[1] Many Englishmen are of opinion that curtains make a bedroom unhealthy. Health is the first thing to be considered.
Nothing more. What! my dear Mrs. Bull, not even a screen! Is John no longer a man in your eyes?
Better still. Would you believe that in very good houses, I have seen, and very plainly too ... yes, positively, I have seen it on the floor under the washstand?... I have often noticed by the side of the English bed, a little piece of furniture, resembling a music-box in shape, which I think does not add much poetical charm to the couch of Mr. and Mrs. John Bull.
Such is the temple in which the Englishman sacrifices to Venus.
You have probably heard it said, dear reader, that a stranger never penetrates into the bedroom in England. That is true, and may easily be understood. However, should you call on an Englishman and be persuaded to prolong your visit a little, after some time he will be sure to ask you if you would not like to go upstairs and wash your hands. It is the formula.
When I say that the bedroom is quite devoid of ornaments, I exaggerate a little: the walls are adorned with illuminated texts from the Bible, hung by means of ribbons. They are texts chosen for their suitableness. “Thou God seest me,” ... etc. The best was one that I saw thus posted up at the head of an English bed: “Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation; for the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
One more word upon the English bedroom.
In making a bed in England, every covering is not taken off separately, as it is in France, to be replaced carefully one after the other, without the slightest crumple. Here the whole is taken off, or rather turned back, over the foot of the bed, the feather bed is shaken, and the clothes returned to their place as they came.
Cold as an Englishwoman, has said Alfred de Musset. And as the illustrious poet was an authority on women, we still say in France: froide comme une Anglaise. Don’t believe a word of it; it is a calumny. You form your judgment from stiff collarettes that look as if they had never been crumpled. In my mind, one of the Englishman’s greatest faults is his not appreciating at their proper worth such sweet charming women, all the more attractive for their little air of propriety and prudishness.
The finest Stradivarius would give forth but sorry sounds in the hands of an ignoramus. How can you expect women to look very lively when they have to pass the first fifteen years of their married life enceintes or en couches, suckling all the little John Bulls destined one day to introduce cold beef and pickles in the four corners of the Globe?