The ideal wife has been often painted, but the real far exceeds her.
When Ulric von Hutten wrote to Frederick, he painted such a portrait as
must have made that staunch advocate for the marriage of the clergy glow
with admiration. "_Da mihi uxorem_," he commences. "Get me a wife,
Frederick, after my own heart, such as you know I should like--neat,
young, fairly educated, modest, patient; one with whom I may joke and
play, and yet be serious; to whom I may babble and talk, mixing hearty
fun and kisses together; one whose presence will lighten my anxiety and
soften the tumult of my cares."
It is not too much to say that the great majority of wives equal this
ideal. United to such a woman, a man becomes better. He can never be the
perfect man unless married. With marriage he undertakes those duties of
existence which he is born to fulfill. The excitements of life and of
business, the selfishness of daily existence, diminish; the generosities
of the heart expand; the health of the mind becomes daily more robust;
small repressions of selfishness, daily concessions, and daily trials,
render him better; the woman of his choice becomes his equal, and in
lifting her he lifts himself. He may not be a genius, nor she very
clever; but, once truly married, the real education of life begins. That
is not education which varnishes a man or a woman over with the pleasant
and shining accomplishments which fit us for society, but that which
tends to improve the heart, to bring forward the reflective qualities,
and to form a firm and regular character; that which cultivates the
reason, subdues the passions, restrains them in their proper place,
trains us to self-denial, makes us able to bear trials, and to refer
them, and all our sentiments and feelings to their proper source; which
makes us look beyond this world into the next.
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