Of all the pitiful sights, of all the pathetic figures in the world, there is none to compare to women at sea.
Is it possible that these dejected, abject-looking bundles of misery only yesterday were the bright, proud, elegant, queenly fashion-plates whom I saw on Fifth Avenue? Quantum mutatæ ab illis! What a metamorphosis!
Poor things! Even the most terrible home ruler is satisfied with the lower berth, and gives her husband a chance to look down upon her. She is meek and grateful, she is submissive, and her imploring eyes beg the most hen-pecked husband not to take advantage of his temporary superiority.
She arrived on board flamboyant, with her most bewitching finery on, or a most becoming yachting-suit. She meant to 'fetch' all the men on deck. She went radiant to the saloon and examined the lovely flowers which had been sent to wish her bon voyage. Bon voyage! What irony!
These flowers are the very emblem of all that is going to happen to her—bright, fresh, and erect as the boat starts; wet, withered, drooping, and dripping, with no life left, twenty-four hours later.
She is present at the first meal, and declares to her neighbours that things at sea are not so bad as some people pretend, and the Atlantic is too often libelled. Besides, she is used to travelling, and she knows a remedy for sea-sickness.
Before sailing she doctored herself. She took an infallible drug—a rather unpleasant one, it is true; but what is that compared to the benefit derived from it? Yes, an infallible remedy—at any rate, one that succeeds nine times out of ten. Alas! this time is going to be the tenth.
You get outside the harbour, and leave Sandy Hook behind you. She has taken soup and fish. Somehow she now feels she has had enough. Her appetite is satisfied, and she goes on deck. When you see her again, she is lying on an easy-chair, packed as carefully and tightly as a valuable clock that is to be sent to the Antipodes.
There she now lies, motionless, speechless, helpless, and hopeless, wondering if the infallible remedy is going to fail. The yachting-cap is no longer roguish and cocky, but hanging over her eyes, or her beautiful hat is replaced by a tam-o'-shanter. The damp air has already taken away all her curls, and her hair, straight as drum-sticks, is hanging in front and behind, and, worse than all, she doesn't care. Provided you don't speak to her, don't shake her, and don't ask her to move, she doesn't care.
The boat is heaving. All the different parts of her anatomy go up with the boat, but they all come down again one by one, and she has to gather them together. She is at sea with a vengeance! Her husband is all right, the brute! so is pretty Miss So-and-So, who is chatting with him, the cat!
Their smiles and insulting pictures of health are more than she can bear. She is a good Christian, but if only that girl could be sick, too! What business has she to be well?
Of course, her husband has packed her up, tucked her in most carefully, and placed grapes and iced soda-water within her reach. He has done his duty, and now he makes himself scarce. Maybe he is flirting on the weather side, maybe he is in the smoke-room having a game of piquet or poker.
Anyway, he is all right, having a good time. Why isn't he sick, too?
For six or seven days, that bright American woman, who runs household, husband, children, and servants with one glance of the eye, is at the mercy of everyone who belongs to her, suffering agonies, tortures of body and mind, and you would imagine that a boat sees her on the Atlantic for the last time.
You would think that all the beauties of American scenery, its seashores, lakes, and mountains, will attract her next season. Not a bit of it. In order to be seen at the dreary funereal functions of Mayfair and Belgravia, she will cross again. She goes where duty calls her. She has to be 'in it' first, in the hope of soon being 'of it.'
And, in order to secure her social standing on a sure basis, twice a year she will pack her belongings and suffer death agonies. The pluck and power of endurance of women is perfectly prodigious.
The secret of a woman's beauty is not to be discovered in her dressing-room, as cynics might intimate; it is not obtained by the use of cosmetics, pomade, magic waters, and ointments; by the application of red, white, and black, neither by painting nor dyeing; the real secret of woman's beauty lies in resplendent health and a cheerful mind.
It was only a few days ago that I said to a lady, an intimate friend of mine, who has just been promoted to the dignity of a grandmother: 'Won't you make up your mind one of these days to look over thirty years of age?' My lady friend is very beautiful, and she knows it; but she carries her beauty without any affectation and bumptiousness.
