Nooks and Corners / being the companion volume to 'From Kitchen to Garret'

by J. E. Panton

I have often heard people say that the first year of their married life, and indeed that the honeymoon itself, was the very dullest and most difficult period of their whole lives; but I have always listened to these statements with astonishment, for I have come to the conclusion that if what they say is true it must be that, like the despised family parties, it is because they did not manage their affairs properly. Why, the honeymoon should be the most amusing journey one ever makes—I know mine was—for one sets out together with an entertaining feeling that the absence of the chaperon for the first time gives just a soupçon of delightful impropriety to the journey; that for absolutely the first time in one’s life one can go where one likes and do as one likes; that if one liked to put on one’s Sunday frock on a week-day one would only be admired and not scolded, and that one’s shopping becomes actually important and not frivolous, because it is for the house and not for oneself merely. Besides, there is the amusement of seeing new places with a congenial spirit, and with one who does not consider it his duty to insist on learning all he can about a place; in fact, the honeymooners are no longer children to be educated, but people bent on amusing themselves together, with no arrière-pensées; these come afterwards. Then business has become dreadfully imperative in its demands on the husband, while the wife leaves home for a holiday, her mind distracted between pleasure and a melancholy foreboding of what may happen during her absence to children and household, neither of which can naturally trouble her during that first delightful jaunt, which should always be to some amusing, bright place where theatres can be fallen back on should it be wet, or where picture galleries could be visited under similar adverse circumstances. One can visit the dullest of places safely together after one has been married years; there are then mutual interests which will always occupy husband and wife: but at first this is actual suicide; there are then not very many things to discuss, and the unfortunate young people fall back on endearments and use up in a month that which should last them comfortably for all their lives.

But we are arriving at the honeymoon before we have allowed the engagement, and must therefore retrace our steps, or else we shall omit the most important item of all—viz. how to act when we see an engagement is imminent and we are not sure if we like it or not. We should soon make up our minds on the subject though, for if we do not approve we can easily manage that the young people shall not meet any more. It only requires tact and common sense, two qualities which seem to me often strangely lacking in the ordinary British household.

And, indeed, all that appertains to matrimony is made very difficult by the extraordinary manner in which English society looks upon the relations between young men and girls; in some measure allowing great familiarity, and in another way turning on anyone and calling her ‘match-maker,’ should the unfortunate individual attempt to bring together those she thinks would like to see a little more of each other. Match-maker, indeed! Why, I consider it the duty of every happily married woman to try and make others happy in a similar way; and I have known more than one happy woman rendered a miserably disappointed spinster, just because the right person was not at hand to manage a last meeting, or give the one opportunity that was all that was required to make liking into love, or to ensure the speaking of the question that had trembled on the lips for some time.

Of course marriages are made in heaven, but I also know that Heaven helps those who help themselves; and as no girl can do that, it is the duty of her married friends to help her, especially if they have any common sense, and can act Deus ex machinâ, without letting anyone know what they have done.

If our young people are ‘desperately in love’ with the wrong man, or the wrong girl, all the better that the love is desperate; it will burn itself out all the quicker; but not if we oppose the match tooth and nail, though at the same time we need not countenance it. We should, under these adverse circumstances, state calmly but boldly the reasons we have for our dislikes; we should simply put all the ‘cons’ we know in plain words, and we should listen to the ‘pros’ equally calmly, and we should never allow a personal dislike to make any difference in the matter; but our reasons should be valid and not of the ‘Doctor Fell’ kind. Then, if the daughter or son is not convinced, say no more, do not oppose it; let the young people see as much as they can of each other; if there are disagreeable relations, make them very welcome to your house; be civil but not affectionate to the man or girl; and finally be, or rather appear to be, absolutely indifferent. Make a fuss, rage and stamp and oppose, and you may at the same time order the trousseau. Act as I advise, and ten chances to one the match will be broken off; but if it is not, and should it turn out well, be the first to thankfully acknowledge it. Should it turn out badly, refrain from the delightful habit of saying, ‘I told you so,’ but instead recall to the offended party all the reasons he or she had for marrying; do not condole, but rather remind him or her of the early days and of the love that once existed, and remind them that marriage, once entered into, must be made the best of. You will do far more good and have far more satisfaction in healing the breach than in proving yourself a true prophet; for if people were more sure than they are now, that being bound they cannot get loose, they would cease to strain against the cords, use would accustom them to them, and finally what was once irksome would be pleasurable. People who have once loved each other can always remember the happy days of their youth; and, remembering them, naturally will long to return to them, or to secure at least in some measure a reflex of them in their middle age.

