Thou wilt be constrained her head to punch,
And let not thine eye then spare her:
Grasp the first weapon that comes to hand—
Horsewhip, or cudgel, or walking-stick,
Or batter her well with the warming-pan;
Dread not to fling her down on the earth,
Nerve well thine arm, let thy heart be stout
As iron, as brass, or stone, or steel.
For no wrath is equal to a woman’s wrath; and better is it to live in the cage of an African lion, or of a dragon torn from its whelps, than to live in the house with such a woman. Of all wickedness the worst is woman’s wickedness. Why, asks the doctor, what sort of a life did Jupiter lead in heaven with his precious Juno? Poor god! he let her get the upper hand of him. Had he but taken his stick to her instead of scolding, he might have had Olympus quiet, and have saved himself from being badgered through eternity.
They managed things better in Rome. A man had a wife full of bad tempers. He went to the oracle and asked what should be done with a garment which had moths in it. “Dust it,” was the oracular response. “And,” added the man, “I have a wife who is full of her nasty little tempers; should not she be treated in a similar manner?” “To be sure,” answered the oracle, “dust her daily.” And never was a truer or better bit of advice given by an oracle.
The work of Dr. Paullini called forth others in response, and doubtless enthusiastic devotees of the rod abounded. His views were, however, combated by others. From a tract against the use of the rod I cull one curious and droll story, wherewith to conclude this article:—
A husband accompanied his wife to confession. The lady having opened her griefs, the father who was shriving her insisted on administering a severe penitential scourging. The husband, hearing the first stroke inflicted on his better half, interfered, and urged that his wife was delicate, and that as he and she were one flesh, it would be better for him, as the stronger vessel, to receive the scourging intended for his helpmate. The confessor having consented to this substitution, the man knelt in his wife’s place, while she retired from the confessional. Whack! whack! went the cat, followed by a moan from the good man’s lips.
“Harder!—harder!” ejaculated the wife; “I am a grievous sinner!”
Whack! whack! whack!
“Lay it on!” cried she; “I am the worst of sinners.”
Whack! whack! and a howl from the sufferer.
“Never mind his cries, father!” exclaimed she; “remember only my sins. Make him smart here, that I may escape in purgatory.”