She is simplicity personified, and if you were to talk to her about her looks she would smile, and immediately beg you to kindly change the subject of conversation. But we are old friends, and when I asked her to tell me what she did, that I might tell others how she succeeded in remaining young, fresh, and beautiful, she allowed me to insist.
'Well,' she said, 'let me tell you at once that I do not spend fifty shillings a year in perfumery. I have always retired and risen early; I have always done as much good as I have been permitted to do; I have always frequented cheerful and happy people, read cheerful books, and seen cheerful plays; I have always taken healthy exercise and indulged in plenty of fresh air by day and night.
'But I should add: I have had the good luck of being born with a cheerful disposition, and of being brought up by cheerful and happy parents. I have always dearly enjoyed humour, and have always been able to appreciate it. I am a philosopher.
'You say that I look thirty—well, I am forty-five; but if my body is young, my mind is younger still, and I am perfectly sure that, when I am a great-grandmother, I shall enjoy playing with a doll as much as any of my little great-grand-daughters.'
And she went on giving me advice in minute details. Here are a few hints which my lady readers might hear with profit:
Never expose your shoulders and arms to cold. When you leave a hot room to go out in the open air, cover them most carefully so as to create on your body an increase of temperature exactly equal to the difference there exists between the indoor temperature you leave and the outdoor one.
Avoid beds too soft and too much bed-clothing, which cause nightmares, develop nervous irritation, and conduce to stoutness. Never have round your beds curtains, except as an ornament, if you like, at the head; but draw them in such a way that fresh air can circulate freely round your head. Renew the air of your bedroom several times a day, and during the night, however cold it may be, have one window slightly open, even if you should be compelled to keep a fire all night.
Your bedroom should never be at a temperature above sixty-five degrees.
A woman enjoying good health should sleep eight hours, nine at most, and never less than seven. Sleep is a repairing balm which gives rest to the muscles, the nerves, and all the organs. Late evening and night sleeps are refreshing, but not so the sleep you may indulge in in the morning, or the nap you may have in the afternoon. What you want is uninterrupted sleep from eleven at night till seven in the morning. No other sleep will keep you fresh and well.
Never go to bed hungry, although you wait till your indigestion is well over. If you are hungry take some very light refreshment that you will digest at once and without any difficulty.
No sleep is thoroughly sound and good unless your face assumes a perfectly serene expression. To attain this end, do not allow your brain to work at night, or your mind to be besieged by painful thoughts. Do or read nothing exciting. Go to bed with pleasant thoughts and a quiet mind.
I am sure my lady friend is right; for, consulting advice on hygiene in a book written by a famous physician, I see that this great doctor advises the following:
Substantial and digestible meals at regular times.
Very little liquids at meals, if any.
Well-aired rooms and cool bedrooms.
Plenty of fresh air and cold water.
Warm but light clothing.
Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
A contented mind.
A cheerful disposition.
Indulgence in deeds of generosity and charity.
Plenty of genial occupation.
Such is certainly the secret of health and cheerfulness, and the secret of beauty, which is the reflection of both.
Descartes, Montesquieu, Scribe, Stahl, and many other famous writers of modern times, not to speak of philosophers of antiquity, have decried beauty, and warned mankind against its illusions, and especially its short duration, without succeeding, I must say, in disgusting the world out of it. True, beauty does not last for ever; but who would think of singing the praises of ugliness because it does last? And, for that matter, I am of opinion that beauty does last. I have known men quite handsome at sixty, and women quite beautiful at the same age. And even if it did not last, what of that? Are we not to admire the sun because it is followed by night and obscurity? Are we to despise spring because it is followed by winter one day?
Wise parents say to young men: 'Be sure you do not marry a woman for the sake of her beauty. Marry a woman for her lasting qualities, not for such an ephemeral one as beauty.' Upon my word, to hear some people talk, you would imagine that the beauty of a woman is a thing that lasts a year at most. The beauty of a happy woman who loves and is loved lasts thirty years at least, and the beauty of some women is such that if it only lasted a year, it would be sufficient to leave about a man for his life a fragrance that all the roses of the world put together could give but a faint idea of.
Nobody complains that peaches are not as big as pumpkins, and therefore do not last so long. Some peaches arrived at their full maturity are so excellent that, although they only make two 'swallows,' you not only enjoy eating them, but you long remember the beautiful taste they had.
