A CHAPTER ON LITERARY WOMEN."WELL, Colonel, what engrosses your thoughts so entirely this morning? The last new fashion for vests, the price of Macassar oil, or the misfit of your last pair of primrose kids? Make a 'clean breast' of it." "Come, Minnie, don't be satirical. I 've a perfect horror of satirical women. There's no such thing as repose in their presence. One needs to be always on the defensive, armed at all points; and then, like as not, some arrow will pierce the joints of his armor. Be amiable, Minnie, and listen to me. I want a wife." "You! a man of your resources! Clubs, cigars, fast horses, operas, concerts, theatres, billiard-rooms! Can't account for it," said the merciless Minnie. "Had a premonitory symptom of a crow's foot, or a gray hair? Has old Time begun to step on your bachelor toes?" and she levelled her eye-glass at his fine figure. The Colonel took up a book, with a very injured air, as much as to say,—Have it out, fair lady, and when you get off your stilts, I'll talk reason to you. But Minnie had no idea of getting off her stilts; so she
proceeded,—"Want a wife, do you? I don't see but your buttons, and strings, and straps, are all tip-top. Your laundress attends to your wardrobe, your hotel de matire to your appetite, you 've nice snug quarters at the —— House, plenty of 'fine fellows' to drop in upon you, and what in the name of the gods do you want of a 'wife?' And if it is a necessity that is not postponable, what description of apron-string does your High Mightiness desire? I've an idea you've only to name the thing, and there 'd be a perfect crowd of applicants for the situation. Come, bestir youself, Sir Oracle, open your mouth and trot out your ideal." "Well, then, negatively, I don't want a literary woman. I should desire my wife's thoughts and feelings to centre in me,—to be content in the little kingdom where I reign supreme,—to have the capacity to appreciate me, but not brilliancy enough to outshine me, or to attract 'outsiders.'" "I like that, because 't is so unselfish," said Minnie, with mock humility. "Go on." "You see, Minnie, these literary women live on public
admiration,—glory in seeing themselves in print. Just fancy my
wife's heart turned inside-out to thousands of hearts beside mine, for
dissection. Fancy her quickening ten thousand strange pulses with
'thoughts that breathe and words that burn.' Fancy me walking meekly
by her side, known only as Mr. Somebody, that the talented Miss
—— condescended to marry. Horrible! Minnie, I tell you, literary women are a sort of nondescript monsters; nothing feminine about them. They are as ambitious as Lucifer; else, why do they write?" "Because they can't help it," said Minnie, with a flashing eye. "Why does a bird carol? There is that in such a soul that will not be pent up,—that must find voice and expression; a heaven-kindled spark, that is unquenchable; an earnest, soaring spirit, whose wings cannot be earth-clipped. These very qualities fit it to appreciate, with a zest none else may know, the strong, deep love of a kindred human heart. Reverence, respect, indeed, such a soul claims and exacts; but think you it will be satisfied with that? No! It craves the very treasure you would wrest from it, Love! That there are vain and ambitious female writers, is true; but pass no sweeping condemnation; there are literary women who have nonetheless deserved the holy names of wife and mother, because God has granted to them the power of expressing the same tide of emotions that sweep, perchance, over the soul of another, whose lips have never been touched 'with a coal from the altar.'" "Good morning, Colonel," said Minnie; "how did you like the lady to whom I introduced you last evening?" "Like her? I don't like her at all,—I love her!
She took me by storm! Minnie, that woman must be Mrs. Col. Van Zandt. She's my ideal of a wife embodied." "I thought she'd suit you," said Minnie, not trusting herself to look up. "She's very attractive; but are you sure you can secure her?" "Well, I flatter myself," said the Colonel, glancing at an opposite mirror, "I shall, at least, 'die making an effort,' before I take No for an answer. Charming woman! feminine from her shoe-lacings to the tips of her eyebrows; no blue-stockings peeping from under the graceful folds of her silken robe. What a charmed life a man might lead with her! Her fingers never dabbled with ink, thank Heaven! She must be Mrs. Col. Van Zandt, Minnie!" She was "Mrs. Col. Van Zandt." A week after their marriage,
Minnie came in, looking uncommonly wicked and mischievous. "What a
turtle-dove scene!" said she, as she stood at the door. "Do you know
I never peep into Paradise, that I don't feel a Luciferish desire to
raise a mutiny among the celestials? And apropos of that, you
recollect 'Abelard,' Colonel; and the beautiful 'Zeluka,' by the same
anonymous writer; and those little essays by the same hand, that you
hoarded up so long? Well, I've discovered the author,—after a
persevering investigation among the knowing ones,—the anonymous
writer, with the signature of 'Heloise.' You
have your matrimonial arm around her this minute! May I be kissed if you have n't!" and she threw herself on the sofa in a paroxysm of mirth. "O, Colonel! 'marry a woman who has just sense enough to appreciate you, and not brilliancy enough to attract outsiders! Fancy my wife quickening then thousand strange pulses with thoughts that breathe, and words that burn! Fancy me walking meekly by her side, known only as the Mr. Somebody the talented Miss —— condescended to marry'! I declare, I'm sorry for you, Colonel; you have my everlasting sympathy; you look already like a man 'transported for life!'" "Laugh away, Minnie! You might have played me a worse trick,—for instance, had you married me yourself! 'Heloise' or Amy, 't is all one to me, so long as I can call her wife. I'm quite happy enough to be willing you should enjoy your triumph; and quite willing to subscribe, on my knees, to your creed, that a woman may be literary, and yet feminine and lovable; content to find her greatest happiness in the charmed circle of Home." |