Modern marriage and how to bear it Part 12

Dear ladies, almost everything your husbands cannot get at home they can get at the club--the more completely their wants are satisfied the more pleasant they are to live with, and consequently your home is the happier! If they have a hobby, they generally join a club connected with it, or where they can meet other men similarly enslaved. Be it politics, sport, horses, cards, music, golf, or the theatre--if it is in their blood, it must come out, and sensible wives allow it to do so. A hobby suppressed means a hubby embittered. At the club they can have their rubber, or their rage against the Government; they can put half-a-sovereign in the sweep-stake, and compare notes about last night's grand slam and their latest bunker, or whatever the term may be.

At the club they can meet other men, and have a complete change both from office and home, consequently returning to both work and wife refreshed and stimulated thereby.

When your cook has managed, by that occult secret of her own, to get the locked tantalus open and it isn't consequently convenient or possible to have any dinner at home, you remain calm, and break it to your lord on the telephone, for can he not feast royally--yet economically--at the club? And when you are away on a holiday he can do the same, and spend a pleasant evening there afterward, instead of moping about alone in the empty house. When you indulge in disagreements of a disturbing nature, if ever you do, the same friendly haven is open to him, surely a more comfortable thing for you than to have him maledicting about the house while the little difference is cooling off. In short, there is no end to the blessings and benefits of a man's club, and why in the world you want to abolish them, dear ladies, I for one cannot imagine.

Of course the necessary moderation should be observed, as with all other good things, and club nights once or twice a week should suffice. On these occasions the wife can have a picnic dinner--always a joy to a woman--with a book propped up before her, can let herself go and let her cook go out. Or if she be of a strenuous turn she can utilise the free evening to get her accounts and correspondence up to date. Or be her habit gay she can go out on her own account and do a little dinner and theatre with a discreet admirer, or even with a friend of her own s.e.x.

Look at it how you will, a club, provided a man does not abuse it, is an unalloyed blessing in married life.

But perhaps it is the tragic fate of the wives in question not to be able to trust their husbands, and with cause. Perhaps their hearts hold sorrowful knowledge of betrayal, and they fear that the club may be used to s.h.i.+eld an evening spent in company less desirable from the wifely point of view. Even so, the club is a blessing, for at least a woman can _hope_ and try to believe her husband _is_ really there, whilst if he has no club to go to, the transparency of his alternative excuse must give colour to her worst suspicions. If a man is resolved to do this sort of thing, nothing can stop him; should one pretext to spend his time away from home fail, he will put forward another, and the less chance his wife has of discovering the real state of affairs the better for her peace of mind.

That ignorance is bliss is a profound truth in married life and wives should strive to be guided by it. I believe women exist who actually make a practice of going through their husbands' pockets when opportunity offers, presumably in the expectation of finding some incriminating letter or bill. What they expect to gain in the event of an unpleasant discovery, heaven alone knows! Nothing but a more or less hateful scene, and a consequent loss of all peace between them, without the real source of the trouble being affected in the least. Fortunately few husbands are fools enough to carry compromising doc.u.ments on their persons. In any case this surveillance is revolting, and where mutual respect exists, for which I have so strongly urged the necessity, these lapses of taste could not occur.

In justice to those unhappy women who suffer the terrible affliction of a husband given to excessive drink or gambling, I must add that, when this is the case, a wife is right to try by every means in her power to keep her husband away from his club, which offers greater opportunities than the home circle for indulging in these vices.

And now for a special word to men. On a foregoing page I mentioned the possibility of a married woman going out to dinner and the theatre with a man friend. In London life this is so usual an occurrence that any explanation of it would seem homely and a little absurd to the initiated. But the initiated are a very small section of the community, and as this book is humbly put forward for anyone interested in marriage to read--in short, for everyone who _will_ read it--I propose therefore to enlarge somewhat on this theme for the benefit of the uninitiated majority. A great many men would never dream of allowing their wives to go out at night alone with other men; why, I cannot pretend to know, since they surely cannot insult their wives and their friends by the idea of any impropriety in connection with them. Possibly it is due to the survival of some primitive masculine feeling that they cannot explain. (In former times husbands were even more exacting, and under the Justinian code a man could divorce his wife merely for going to a circus without his consent, or for going to baths and banquets with other men!) To me it seems equally as unreasonable as women's disapproval of men's clubs. Just as a sensible wife makes no objection to her husband's club, so a wise husband allows his wife to be taken out by another man, if she desire it. If he knows anything of the feminine temperament--and no man should marry till he does--he realises that the admiration of other men is pleasing to his wife, and a little gaiety has a wonderful effect on her spirits.