I must say that nobody is the dupe of all the diatribes which are hurled at beauty, women still less than men. It has always been, and still is, and always will be, the wish of women to be beautiful, and the wish of men to see women beautiful. Even Ernest Renan, whom nobody would have ever accused of frivolity, joined the ranks, and said that the first duty of woman was to try and look beautiful. Let a woman hear that, in speaking of her, you have said that she was bad-tempered, giddy, silly, extravagant, everything you like, but that you have acknowledged that she was exceedingly beautiful, and I will warrant that you have not made an enemy of that woman. She may keep a grudge against you, but not for long. But let that woman hear that you have owned that she was sweet, dutiful, clever, devoted, and possessed of all the domestic virtues, but that she was far from being beautiful, you will discover you have made a bitter enemy for the rest of your natural life.
The great attributes of a woman are the beauty of her face and figure, the brilliancy of her mind, and the qualities of her heart. But when a woman is not beautiful, other women will never discuss the good opinion you may have of her mental attainments and sweet disposition. They will leave her in peaceful possession of all these qualities; but if you praise her beauty in terms of ecstasy before them—lo, they will form the square and fight until the last cartridge is used. It is beauty, not cleverness or virtue, that makes women jealous of other women. And when the beauty of a woman is perfectly indisputable, and it is almost impossible for them to find the slightest fault either with her face or her figure, then they declare that, unfortunately, her beauty is one which will not last. The dear women! how they wish they could possess that beauty, were it but for a day!
The woman who belongs to the 'jolly good fellow' type is frank and sincere, and as steady in her friendships as the most perfect gentleman. In love, she is disappointing, if not absolutely a fraud. Indeed, the idea of her possibly falling in love would seem to her quite as funny as it would to other people. She is of a cool temperament.
In friendship, her heart is set in the right place; in love, it is deaf and dumb.
She is fond of good living and of gaieties of all sorts, both in town and country. She prefers the society of men to that of women. She is no coquette, but has no objection to flirting—in fact, she enjoys it, and all the more that she knows it cannot make her run the least danger. 'It amuses men,' she thinks, 'and it doesn't hurt me.'
She sleeps, eats, drinks, dresses, rides, drives, dances, smokes, talks, laughs, and throws her money out of every window from the garret to the cellar.
People enjoy her society because she is cheerful and gay, a bright conversationalist, generally pretty, always elegant and fashionable, and most exquisitely dressed. She is unconventional, and the men like her for it; she seldom indulges in silly gossip, and the women are grateful to her for it. In fact, she is popular with men and women alike, because neither of them has anything to fear from her. The hearts of men and the reputations of women are safe in her hands; she does no damage to either.
Most people think that this type of woman is the happiest. As a girl, yes, perhaps; but not after twenty-five. The woman 'jolly fellow' very often makes all that noise in order to shake off her thoughts. If her heart is unable to speak and unable to hear, the reason often is that it is dead.
Men and women who retail slander, whether it has any foundation or not, ought to be unmercifully boycotted by all decent people; and, to be just, I will say that there is as much gossip, and of the worst kind, too, going on in men's club smoking-rooms as there is at afternoon tea-gatherings. Great, though scarce, is the woman who can keep other people's secrets as safely as her own. And how watchful women should be, and constantly be on their guard, always mindful that not more than one man out of ten can keep a secret. I mean his own.
There are many women who gossip and retail scandal, not out of wickedness or with the intention of hurting anyone, but for the mere sake of being entertaining at the dinner-table or round the tea-tray. When she makes her appearance people welcome her, and say: 'Oh, here is Mrs. A——; she is so amusing; we'll hear some good story.' Knowing that she has a reputation to sustain, she prepares her stories before starting on her visits, and gives them an artistic and piquant finishing touch that will make them go down successfully. Being fairly good-hearted, she begins by warning you that she is only repeating what is 'going on,' and 'does not know for certain.' She only wishes to be amusing and entertaining, you understand, and does not mean to do injury to any woman. Oh dear, no! she is a bit of an actress in an amateurish sort of way, and if she exaggerates she asks you to put it down to the account of Art. As long as people are entertained by gossip there will be people to gossip for their benefit. Now, men and women who repeat scandal which is true do harm enough, goodness knows, but the most dangerous ones are those who repeat what they have heard, which gossip will be repeated and 'improved' until it gets to gigantic proportions.
