Seated comfortably at your ease, you have near you, but a little lower than yourself, the beloved object of your dreams, or better still, the dear companion of your daily life; in whose ear, without dislocating your vertebræ, you can murmur sweet words of love. All your defects, if defects you have—and be sure of it, you are not without some—are out of the range of her eyesight. Over you, in perfumed waves, spread her beautiful tresses that you caress, knot, unknot, and never tire of playing with. With the eyes of a lover, and at the same time a protector, you admire the graceful contour of her form, that vibrates with pleasure at the sound of your voice, and her eyes that seem to implore your protection and thank you for the cloudless life you map out for her. Thus seated, you might even, without fear of annoying her, smoke your cigar while you hold sweet converse, and build your castles in Spain. I say, without fear of annoying her, for your wife will certainly allow you to smoke, if she is not a simpleton.
“Your husband in love savours somewhat of the pacha,” some emancipated lady will perhaps exclaim.
Not in the least. We are not speaking of a master and his slave, but merely putting in their proper places the possessor and the possessed: the one who will have the battle of life to fight, and the one who will fit him for it, who will encourage him by her tenderness and love, rejoice with him in his joys, and cheer him in time of adversity: “a state not of slavery, but of exalted duty.”
Ah! Madam, how I am filled with admiration for you, when, meeting your husband, I hear him say to me: “Excuse me, my dear boy, if I leave you so quickly, but I am in a hurry to get home; my wife is expecting me!” I know so many husbands who are in no hurry to go home, and for good reason.
The kiss on the lips is almost the only one practised in England.
Do not imagine, however, that this pleasant little pastime can be indulged in as freely as you might desire. No, here as elsewhere, the same difficulty presents itself: the people that you may kiss are those that belong to you; the people whose lips you are forbidden to approach, are those that belong to that stern Cerberus that the French call Autrui.
I would willingly initiate you further, dear inquisitive lady reader, into those little scenes of intimacy, always so interesting, no matter whether they pass amid English fogs or beneath Italy’s pure sky; but, you see, in all the houses where I have had the honour of being invited, I have watched and observed in vain; I have scarcely seen anything worth noting down. Those provoking Britons always waited until I had left the house to proceed to business.
III.
Love in Marriage — Mrs. John Bull’s bedroom — As you make your bed, so you must lie on it — Young People, English and French — How it may sometimes be an economy to take your Wife with you when you travel on the Continent.