THEY HAD A FEW WORDS.
"Something light as air--a look,
A word unkind or wrongly taken--
Oh, love, that tempests never shook,
A breath, a touch like this hath shaken,
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin."--_Moore._
"Married life should be a sweet, harmonious song, and, like one
of Mendelssohn's, 'without _words_.'"--_Judy._
When the sunshine of domestic bliss has become more or less clouded by
quarrels between a husband and wife, observers very often describe the
state of affairs by the euphemism at the head of this chapter. "They had
a few words"--this is the immediate cause of many a domestic
catastrophe. A young man was sent to Socrates to learn oratory. On being
introduced to the philosopher he talked so incessantly that Socrates
asked for double fees. "Why charge me double?" said the young fellow.
"Because," said Socrates, "I must teach you two sciences; the one how to
hold your tongue, and the other how to speak." It is impossible for
people to be happy in matrimony who will not learn the first of these
sciences.
We do not know whether Simonides was or was not a married man, but we
fancy he must have been, for he used to say that he never regretted
holding his tongue, but very often was sorry for having spoken. "Seest
thou a man that is hasty in his words? There is more hope of a fool than
of him." Sober second thoughts suggest palliatives and allowances that
temper prevents us from noticing. The simple act of self-denial in
restraining the expression of unpleasant feelings or harsh thoughts is
the foundation stone of a happy home. For nothing draws people so
closely together as the constant experience of mutual pleasure, and
nothing so quickly drives them asunder as the frequent endurance of pain
caused by one another's presence.
"One doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking."
Sometimes the husband blames the wife and the wife the husband when
neither of them is at fault. This always reminds us of Pat's mistake.
Two Irishmen walking along the same street, but coming from opposite
directions, approached, both smiling and apparently recognizing one
another. As they came closer they discovered that it was a mutual
mistake. Equal to the occasion one of them said, "Och, my friend, I see
how it is. You thought it was me, and I thought it was you, and now it's
naythur of us."
Burton tells of a woman who, hearing one of her "gossips" complain of
her husband's impatience, told her an excellent remedy for it. She gave
her a glass of water, which, when he brawled, she should hold still in
her mouth. She did so two or three times with great success, and at
length, seeing her neighbour, she thanked her for it, and asked to know
the ingredients. She told her that it was "fair water," and nothing
more, for it was not the water, but her silence which performed the
cure.
There are people who are kind in their actions and yet brutal in their
speech, and they forget that it is not every one who can bear, like
Boswell, to be told he is a fool. A woman may think she is always right
and her husband always wrong, but it does not make the wheels of
domestic life run smoother to say this in plain English. A man may have
a contempt for his wife's dearest brother, but to tell the wife or
brother so is not conducive to harmony.
It has sometimes been remarked that the marriage of a deaf and dumb man
to a blind woman would have obvious advantages. Each of the parties
would acquire an opportunity to practise little pantomimic scenes from
which ordinary married folks are debarred. When they quarrelled, for
instance--the wife being unable to see, while the husband could not hear
or speak--she could hurl at him broadside after broadside of
steel-pointed invective; and the poor man could but stand there, study
the motion of her lips, and fondly imagine she was telling him how sorry
she was that anything should come between them. He, on the other hand,
could sit down, shake his fists, and make hideous grimaces, she all the
while thinking he was sitting with his face buried in his hands, and
hot remorseful tears streaming from his eyes. Husbands and wives who are
not deprived of the use of their faculties might take the hint and
resolve not to use them too keenly on certain occasions. In a
matrimonial quarrel they need not hear or see everything.
"If you your lips would keep from slips,
Five things observe with care:
_Of_ whom you speak, _to_ whom you speak
And _how_, and _when_, and _where_.
The "last word" is the most dangerous of infernal machines. Husband and
wife should no more fight to get it than they would struggle for the
possession of a lighted bomb-shell. What is the use of the last word?