I remember the time when Theodore and Amoret used to disagree violently on this point, but eventually Theodore gave way. 'He used to think it so wrong of me to like having other men a tiny bit in love with me,' Amoret said, 'but I explained to him that I liked it because it gave me such a nice powerful feeling and was a kind of added zest in life. Then he always said it was very dangerous for a married woman to have any zest in life apart from her husband, and I used to answer that _he_ had no end of zests apart from me, and what was I to do during the long evenings when he was eternally playing bridge. Finally I promised it would make me more contented and able to bear the monotony of marriage better, if only he would let me go. He thought it was awfully wicked of me to call marriage monotonous, and said his mother would have been horrified at such a remark. I told him it was no good expecting a young wife to behave like one's mother, and he said he'd rather I didn't. Then we laughed, and the dear old boy gave in, and said that Everard was a white sort of man, and might take me out once as a trial trip. Since then I've gone to theatres with them all, and I'm fonder of Theodore the more I see of other men, and ever so much more peaceful and contented.'

Which testimony speaks for itself.

Few seem to realise the many advantages of marrying a man of a silent habit. The ideal husband rarely talks; he realises that women prefer to do this themselves, and that there is not room for two talking people in one happy family. The loquacious man had better look out for a silence-loving woman, and marry her immediately he finds her. Such creatures are as rare as comets, and as a rule they are generally married already to equally silent husbands--another of Nature's painful bungles. Nothing is more appalling than to have to entertain one of these speechless couples; an over-talkative pair is infinitely preferable, as at least one can listen peacefully and let them run on.

An endless source of trouble between married couples is the money question. Wives are often extravagant and generally sinfully ignorant of financial matters at the start. Undoubtedly, as Isolda says: 'Money (and Menials) mar Matrimony.' Of the second I cannot trust myself to write, but I know that money--the want of it, the withholding of it, and the mis-spending of it--is responsible for a great deal of conjugal conflict. Some men seem to imagine their wives ought to be able to keep house without means, and these unfortunate women have to coax and beg and make quite a favour of it before they can obtain their due allowance. Even then they are treated like children, and their use of the money is inquired into in a most insulting manner, as if there was such a royal margin for extravagance.

I remember the case of poor little Hildebrand. He was a very young husband, and had been brought up in a very old-fas.h.i.+oned way. One of his quaintly mediaeval notions was that woman had no financial capacity and could on no account be trusted with cash. If he had had time, I really think he would have done all the housekeeping himself. Fortunately for the peace of that family this was impossible. However, he exercised as much supervision over the _menage_ as was possible, even to the extent of looking over the tradesmen's books. Of course he did not understand their cryptic symbols in the least, and it was a funny sight to see little Hildebrand poring over the small red books, and puckering his conscientious brows in an agony of puzzlement. Every now and then he would turn for enlightenment to his wife, who happily possessed a very robust sense of humour.

'What's this, Valeria, "3 m'lade, 11d."?'

'Three pounds of marmalade, dear, it's cheap enough, surely.'

'Too cheap to be good, I'm sure, you'd better get a superior quality.'

'But, my dear boy, it _is_ the best!'

'Oh!' Slightly discomfited Hildebrand would resume his study of the grocer's hieroglyphics and presently a deep sigh would burst forth from him.

'What's the matter, darling? Are those wretched accounts annoying you?'

Valeria would ask sympathetically, suppressing her desire to laugh.

'These fellows keep their books so deucedly queerly. What does this mean "1 primrose, 7d., and 12 foreign safety, 1d."?'

'One pound of Primrose candles and a dozen boxes of matches; we must have them, and it's only 9d. anyway.'

'That's not the point. What's this, "2 sunlight, 1s. 2d."?'

'Two boxes of Sunlight Soap for cook--it'll last ages.'

'And this, "one brooks, 3d."?'

'Why, Brookes' Soap, of course.'

'Is that what we use? ... Really I don't see anything to laugh at.'

