'Nonsense!' quoth the lady, with a decisive tone and aspect; and poor Mr Boswell, with a sigh of resignation, moved his chair towards the fire-place, and began to draw figures in the ashes.
Whether this operation assisted his courage, I know not; but, in about ten minutes, he told me, in a half whisper, 'that, if I would entertain Mrs Boswell, he rather thought he would dine with Tom Hamilton.'
'And why should you not? For a husband to go out, it is sufficient that he wills it,' said I; parodying a maxim which was at that time the watchword of a more important revolt. I fancy the smile which accompanied my words was, for the moment, more terrific to Mr Boswell than his lady's frown, for he instantly left us; and having secured his retreat beyond the door, put his head back into the room, saying, with a farewell nod, and a voice of constrained ease. 'Au revoir, my darling! I dine with Hamilton.'
'Why, Mr Boswell!' screamed the wife, in a tone between wrath and amazement; but the rebel was beyond recall.
The lady was forthwith invested with an obstinate fit of the sullens. Considering me as the cause of her husband's misconduct, she suffered dinner and some succeeding hours to pass without deigning me even a look or a word. My forte, certainly, was not submission; therefore, after speaking to her once or twice without receiving an answer, I made no further effort to soothe her, but amused myself with reading, work, or music, exactly as if Mrs Boswell's chair had been vacant. She made several attempts to disturb my amusement: she spilled the ink upon my clothes. But though she made no apology, I assured her, with wicked good-humour, that a farthing's worth of spirit of salt would repair the disaster. She beat poor Fido; yet even this did not provoke me to speak. She could not make me angry; because, by showing me that such was her purpose, she engaged my pride to disappoint her. Left to itself, her temper at last made a tolerable recovery; or, rather, she spared me, that she might discharge its full venom upon Mr Boswell.
At a late hour the culprit returned; fortified, as it appeared, by a double allowance of claret, but in high spirits and good-humour. Forgetting that he was in disgrace, he walked as directly as he could towards his offended fair; and, with a look of stupid kindness, offered her his hand. The lady flounced away with great disdain. 'Come now, my darling,' stammered the husband, coaxingly; 'don't be cross. Be a good girl, and give me a kiss.'
'Brute!' replied the judicious wife, giving him a push, which, with the help of the extra bottle, made him stagger to the other side of the room. There he placed himself beside me; protesting that I was a sweet, lovely, good-humoured creature, and that he was sure I had never been out of temper in my life; with many other equally well-turned compliments. This was the consummation of his misdeeds. Mrs Boswell pulled the bell till the wire broke. 'Put that creature to bed,' said she to the servant; 'don't you see he's not fit to be any where else?' Mr Boswell was not so much intoxicated as to be insensible to this indignity, which he angrily resisted; while, shocked and disgusted beyond expression, I escaped from the scene of this disgraceful altercation.
The next day Mrs Boswell had recourse, as usual, to silent sullenness; to which she added another mode of tormenting. She constantly held her handkerchief to her eyes, and affected to shed tears. All this, however, was reserved for Mr Boswell's presence, as she soon discovered that it was needless to waste either anger or sensibility upon me. Lest her distress should not sufficiently aggravate the culprit's self-reproach, she pretended that her health was affected by her feelings. It was always one of her Lilliputian ambitions to obtain the reputation of a feeble appetite. But now this infirmity increased to such a degree, that Mrs Boswell absolutely could not swallow a morsel; nor, which was much worse, could she see food tasted by another without demonstrations of loathing. Nevertheless, she regularly appeared at table; and, for three days, every meal was disquieted by the landlady's disgust at our voracity.
Poor Mr Boswell, now completely quelled, did what man could do to restore peace and appetite. He coaxed, entreated; and offered her, I believe, all the compounds recorded in all the cookery books; but in vain. Deaf as the coldest damsel of romance to the prayer of offending love was Mrs Boswell. She retained her youthful passion for sweetmeats; and her good-natured husband came one morning into her dressing-room fraught with such variety of confections, that I was surprised at the self-command with which she refused them all. I could not help laughing to see him court the great baby with sugar-plums; she answering, like any other spoilt child, only by twisting her face, and thrusting forward her shoulder; nor was my gravity at all improved when Fido, making his way into some concealment, drew forth the remains of a portly sirloin.
Mr Boswell looked as if he would fain have joined in my laugh; but he foresaw the coming storm, and prudently effected his retreat. Mrs Boswell's face grew livid with rage. She snatched the poker; and would have struck the poor animal dead, had I not arrested her arm. 'Stop, woman!' said I, in a voice at which I myself was almost startled; 'degrade yourself no further.' It is not the rage of such a creature as Mrs Boswell that can resist the voice of stern authority. Her eye fixed by mine as by the gaze of a rattle-snake, she timidly laid aside her weapon; and shrunk back, muttering that she did not mean to hurt my dog.