TO those who have never tried the experiment, the management of a
husband may seem a very easy matter. I thought so once, but a few
years' hard experience has compelled me to change my mind. When I
married Mr. John Smith, which was about ten years ago, I was not
altogether blind to his faults and peculiarities; but then he had so
many solid virtues, that these were viewed as minor considerations.
Besides, I flattered myself that it would be the easiest thing in
the world to correct what was not exactly to my taste. It is no
matter of especial wonder that I should have erred in this, for Mr.
John Smith, while a lover, really appeared to have no will of his
own, and no thought of himself. It was only necessary for me to
express a wish, and it was gratified.
I soon found, much to my disappointment, that there is a marked
difference between a husband and a lover: it was at least so in the
case of Mr. Smith, and observation, since I have had my eyes open,
satisfies me that it is so in most cases. I must own, in justice to
all parties, however, that this difference is made more apparent by
a want of knowledge, on the other side, in regard to the difference
between the relation of a wife and a sweetheart--between the wooed
and the won.
There were a good many little things in Mr. Smith, which I had
noticed before marriage, that I made up my mind to correct as soon
as I had an opportunity to apply the proper means. He had a fashion
of saying "Miss" for "Mrs.," as "Miss Jones" and "Miss Peters" for
"Mrs. Jones" and "Mrs. Peters." This sounded exceedingly vulgar to
my ears, and I waited almost impatiently for the time to come when I
could use the prerogative of a wife for its correction. He had, an
ungraceful way of lounging in his chair and half reclining on the
sofa, even in company, that was terrible. It made me uneasy from
head to foot. Then he said, "I _shew_ it to him" for "I _showed_ it
to him,"--"of-_ten_" for "oft'n"--and "_obleeged_" for "obliged."
Besides these, there were sundry other things that worried me not a
little. But I consoled myself with the reflection that when I became
Mrs. Smith all these little matters would vanish like frost in the
sunshine. I was, alas! doomed to be mistaken. But let me give my
experience for the benefit of those who are to come after me.
We had been married just ten days, and I had begun to feel that I
was really a wife, and had a right to say and do a little as I
pleased, when Mr. Smith said to me, as we sat quite lover-like on
the sofa in the evening,
"I met Miss Williams as I came home this evening--"
"For mercy's sake, Mr. Smith! don't say _Miss_ when you speak of a
married woman. It is excessively vulgar." I was not aware that I had
spoken in a very offensive way, but I noticed an instant change in
Mr. Smith. He replied, with some dignity of tone, and manner--
"I ask your pardon, madam; but I didn't say _Miss_. I am not quite
so ignorant as all that comes to."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Smith, but you did say it," I replied, quite
astonished at this unexpected denial.
"Excuse me for saying that you are in error," he returned, drawing
himself up. "I never say Miss for Mrs."
"Why, Mr. Smith! You always say it. I have noticed it a hundred
times. I believe I can hear pretty correctly."
"In this instance you certainly have not."
Mr. Smith was growing warm, and I felt the blood rushing to my face.
A rather tart reply was on my lips, but I bit them hard and
succeeded in keeping them closed.
A deep silence followed. In a little while Mr. Smith took up a
newspaper and commenced reading, and I found some relief for a heavy
pressure that was upon my bosom, in the employment of hem-stitching
a fine pocket-handkerchief.
And this was the return I had met for a kind attempt to correct a
mistake of my husband's, that made him liable to ridicule on the
charge of vulgarity! And to deny, too, that he said "_Miss_," when I
had been worried about it for more than a year! It was too bad!
After this Mr. Smith was very particular in saying, when he spoke of
a married woman to me, _Misses_. The emphasis on the second syllable
was much too strongly marked to be pleasant on my ears. I was
terribly afraid he would say "_Mistress_," thus going off into the
opposite extreme of vulgarity.
This first attempt to put my husband straight had certainly not been
a very pleasant one. He had shown, unexpectedly to me, a humour that
could by no means be called amiable; and by which I was both
grieved, and astonished. I made up my mind that I would be very
careful in future how I tried my hand at reforming him. But his
oft-repeated "he _shew_ it to me," and "_obleeged_," soon fretted me
so sorely, that I was forced to come down upon him again, which I
did at a time when I felt more than usually annoyed. I cannot
remember now precisely what I said to him, but I know that I put him
into an ill-humour, and that it was cloudy weather in the house for
a week, although the sun shone brightly enough out of doors. "_He
shew it to me_," and "_obleeged_" were, however, among the things
that had been, after that. So much was gained; although there were
times when I half suspected that I had lost more than I had gained.
But I persevered, and, every now and then, when I got "worked up"
about something, administered the rod of correction.