After getting it a husband might perhaps, as an American newspaper
suggests, advertise to whistle for a wager against a locomotive; but in
every other respect his victory would be useless and painful. It would
be a Cadmean victory in which the victor would suffer as much as the
vanquished. A farmer cut down a tree which stood so near the boundary
line of his farm that it was doubtful whether it belonged to him or to
his neighbour. The neighbour, however, claimed the tree, and prosecuted
the man who cut it for damages. The case was sent from court to court.
Time was wasted and temper lost; but the case was finally gained by the
prosecutor. The last of the transaction was that the man who gained the
cause went to the lawyer's office to execute a deed of his whole farm,
which he had been compelled to sell to pay his costs! Then, houseless
and homeless, he thrust his hands into his pockets, and triumphantly
exclaimed, "I've beat him!" In the same way husband and wife may become
bankrupt of heart-wealth by endeavouring to get the last word.
Men sometimes become fractious from pure monotony. When they are unable
to find subjects for profitable conversation there arises a propensity
to "nag" and find fault. In a Russian story, the title of which in
English is "Buried Alive," two prisoners are talking in the night, and
one relates: "I had got, somehow or other, in the way of beating her
(his wife). Some days I would keep at it from morning till night. I did
not know what to do with myself when I was not beating her. She used to
sit crying, and I could not help feeling sorry for her, and so I beat
her." Subsequently he murdered her. Are there not men above the class of
wife-beaters who indulge in fault-finding, "nagging," and other forms of
tongue-castigation? They have got into the habit. They do not know what
to do with themselves when not so employed. The tears of their wives
only irritate them.
Of course some wives are quite capable of giving as much as they get. It
is said that at a recent fashionable wedding, after the departure of the
happy pair, a dear little girl, whose papa and mamma were among the
guests, asked, with a child's innocent inquisitiveness: "Why do they
throw things at the pretty lady in the carriage?" "For luck, dear,"
replied one of the bridesmaids. "And why," again asked the child,
"doesn't she throw them back?" "Oh," said the young lady, "that would be
rude." "No it wouldn't," persisted the dear little thing to the delight
of her doting parents who stood by: "ma does."
"As the climbing up a sandy way is to the feet of the aged, so is a
wife full of words to a quiet man." She who "has a tongue of her own"
has always more last words to say, and, if she ever does close her
mouth, the question suggests itself whether she should not be arrested
for carrying concealed weapons. On the tombs of such wives might be
inscribed epitaphs like the following, which is to be found in a
churchyard in Surrey--
"Here lies, returned to clay,
Miss Arabella Young,
Who on the first of May
Began to hold her tongue."
Poor Caudle, as a rule, thought discretion the better part of valour,
and sought refuge in the arms of soothing slumber; but there are some
men who do not allow their wives to have it all their own way without at
least an occasional protest. "Do you pretend to have as good a judgment
as I have?" said an enraged wife to her husband. "Well, no," he replied,
deliberately; "our choice of partners for life shows that my judgment is
not to be compared to yours." When they have "a few words," however, the
woman usually has the best of it. "See here," said a fault-finding
husband, "we must have things arranged in this house so that we shall
know where everything is kept." "With all my heart," sweetly answered
his wife, "and let us begin with your late hours, my love. I should much
like to know where they are kept."
Such matrimonial word-battles may amuse outsiders as the skill of
gladiators used to amuse, but the combatants make themselves very
miserable. Far better to be incapable of making a repartee if we only
use the power to wound the feelings of the one whom we have vowed to
love. There is an art of putting things that should be studied by
married people. How many quarrels would be avoided if we could always
say with courtesy and tact any unpleasant thing that may have to be
said! It is related of a good-humoured celebrity that when a man once
stood before him and his friend at the theatre, completely shutting out
all view of the stage, instead of asking him to sit down, or in any way
giving offence, he simply said, "I beg your pardon, sir; but when you
see or hear anything particularly interesting on the stage, will you
please let us know, as we are entirely dependent on your kindness?" That
was sufficient. With a smile and an apology that only the art of putting
things could have extracted, the gentleman took his seat. There is a
story of a separation which took place simply because a gracious
announcement had been couched by a husband in ungracious terms. "My
dear, here is a little present I have brought to make you
good-tempered." "Sir," was the indignant reply, "do you dare to say that
it is necessary to bribe me into being good-tempered? Why, I am always
good-tempered; it is your violent temper, sir!" And so the quarrel went
on to the bitter end.