Slander generally takes refuge behind such platitude as, 'Of course, I have not seen it; I only repeat what I have heard.'
Who says those things?—Why, everybody.
Everybody?—Everybody; that's enough.
Please mention a name.—Well, I am afraid I can't.
But where have you heard such a thing?—Everywhere.
Can't you be precise? Is it in a private house?—I forget.
In a restaurant?—I don't know.
At a café? At a club? Perhaps in a theatre?—Yes, I think it was in a theatre.
What a cure—temporary, at least, if not to last for ever—to look the 'gossip,' man or woman, straight in the face, and say: 'Scandal-mongers are the most despicable parasites and scoundrels of society!' and you may be sure that, at least, is a statement which the 'gossip' will not repeat.
There is a law of libel practically in every civilized country to protect people against having their character stained at the will and for the pleasure of their fellow-creatures, but for the life of me I cannot see why libel should be libel, and thus punishable by law, only when it is published in a newspaper or written on a postcard. The worst libel, the one that does most injury, is the one that goes from house to house by word of mouth. To say a libellous thing is quite as bad as to write it down; it is even worse, because what is written often escapes notice, and the law should reach the libeller whether he has committed the offence with his mouth or with his pen.
We all of us have heard of people falling madly in love at first sight, men especially. No doubt there are men who are exceedingly susceptible, passionate, artistic, and ardent natures, who may take a violent fancy for a woman on seeing her for the first time; but I decline to call such a fancy love, and woe to the woman who marries such a man, for there is no guarantee for her that he will not many times again take such violent fancies for other women; indeed, there is every probability that he will.
I would always advise a woman, or at all events always wish her, to marry a lover and admirer of her sex, but a man who madly falls in love with women at first sight, never. There is no steadiness in that man, no solidity, no reliability, no possible fidelity in him. He is erratic and unmanly. He may be a good poet, a talented artist, a very good actor, but certainly he will never be a good husband, not even a decent one.
There are women who are proud to say that they inspired ardent love at first sight. They should not be proud of it, for it is only the love of a reflecting, lofty man that should make a woman proud. Men may feel immediate admiration for a woman.
In the presence of certain beautiful women I have felt ready to fall into ecstasies of admiration, as I have in the presence of Niagara Falls, Vesuvius in eruption, the Venus of Milo, or any other grand masterpiece of nature and art; but I have never felt that I could, or must, right away implore them to marry me or let me die at their feet. To fall in love at first sight is a great proof of weakness of mind, of utter absence of self-control, and of wretched unmanliness. I believe I may affirm, without the fear of contradiction, that love at first sight has never proved to be love of long duration.
How can we imagine that a solid affection can be the result of a caprice felt for a person whom you had never seen before, and of whose character you are absolutely ignorant? In certain cases affection may follow a first impression, but only when she can inspire as much affection by her merit as she could produce a good impression by her charms. Only in this case can love become sincere and profound. To form at once a charming impression of a woman is not to fall madly in love with her.
How much preferable is that love gradually increasing through the better knowledge of the beloved one! It is no longer an ephemeral fancy, but a solid affection. In order to love well and truly, you must know well and thoroughly. There must be between people in love that blind confidence, that complete abandon, which can only be born of the sweet habit to constantly see each other and to understand each other better and better every day. With such love you can brave all obstacles, but with a caprice it vanishes at the first violent storm.
Sincere, serious love is never love at first sight. When one look—and the first one, too—binds a man and a woman, you may be sure that one single word will soon be sufficient to unbind them. Lasting love comes slowly, progressively. Heart alone has never been particularly successful unless in partnership with that sober and wise counsellor that is called Reason. No love is placed on a solid basis which is not governed by reason as well as by the heart.
I have just digested a most interesting book by M. Novicow, entitled 'L'Affranchisement de la Femme.' This is a very serious subject, and I feel sure that I need not apologize for treating it with all the earnestness of which I am capable.
In a society organized in conformity with the nature of things, woman will be brought up, from infancy, with the same object in view as man—that is to say, in order to learn how to live by her work. And so it should be, since work is the universal law of biology. Every living creature, from the invisible microbe to the most powerful animal, works unceasingly to assure its existence. Work being the law of Nature, to remain idle is to resist that law and to be immoral.
