a _home for her children_'; all these apologies are not
worth a straw; for what is the amount of them? Why, that she _surrenders
her person_ to secure these ends! And if we admit the validity of such
apologies, are we far from apologising for the kept-mistress, and even
the prostitute? Nay, the former of these _may_ (if she confine herself
to _one man_) plead more boldly in her defence; and even the latter may
plead that hunger, which knows no law, and no decorum, and no delicacy.
These unhappy, but justly-reprobated and despised parties, are allowed
no apology at all: though reduced to the begging of their bread, the
world grants them no excuse. The sentence on them is: 'You shall suffer
every hardship; you shall submit to hunger and nakedness; you shall
perish by the way-side, rather than you shall _surrender your person_ to
the _dishonour of the female sex_.' But can we, without crying
injustice, pass this sentence upon them, and, at the same time hold it
to be proper, decorous, and delicate, that widows shall _surrender their
persons_ for _worldly gain_, for the sake of _ease_, or for any
consideration whatsoever?