Gradually I could see that my husband was changing, and, as I felt,
for the worse. Scarcely a year had passed before he would get into a
pet if I said the least word to him. He couldn't bear any thing from
me. This seemed very unreasonable, and caused me not only to sigh,
but to shed many a tear over his perverseness. From the thoughtful,
ever considerate, self-sacrificing lover, he had come to be
disregardful of my wishes, careless of my comfort, and indifferent
to my society. Still I felt by no means inclined to give him up; was
by no means disposed to let him have his own way. It was clear to my
mind that I had rights as well as he had; and I possessed resolution
enough to be ready to maintain them. His self-will and indifference
to my wishes roused in me a bitter and contentious spirit; and, in
an evil hour, I determined that I would make a struggle for the
mastery. An opportunity was not long delayed. The Philharmonic
Society had announced one of its splendid concerts. A lady friend,
who had frequently attended these concerts, called in to see me,
and, by what she said, filled me with a desire to enjoy the fine
musical treat that had been announced for that very evening.
When Mr. Smith came home at dinner he said, before I had time to
mention the concert--
"Mary, I've taken a fancy to go and see Fanny Ellsler to-night, and,
as there will be no chance of getting a good seat this afternoon, I
took the precaution to secure tickets as I came home to dinner. I
would have sent the porter with a note to know whether there was any
thing to prevent your going to-night, but he has been out all the
morning, and I concluded that, even if there should be some slight
impediment in the way, you could easily set it aside."
Now this I thought too much. To go and buy tickets to see Fanny
Ellsler dance, and take it for granted that I would lay every thing
aside to go, when I had set my heart on attending the Philharmonic
concert!
"You are a strange man, Mr. Smith," said I. "You ought to know that I
don't care a fig about seeing Fanny Ellsler. I don't relish such
kind of performances. You at least might have waited until you came
home to dinner and asked the question. I don't believe a word about
the good seats all being taken this morning. But it's just like you!
To go and see this dancers toss her feet about was a thing you had
made up your mind to do, and I was to go along whether I liked it or
not."
"You talk in rather a strange way, Mrs. Smith," said my husband,
evidently offended.
"I don't see that I do," replied I, warming. "The fact is, Mr.
Smith, you seem to take it for granted that I am nobody. Here I've
been making all my calculations to go to the Philharmonic to-night,
and you come home with tickets for the theatre! But I can tell you
plainly that I am _not_ going to see Fanny Ellsler, and that I _am_
going to the Philharmonic."
This was taking a stand that I had never taken before. In most of my
efforts to make my husband go my way, he had succeeded in making me
go his way. This always chafed me dreadfully. I fretted and scolded,
and "all that sort of thing," but it was no use, I could not manage
him. The direct issue of "I won't" and "I will" had not yet been
made, and I was some time in coming to the resolution to have a
struggle, fiercer than ever, for the ascendency. I fondly believed
that for peace' sake he would not stand firm if he saw me resolute.
Under this view of the case, I made the open averment that I would
not go to the theatre. I expected that a scene would follow, but I
was mistaken. Mr. Smith did, indeed, open his eyes a little wider,
but he said nothing.
Just then the bell announced that dinner was on the table. Mr. Smith
arose and led the way to the dinner-room with a firm step. Before we
were married he wouldn't have dreamed of thus preceding me! I was
fretted at this little act. It indicated too plainly what was in the
man.
Dinner passed in silence. I forced myself to eat, that I might
appear unconcerned. On rising from the table, Mr. Smith left the
house without saying a word.
You may suppose I didn't feel very comfortable during the afternoon.
I had taken my stand, and my intention was to maintain it to the
last. That Mr. Smith would yield I had no doubt at first. But, as
evening approached, and the trial-time drew near, I had some
misgivings.
Mr. Smith came home early.
"Mary," said he, in his usual pleasant way, "I have ordered a
carriage to be here at half-past seven. We mustn't leave home later,
as the curtain rises at eight."
"What curtain rises? Where do you think of going?"
"To see Fanny Ellsler, of course. I mentioned to you at dinner-time
that I had tickets."
This was said very calmly.
"And I told you at dinner-time that I was going to the Philharmonic,
and not to see this dancer." I tried to appear as composed as he
was, but failed in the attempt altogether.
"You were aware that I had tickets for the theatre before you said
that," was the cold answer he made.
"Of course I was."
"Very well, Mary. You can do as you like. The carriage will be here
at half-past seven. If you are then ready to go to the theatre, I
shall be happy to have your company." And my husband, after saying
this with a most unruffled manner, politely bowed and retired to the
parlour.