She thinks with the majority, and has the courage of her opinions.I have always suspected public taste to be a mongrel product, out of affectation by dogmatism; and felt sure, if you could only find an honest man of no special literary bent, he would tell you he thought much of Shakespeare bombastic and most absurd, and all of him written in very obscure English and wearisome to read.And not long ago I was able to lay by my lantern in content, for I found the honest man.He was a fellow of parts, quick, humorous, a clever painter, and with an eye for certain poetical effects of sea and ships.I am not much of a judge of that kind of thing, but a sketch of his comes before me sometimes at night.
How strong, supple, and living the ship seems upon the billows! With what a dip and rake she shears the flying sea!
I cannot fancy the man who saw this effect, and took it on the wing with so much force and spirit, was what you call commonplace in the last recesses of the heart.And yet he thought, and was not ashamed to have it known of him, that Ouida was better in every way than William Shakespeare.If there were more people of his honesty, this would be about the staple of lay criticism.It is not taste that is plentiful, but courage that is rare.And what have we in place? How many, who think no otherwise than the young painter, have we not heard disbursing second-hand hyperboles? Have you never turned sick at heart, O best of critics! when some of your own sweet adjectives were returned on you before a gaping audience? Enthusiasm about art is become a function of the average female being, which she performs with precision and a sort of haunting sprightliness, like an ingenious and well-regulated machine.Sometimes, alas! the calmest man is carried away in the torrent, bandies adjectives with the best, and out-Herods Herod for some shameful moments.When you remember that, you will be tempted to put things strongly, and say you will marry no one who is not like George the Second, and cannot state openly a distaste for poetry and painting.
The word "facts" is, in some ways, crucial.I have spoken with Jesuits and Plymouth Brethren, mathematicians and poets, dogmatic republicans and dear old gentlemen in bird's-eye neckcloths; and each understood the word "facts" in an occult sense of his own.Try as I might, I could get no nearer the principle of their division.What was essential to them, seemed to me trivial or untrue.We could come to no compromise as to what was, or what was not, important in the life of man.Turn as we pleased, we all stood back to back in a big ring, and saw another quarter of the heavens, with different mountain-tops along the sky-line and different constellations overhead.We had each of us some whimsy in the brain, which we believed more than anything else, and which discoloured all experience to its own shade.How would you have people agree, when one is deaf and the other blind? Now this is where there should be community between man and wife.
They should be agreed on their catchword in "FACTS OFRELIGION," or "FACTS OF SCIENCE," or "SOCIETY, MY DEAR"; for without such an agreement all intercourse is a painful strain upon the mind."About as much religion as my William likes,"in short, that is what is necessary to make a happy couple of any William and his spouse.For there are differences which no habit nor affection can reconcile, and the Bohemian must not intermarry with the Pharisee.Imagine Consuelo as Mrs.
Samuel Budget, the wife of the successful merchant! The best of men and the best of women may sometimes live together all their lives, and, for want of some consent on fundamental questions, hold each other lost spirits to the end.
A certain sort of talent is almost indispensable for people who would spend years together and not bore themselves to death.But the talent, like the agreement, must be for and about life.To dwell happily together, they should be versed in the niceties of the heart, and born with a faculty for willing compromise.The woman must be talented as a woman, and it will not much matter although she is talented in nothing else.She must know her METIER DE FEMME, and have a fine touch for the affections.And it is more important that a person should be a good gossip, and talk pleasantly and smartly of common friends and the thousand and one nothings of the day and hour, than that she should speak with the tongues of men and angels; for a while together by the fire, happens more frequently in marriage than the presence of a distinguished foreigner to dinner.That people should laugh over the same sort of jests, and have many a story of "grouse in the gun-room," many an old joke between them which time cannot wither nor custom stale, is a better preparation for life, by your leave, than many other things higher and better sounding in the world's ears.You could read Kant by yourself, if you wanted; but you must share a joke with some one else.You can forgive people who do not follow you through a philosophical disquisition; but to find your wife laughing when you had tears in your eyes, or staring when you were in a fit of laughter, would go some way towards a dissolution of the marriage.
I know a woman who, from some distaste or disability, could never so much as understand the meaning of the word POLITICS, and has given up trying to distinguish Whigs from Tories; but take her on her own politics, ask her about other men or women and the chicanery of everyday existence - the rubs, the tricks, the vanities on which life turns - and you will not find many more shrewd, trenchant, and humorous.Nay, to make plainer what I have in mind, this same woman has a share of the higher and more poetical understanding, frank interest in things for their own sake, and enduring astonishment at the most common.She is not to be deceived by custom, or made to think a mystery solved when it is repeated.
