Mr. Beauchamp's narrative of this affair is, as I told you, very circumstantial. I thought to have shortened it more than I have done. I wish I have not made my abstract confused, in several material places: but I have not time to clear it up. Adieu, my dear.
CHARLOTTE G——.
LETTER XLI
LADY G——, TO MISS BYRON SUNDAY, MAY 7.
I believe I shall become as arrant a scribbler as somebody else. I begin to like writing. A great compliment to you, I assure you. I see one may bring one's mind to any thing.—I thought I must have had recourse, when you and my brother left us, and when I was married, to the public amusements, to fill up my leisure: and as I have seen every thing worth seeing of those, many times over; (masquerades excepted, and them I despise;) time, you know, in that case, would have passed a little heavily, after having shewn myself, and, by seeing who and who were together, laid in a little store of the right sort of conversation for the tea-table. For you know, Harriet, that among us modern fine people, the company, and not the entertainment, is the principal part of the raree-show. Pretty enough! to make the entertainment, and pay for it too, to the honest fellows, who have nothing to do, but to project schemes to get us together.
I don't know what to do with this man. I little thought that I was to be considered as such a doll, such a toy, as he would make me. I want to drive him out of the house without me, were it but to purvey for me news and scandal. What are your fine gentlemen fit for else? You know, that, with all my faults, I have a domestic and managing turn. A man should encourage that in a wife, and not be perpetually teasing her for her company abroad, unless he did it with a view to keep her at home. Our sex don't love to be prescribed to, even in the things from which they are not naturally averse: and for this very reason, perhaps, because it becomes us to submit to prescription. Human nature, Harriet, is a perverse thing. I believe, if my good man wished me to stay at home, I should torture my brain, as other good wives do, for inventions to go abroad.
It was but yesterday, that in order to give him a hint, I pinned my apron to his coat, without considering who was likely to be a sufferer by it; and he, getting up, in his usual nimble way, gave it a rent, and then looked behind him with so much apprehension—Hands folded, eyes goggling, bag in motion from shoulder to shoulder. I was vexed too much to make the use of the trick which I had designed, and huffed him. He made excuses, and looked pitifully; bringing in his soul, to testify that he knew not how it could be. How it could be! Wretch! When you are always squatting upon one's clothes, in defiance of hoop, or distance.
He went out directly, and brought me in two aprons, either of which was worth twenty of that he so carelessly rent. Who could be angry with him? —I was, indeed, thinking to chide him for this—As if I were not to be trusted to buy my own clothes; but he looked at me with so good-natured an eye, that I relented, and accepted, with a bow of graciousness, his present; only calling him an odd creature—And that he is, you know, my dear.
We live very whimsically, in the main: not above four quarrels, however, and as many more chidings, in a day. What does the man stay at home for then so much, when I am at home?—Married people, by frequent absences, may have a chance for a little happiness. How many debatings, if not direct quarrels, are saved by the good man's and his meek wife's seeing each other but once or twice a week! In what can men and women, who are much together, employ themselves, but in proving and defending, quarrelling and making up? Especially if they both chance to marry for love (which, thank Heaven, is not altogether my case); for then both honest souls, having promised more happiness to each other than they can possibly meet with, have nothing to do but reproach each other, at least tacitly, for their disappointment—A great deal of free-masonry in love, my dear, believe me! The secret, like that, when found out, is hardly worth the knowing.
Well, but what silly rattle is this, Charlotte! methinks you say, and put on one of your wisest looks.