'Excuse me, dear, I really couldn't help it, the idea of _us_ was.h.i.+ng with Monkey Brand is too excruciatingly funny. Of course it's for the pots and pans and sinks!'

'You seem to use a great deal of soap in the house.'

'No, dear, quite a little, as any _housekeeper_ would tell you' (Valeria could not resist this thrust), 'and I don't think you would like the result if we economised in soap. But why worry so, since the total is reasonable? You'll find nothing there but absolute necessities. Why won't you leave it all to me?'

In the end he was compelled to, but few wives would have shown Valeria's patience under this very unnecessary infliction.

Of course this is an extreme case, but a great many men do interfere in their wives' department to a most irritating extent. To my mind the perfect way is for the whole financial budget of the house to be left to the wife, just as the whole budget of the office or estate is left to the husband. I am now dealing of course with people of limited means.

As a rule, a man has quite enough money worry during his day's work and does not want any more of it when he gets home. To have to sit down to write cheques in the evening is a task that seems to bring out all the worst qualities in a husband. He may enter the house a devoted lover, and heap evening papers, flowers, and chocolates on his wife's knee.

During dinner he may be genial, witty, affectionate, delightful--but present him with a bundle of bills at ten P.M. with the remark that really these ought to be seen to--and at once he becomes a fierce, snarling, primitive, repulsive, and blasphemous creature. No matter if his balance at the bank be ever so satisfactory, no matter if every bill be for something he has personally required, and no single one incurred by his wife--these facts weigh not at all with him. Bills are bills, and at the sight of them husbands become savages. If I should call on Miranda one morning about the seventh or eighth of the month, I am sure to find her red-eyed and worn and to be told: 'Last night Lysander said he'd do the bills and of course he's been d.a.m.ning and blasting ever since, though they're ridiculously small this month.' Exactly the same with Isolda. 'Launcelot wrote the month's cheques last night,' she will say, 'and handling bills always has a terrible effect on him; it's a kind of disease with him, poor dear, and I never can sleep after it.'

Yet both Launcelot and Lysander are in every other respect ideal husbands.

My advice to wives therefore is: Firstly, do away with all weekly or cash payments, which are a weariness to the wifely brain. Check all books once a week, examine the items with whatever degree of care your tradesmen's moral standard requires. Enter these sums in an account-book. At the end of the month, when all the bills are in, prepare a monthly balance-sheet for your husband. He will a.s.suredly glance first at the total and should it be satisfactory he will look no further if he be wise. Let him then write one cheque to cover the whole amount, pay it into your bank, and you do the rest. When the bills arrive for rates, and whatever else is sent in quarterly, include them in your monthly list, and thus your husband will only have to write twelve cheques a year on behalf of his home instead of scores. The fearful frenzies that beset him monthly will thus be reduced to a minimum. If you have stables or an extensive wine-cellar give orders that the bills for these and any other item which belongs to the man's department should be sent to his office or club, together with his tailor's and other personal bills. Thus you will not suffer when their settlement becomes necessary. It is a strange fact that a man sits down like a lamb to write cheques at his office, although at home the same business would cause him to raise the roof and shake the foundations.

Volumes could be written on how to be happy though married, but my last page is at hand. To sum up therefore. Wives: if you would be happy, remember, make much of your husband, flatter him discreetly, laugh at his jokes, don't attempt to put down his club, never tell him home truths, and _never_ cry.

Husbands: praise and admire your wife and let other men admire her too; don't interfere in her department; write your monthly cheque with a cheerful mien; be reasonable about money even if you cannot be generous, and be not overfond of your own voice.

And, both of you: be very tolerant, expect little, give gladly, put respect before everything, cultivate courtesy and love each other all you can. If you do all this you are sure to be happy, though married.

Hear also what Robert Burton says in his wonderful book, _The Anatomy of Melancholy_. 'Hast thou means? Thou hast none, if unmarried, to keep and increase them. Hast none? Thou hast one, if married, to help and get them. Art in prosperity? Thine happiness is doubled with a wife. Art in adversity? She'll comfort and a.s.sist thee. Art at home? She'll drive away melancholy. Art abroad? She'll wish for thee in thy absence and joyfully welcome thy return. There's nothing delightsome without society, and no society as sweet as matrimony!'

THE END