It is a very difficult thing to find fault well. We all have to find
fault at times, in reference to servants, children, husband, or wife;
but in a great number of cases the operation loses half its effect, or
has no effect at all, perhaps a downright bad effect, because of the way
in which it is done. Above all things remember this caution, never to
find fault when out of temper. Again, there is a time _not_ to find
fault, and in the right perception of when that time is lies no small
part of the art. The reproof which has most sympathy in it will be most
effectual. It understands and allows for infirmity. It was this sympathy
that prompted Dr. Arnold to take such pains in studying the characters
of his pupils, so that he might best adapt correction to each particular
case.
The very worst time for a husband and wife to have "a few words" is
dinner-time, because, if we have a good dinner, our attention should be
bestowed on what we are eating. He who bores us at dinner robs us of
pleasure and injures our health, a fact which the alderman realized when
he exclaimed to a stupid interrogator, "With your confounded questions,
sir, you've made me swallow a piece of green fat without tasting it."
Many a poor wife has to swallow her dinner without tasting it because
her considerate husband chooses this time to find fault with herself,
the children, the servants, and with everything except himself. The beef
is too much done, the vegetables too little, everything is cold. "I
think you might look after something! Oh! that is no excuse," and so on,
to the great disturbance of his own and his wife's digestion. God sends
food, but the devil sends the few cross words that prevent it from doing
us any good. We should have at least three laughs during dinner, and
every one is bound to contribute a share of agreeable table-talk,
good-humour, and cheerfulness.
"In politics," said Cavour, "nothing is so absurd as rancour." In the
same way we may say that nothing is so absurd in matrimony as sullen
silence. Reynolds in his "Life and Times" tells of a free-and-easy actor
who passed three festive days at the seat of the Marquis and Marchioness
of ---- without any invitation, convinced (as proved to be the case)
that, my lord and my lady not being on _speaking terms_, each would
suppose the other had asked him. A soft answer turns away wrath, and
when a wife or a husband is irritated there is nothing like letting a
subject drop. Then silence is indeed golden. But the silence persisted
in--as by the lady in the old comedy, who, in reply to her husband's
"For heaven's sake, my dear, do tell me what you mean," obstinately
keeps her lips closed--is an instrument of deadly torture. "A wise man
by his words maketh himself beloved." To this might be added that on
certain occasions a fool by his obstinate silence maketh himself hated.
"According to Milton, 'Eve kept silence in Eden to hear her husband
talk,'" said a gentleman to a lady friend; and then added, in a
melancholy tone, "Alas! there have been no Eves since." "Because,"
quickly retorted the lady, "there have been no husbands worth listening
to." Certainly there are too few men who exert themselves to be as
agreeable to their wives (their best friends), as they are to the
comparative strangers or secret enemies whom they meet at clubs and
other places of resort. And yet if it is true that "to be agreeable in
our family circle is not only a positive duty but an absolute morality,"
then every husband and wife should say on their wedding day--
"To balls and routs for fame let others roam,
Be mine the happier lot to please at home."
In one of the letters of Robertson, of Brighton, he tells of a lady who
related to him "the delight, the tears of gratitude which she had
witnessed in a poor girl to whom, in passing, I gave a kind look on
going out of church on Sunday. What a lesson! How cheaply happiness can
be given! What opportunities we miss of doing an angel's work! I
remember doing it, full of sad feelings, passing on, and thinking no
more about it; and it gave an hour's sunshine to a human life, and
lightened the load of life to a human heart for a time!" If even a look
can do so much, who shall estimate the power of kind or unkind words in
making married life happy or miserable? In the home circle more than
anywhere else--
"Words are mighty, words are living:
Serpents with their venomous stings,
Or bright angels, crowding round us,
With heaven's light upon their wings:
Every word has its own spirit,
True or false that never dies;
Every word man's lips have uttered
Echoes in God's skies."