But, having contemplated this side of the picture, let us look at the far pleasanter one where all goes merry as a marriage bell, and the engagement is all that it should be. Yet before we do this I must just add one other word, and that is that, come what may, no marriage should ever be entered on, on any pretext whatever, unless the consent, if not the approbation, of the parents has been obtained. I have seen several marriages begin like this; I have never seen one that turned out well, or that was absolutely a success, and I do wish my readers to remember that this is a fact, and to therefore refrain from conduct that can have but one result; besides which, how can the children of such marriages turn out, if one has no control over them, should they desire to do likewise? for they have the one unanswerable argument in their possession: ‘You did it; why should not I?’ Then also a man never really respects a woman who throws over every one of her relations for him: he knows he is not worth the sacrifice, and though he may be flattered at first, ultimately he despises the girl who gave up all for him, and never really regards her with the reverence he must give to her who comes to him from her home, from her mother’s hand, knowing that that home is the emptier for her absence, and that a place should always be kept there for her, should she require to return there for any reason whatever. Home should be always home to the married children of the household, just as much as it is to those who remain spinsters and bachelors; and on no account should the doors be closed on them, or should they be allowed to feel that they have become in a measure strangers there, and that their place being filled knows and requires them no more. The trousseau of a girl should be as ample as can be afforded, and should have more under-garments than anything else; dresses alter in fashion so rapidly that it is folly to burden her with too many garments; neither are unmade costumes any use in these days, when no good dressmaker will make up one’s own materials. I should, therefore, give a girl not less than two dozen of every feminine garment, and as many more of each as I could afford. A good trousseau would cost about 200l., and of course as much more as the parents are prepared to spend; it should include a sealskin coat and a long fur cloak; the other outside garments should of course depend upon fashion and time of year, but it is a good plan to have some extra yards of material to all the dresses, particularly if the bride is going away from London to a distant part of the world.

When the engagement is really formed, and the wedding is beginning to be the subject of conversation, one cannot say all the difficulties are over; there are the bridegroom’s family to welcome and be introduced to, and though, of course, if the bridegroom is well known to us this initial difficulty will not have to be encountered in all its worst forms, still very often the engagement alters one’s relationships suddenly, and it requires careful steering then to avoid friction; as a rule the parents on both sides think their children might have done better, and it is generally difficult to prevent this feeling being unduly apparent. Then I do beg for all my girl friends that they may have a pretty wedding; I do not want enormous sums spent on the wedding dress, but I do want the church to be nicely decked, all her friends to be asked who care to come, not because they may possibly give wedding presents—a species of blackmail which has become seriously unpleasant lately to anyone who is not sufficiently strong-minded to refuse to give because they are afraid of being out of the fashion—but because they are really friends, and will bring good luck by their loving prayers and real affection. And I do deprecate for all the hurried ‘quiet weddings’ in a tailor-made frock; a woman should be in white on her festal day, and it should be indeed a festal day if her marriage is entered on in the spirit I have been writing about.

I love a pretty wedding: the bride in her lovely white dress, and her group of bridesmaids; the flower-decked church, the hymns, and the bright faces of the choir boys (I must own I have a great weakness for choir boys, and generally make friends with them all) are all such a bright beginning to a new life; and if the solemn words are spoken by the ‘family priest,’ the man who, may be, married the parents and christened and prepared the bride for confirmation, there remains nothing to be desired, and we can wish the new home God-speed, knowing our wishes will have every chance of being fulfilled.

Afternoon weddings, with the flower-decked tables and the inexpensive refreshments, bring pretty weddings within the reach of everyone nearly; even the erstwhile elaborately decorated cake now bears a wreath of simple and real flowers, instead of the pinchbeck temple that used to be reared on the centre; and all that is required besides is a certain amount of cake, ices, tea and coffee, and a little wine. Here again the expenditure can be regulated by the income; but it need not be an expensive affair unless one specially desires that it may be.

Now, most people are married by banns, and licences are rarely required; this simplifies matters very much. But before the wedding is definitely decided on I should advise the clergyman of the church one is always in the habit of attending being consulted about all the legal forms; he is sure to know all that is necessary, will tell you exactly what you ought to do, what the choir and organist will expect (of course, if the organist be a gentleman, as he often is, and a personal friend, you must give him a present, not money), and what steps you must take about the decorations. But do not hand these over to a shop; be sentimental for once, and let personal friends undertake this duty. I would rather have hideous decorations put up by hands that loved one, on such an occasion, than the most exquisite trophies ever designed by Mrs. Green and put up by those who do not even know the bride and bridegroom by sight.