"Reason, my dear," said he; "you know love is independent of reason, according to your own definition: love is involuntary, you cannot therefore blame me for its caprices."

"Insulting casuistry!" said she, weeping; "sophistical nonsense! Have you any rational complaint to make against me, Bolingbroke?"

"I make no complaints, rational or irrational, my dear; they are all on your side."

"And well they may be," cried Griselda, "when you treat me in such a barbarous manner: but I do not complain; the world shall be my judge; the world will do me justice, if you will not. I appeal to every body who knows me, have I ever given you the slightest cause for ill-usage?

Can you accuse me of any extravagance, of any imprudence, sir?"

"I accuse you of neither, Mrs. Bolingbroke."

"No, because you cannot, sir; my character, my fidelity is unimpeached, unimpeachable: the world will do me justice."

Griselda contrived to make even her virtues causes of torment. Upon the strength of this unimpeachable fidelity, she thought she might be as ill-humoured as she pleased; she seemed now to think that she had acquired an indefeasible right to reproach her husband, since she had extorted from him the confession that he loved her less, and that he had no crime to lay to her charge. Ten days pa.s.sed on in this manner; the lady becoming every hour more irritable, the gentleman every hour more indifferent.

To have revived or killed affection _secundem artem_, the fair pract.i.tioner should now have thrown in a little jealousy: but, unluckily, she was so situated that this was impossible. No object any way fit for the purpose was at hand; nothing was to be found within ten miles of her but honest country squires; and,

"With all the powers of nature and of art, She could not break one stubborn country heart."

CHAPTER XV.

"To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, As one who loves and some unkindness meets, With sweet austere composure thus replies."

Many privileges are, and ought to be, allowed to the virgin majesty of the s.e.x; and even when the modern fair one does not reply with all the sweet austere composure of Eve, her anger may have charms for a lover. There is a certain susceptibility of temper, that sometimes accompanies the pride of virtue, which indicates a quick sense of shame, and warm feelings of affection; in whatsoever manner this may be shown, it appears amiable and graceful. And if this sensibility degenerate into irritability, a lover pardons it in his mistress; it is her prerogative to be haughty; and if he be dexterous to seize "the moment of returning love," it is often his interest to promote quarrels, for the sake of the pleasures of reconciliation. The jealous doubts, the alternate hopes and fears, attendant on the pa.s.sion of love, are dear to the lover whilst his pa.s.sion lasts; but when that subsides--as subside it must--his taste for altercation ceases. The proverb which favours the quarrels of lovers may prove fatal to the happiness of husbands; and woe be to the wife who puts her faith in it! There are, however, people who would extend that dangerous maxim even to the commerce of friendship; and it must be allowed (for morality, neither in small matters nor great, can gain any thing by suppressing the truth), it must be allowed that in the commencement of an intimacy the quarrels of friends may tend to increase their mutual regard, by affording to one or both of them opportunities of displaying qualities superior even to good humour; such as truth, fidelity, honour, or generosity. But whatever may be the sum total of their merit, when upon long acquaintance it comes to be fully known and justly appreciated, the most splendid virtues or talents can seldom compensate in domestic life for the want of temper. The fallacy of a maxim, like the absurdity of an argument, is sometimes best proved by pushing it as far as it can go, by observing all its consequences. Our heroine, in the present instance, ill.u.s.trates this truth to admiration: her life and her husband's had now become a perpetual scene of disputes and reproaches; every day the quarrels grew more bitter, and the reconciliations less sweet.

One morning, Griselda and her husband were present whilst Emma was busy showing some poor children how to plait straw for hats.

"Next summer, my dear, when we are settled at home, I hope you will encourage some manufacture of this kind amongst the children of our tenants," said Mr. Bolingbroke to his lady.

"I have no genius for teaching manufactures of this sort," replied Mrs. Bolingbroke, scornfully.

Her husband urged the matter no farther. A few minutes afterwards, he drew out a straw from a bundle, which one of the children held.

"This is a fine straw!" said he, carelessly.

"Fine straw!" cried Mrs. Bolingbroke: "no--that is very coa.r.s.e. This,"

continued she, pulling one from another bundle; "this is a fine straw, if you please."

"I think mine is the finest," said Mr. Bolingbroke.

"Then you must be blind, Mr. Bolingbroke," cried the lady, eagerly comparing them.

"Well, my dear," said he, laughing, "we will not dispute about straws."

"No, indeed," said she; "but I observe whenever you know you are in the wrong, Mr. Bolingbroke, you say, _we will not dispute, my dear_: now pray look at these straws, Mrs. Granby, you that have eyes--which is the finest?"

"I will draw lots," said Emma, taking one playfully from Mrs.

Bolingbroke; "for it seems to me, that there is little or no difference between them."

"No difference? Oh, my dear Emma!" said Mrs. Bolingbroke.

"My dear Griselda," cried her husband, taking the other straw from her and blowing it away; "indeed it is not worth disputing about: this is too childish."

"Childish!" repeated she, looking after the straw, as it floated down the wind; "I see nothing childish in being in the right: your raising your voice in that manner never convinces me. Jupiter is always in the wrong, you know, when he has recourse to his thunder."

"Thunder, my dear Griselda, about a straw! Well, when women are determined to dispute, it is wonderful how ingenious they are in finding subjects. I give you joy, my dear, of having attained the perfection of the art: you can now literally dispute about straws."

Emma insisted at this instant upon having an opinion about the shape of a hat, which she had just tied under the chin of a rosy little girl of six years old; upon whose smiling countenance she fixed the attention of the angry lady.

All might now have been well; but Griselda had a pernicious habit of recurring to any slight words of blame which had been used by her friends. Her husband had congratulated her upon having attained the perfection of the art of disputing, since she could cavil about straws. This reproach rankled in her mind. There are certain diseased states of the body, in which the slightest wound festers, and becomes incurable. It is the same with the mind; and our heroine's was in this dangerous predicament.

CHAPTER XVI.

"Que suis je?--qu'ai je fait? Que dois-je faire encore?

Quel transport me saisit? Quel chagrin me devore?"

Some hours after the quarrel about the straws, when her husband had entirely forgotten it, and was sitting very quietly in his own apartment writing a letter, Griselda entered the room with a countenance prepared for great exploits.

"Mr. Bolingbroke," she began in an awful tone of voice, "if you are at leisure to attend to me, I wish to speak to you upon a subject of some importance."

"I am quite at leisure, my dear; pray sit down: what is the matter?

you really alarm me!"

"It is not my intention to alarm you, Mr. Bolingbroke," continued she in a still more solemn tone; "the time is past when what I have to say could have alarmed: I am persuaded that you will now hear it without emotion, or with an emotion of pleasure."

She paused; he laid down his pen, and looked all expectation.

"I am come to announce to you a fixed, unalterable resolution--To part from you, Mr. Bolingbroke."

"Are you serious, my dear?"

"Perfectly serious, sir."

These words did not produce the revolution in her husband's countenance which Griselda had expected. She trembled with a mixed indescribable emotion of grief and rage when she heard him calmly reply, "Let us part, then, Griselda, if that be your wish; but let me be sure that it is your wish: I must have it repeated from your lips when you are perfectly calm."

With a voice inarticulate from pa.s.sion, Griselda began to a.s.sure him that she was perfectly calm; but he stopped her, and mildly said, "Take four-and-twenty hours to consider of what you are about, Griselda; I will be here at this time to-morrow to learn your final determination."

Mr. Bolingbroke left the room.