Matrimonial Ceremonies. -- Sweethearts. -- "Un Serrement de main
vaut dix serments de bouche." -- "Jack's kisses were nicer than
that." -- A Platonic Lover. -- "Excuse me, I'm married." -- A
wicked Trick.
In Scotland, matrimonial ceremonies are as simple as they are practical.
No priest, no mayor brought into requisition; you take God and your
friends to witness. You present your choice to these latter, and say: "I
take Mary for my wife." The girl on her part says: "I take Donald for my
husband," and there is an end of the matter. I need not say that you can
go to Church if you prefer it.
Elementary as the ceremony is, the Scotchman holds it none the less
sacred for that. It is not without long reflection that he enters into
the holy estate; and the law, which knows the sagacity and constancy of
the Scot, has not hesitated to sanction such alliances.
This matrimony made easy in nowise lures the Scot into rushing at it
headlong. Young couples sometimes remain engaged for years before they
think of taking the great step. This is often because the man's
resources are not sufficient for housekeeping, but oftener still because
the young people want to know each other thoroughly.
I appreciate their prudence in the first case as much as I blame it in
the second.
How can two affianced people know each other, even if for years they try
ever so hard?
Love easily lives on trifles, flirtation, sentimental walks, _billets
doux_, and so on. The sky is serene, the lovers sail on a smooth sea.
How can they know if they are really good sailors before they have
encountered a storm?
When cares or misfortunes come, to say nothing of the price of butter
and the length of the butcher's bill, then they make acquaintance. True
love resists these shocks and comes out triumphant, but the _other_ kind
succumbs.
Let lovers see each other every week, every day, if you will, their main
pastime is the repetition of their vows: they learn nothing of married
life. The apprenticeship has to begin all over again the day after the
wedding. Lovers may see each other every day, it is true, but _every
day_ is not _all day_. Lovers are always on their guard; they put a
bridle on their tongues; before they meet, they are careful to look in
the glass and see that nothing is amiss with their toilet; but when they
are one each side of the bedroom fireplace, he in slippers and
smoking-cap and she in curl-papers, then comes the test.
Familiarity breeds contempt, says the English proverb. The love that is
not based on deep-rooted friendship, on solid virtues, on an amiable
philosophy, and careful diplomacy, will not survive two years of
matrimonial life. Scarcely any of these things are called into
requisition during the courtship, and this is how _mariages de
convenance_ often turn out better than love-matches. Matrimony is a huge
lottery in both cases.
I prefer the love-making and matrimonial processes of England and
Scotland to our own French ones; but if I had a marriageable daughter, I
should be sorry to see her give her heart to a man who could not marry
her for several years.
The danger with long engagements is that they often do not end in
matrimony, and in such a case a young girl's future is blighted.
I do not know if you are of my opinion, dear Reader, but, according to
my taste, making love to a girl who has been engaged five or six years,
is like sitting down to a dish of _rechauffe_. Seeing the liberty that
British usage accords to engaged couples, I maintain that pure as the
lady may be and is, she is none the less a flower that has been breathed
upon and has lost some of its value. For my part, I should always be
afraid to give her a kiss, for fear she should pout and seem to say:
"Jack's kisses were far nicer than that!"
* * * * *
I extract the following anecdote from the Memoirs of Doctor John Brown,
a well-known Scotch divine.
The doctor, it appears, had for six years and a half been engaged to be
married to a certain lady, when it occurred to him that matters were no
further advanced than on the day when he had asked her for her heart and
its dependencies. The position became intolerable: the doctor had not
yet ventured on anything less ceremonious than shaking hands with his
lady-love. To touch her hand was something, and perhaps the reverend
gentleman thought, with our French poet:
_Ce gage d'amitie plus qu'un autre me touche:
Un serrement de main vaut dix serments de bouche._
However, one day, he summoned up all his courage, and, as they sat in
solemn silence, said suddenly:
"Janet, we've been acquainted noo six years an' mair, and I've ne'er
gotten a kiss yet. D' ye think I might take one, my bonnie lass?"
"What, noo, at once?" cried Janet rather taken by surprise.
"Yes, noo."
"Just as you like, John; only be becoming and proper wi' it."
"Surely, Janet, and we'll ask a blessing first," said the young doctor.
The blessing was asked, the kiss was taken, and the worthy divine,
perfectly overcome with the blissful sensation, rapturously exclaimed:
"Eh, lass, but it is guid. We'll return thanks."
This they did, and the biographer adds that, six months later, this
pious couple were made one flesh and lived a long life of happy
usefulness.
The following little scene, of which a friend was witness in Scotland,
will show that if Scotch people in general can see through a joke, there
are also a few who belong to the type described by Sydney Smith, and for
whom the _surgical operation_ is a sad necessity.
Several persons had met together in a Scotch drawing-room, and were
passing the evening in playing at simple games. One of these games
consisted in each person going out of the room in turn, while the
company agreed upon a word to be guessed at by the absent member on his
or her return.
A young lady had just gone out of the room.
During her absence the word _passionately_ was chosen.
The young lady having been recalled, each member of the party in turn
went through a little performance that should lead her to guess the
word, addressing her in passionate language, while expressing with the
features as much love, despair, or anger, as possible.
A Scotchman, who looked ill at ease, whispered in my friend's ear:
"What must I do?"
"Try to look madly in love," said my friend, ready to burst out laughing
at the sight of the long serious face of his neighbour.
"Couldn't you suggest me something to say?"
"Why, make the young lady a declaration of love. Say: 'It is useless to
hide my feelings from you any longer; I love you, I adore you,' and
then throw yourself at her feet and----"
"Excuse me," said the poor fellow quite upset, "but I'm married."
When the young lady came to him, he begged her politely to excuse him,
and thought himself safe; unhappily he was not at the end of his
troubles yet.
My friend, whose turn came next, threw himself on his knees, and, with
haggard eyes and ruffled hair, thus addressed her:
"Dear young lady, this gentleman, whom you see at my side, is nervous
and shy; he loves you and dares not to tell his love."
"But, excuse me," cried the Scotchman.
"Listen not to him, he is dying of love. If you do not return his flame,
I know him, he will do something desperate. Have pity on him, dear lady,
have pity."
"_Passionately!_" cried the young girl.
The worthy Scot, who had not been able to screw up his courage to play
the part of a passionate lover, was soon after missed from the company.