Woman must become an independent economic unity. There is nothing revolutionary in this; on the contrary, it is a most conservative idea. The leisure class does not represent one-thousandth part of society, and 999 out of every 1,000 women have, or should have, to work to support themselves or help to support their families.
From time immemorial women have worked in families, in manufactures, offices, in the fields, either as mistresses of houses, as helps, or as servants.
If woman has to be recognised as an independent economic unity, her education should enable her to earn her living, and, whether she gets married or not, she ought always to be ready to support herself without the help of man. Knowledge of every description should be placed at her disposal by the State, as well as at the disposal of man.
This is not all. Not only should she receive an education enabling her to make a livelihood, but also one enabling her to direct her steps in life in the right direction. She should be told the mysteries of life, and the rôle she is called upon to play in life. In our times the ideal young girl is the one who knows nothing. This ideal is absolutely false, and creates the greatest source of danger in existence that stares women in the face. This ideal was created by the monstrous selfishness of man, who reserved to himself the satisfaction, the pleasure (only a rake's pleasure) of teaching her in one moment what, little by little, without shock, she should learn without astonishment.
It is innocence that disarms women and hands them over, defenceless, to the most odious and revolting attempts to corrupt them. When we suppose nowadays that a girl knows too much of the mysteries of love, we think she is depraved; but degradation does not come from the knowledge of certain things—it comes from the mysterious and unhealthy way in which that knowledge is sometimes imparted.
If she were told openly, in full daylight, all she should know of the rôle Nature has given her to play, she would not be depraved.
When a young girl shall have received from a rational society an education that will enable her to live independently by her work, and to behave to the best of interests, what will she do?
Well, she will do exactly what men do. The rich ones will manage their own fortune, and will engage in pursuits, civil, political, and intellectual. They will embrace professions, be writers, lawyers, artists, doctors, professors, and so on. All the careers will be open to them. In humbler stations of life, she will be clerk, shop-woman, work-woman, servant, labourer, etc. In fact, no woman will be prevented from entering a career for which she has aptitude, and, by so doing, no intellectual force will be lost to society.
For instance, we have lately heard, in Europe, of a young American girl passing a brilliant examination for naval engineering, who presented the model of a ship far superior to anything known up to date. With the new system a woman will not be prevented from building ships for the State because she is a woman. This will not only be justice to woman, but justice to society, which has a right to benefit by the genius of all its members, whether they be men or women.
Now let us examine what will become of society if all these transformations take place. When all the liberal professions and political functions are exercised by men and women alike, women will be members of Parliament, of chambers of commerce, of literary and scientific academies, and will sit by the side of men, as, in America, at schools and colleges, girls sit by the side of boys. On this account America will be the first country to get quickly reconciled to the new state of things.
The activity of women will be as indispensable to nations and their success as that of men. But I see other consequences. Women being no longer dependent on men, people will be no more concerned about the private life of an unmarried man. A woman who has committed indiscretions will not be called a woman with a past, but, may be, one with experience.
It is even just possible that men will feel more flattered to be chosen by them. They will repeat the word of Balzac, that a woman loves any first man who makes love to her, and that there is nothing in this to make a man feel proud; and Alphonse Karr goes as far as Ninon de Lenclos when he says that the only love that a man may feel proud of is that of a 'woman of experience.'
Another thing, and a very important point. Woman, in this future system, will be so busy with her occupations as a bread-winner that she will have very little time to devote to love.
'Woman lives by love and for love' will be thought an absurdity. She will come across love in her way through life. She will stop or pass on, according to her fancy, just as man does at present. She will not be taught early that woman was born to be a mother, and that she has constantly to keep her artillery in good order so as to bring down a man.
For that matter, it is just possible that, in those days, it will be women who will propose to men. I should not regret to see it for the sake of the happiness of mankind, because I maintain that woman is a far keener individual than man, and that a woman is much better able to choose the right husband than a man the right wife.
Of course, the frivolous woman, the doll, will have ceased to exist, and the woman will cease to be considered what she is in Turkey and Persia, an instrument of pleasure.
The author assures us that when his system is put into practice, it will work so well that society will discover that it has reached a climax, the advent of happy and perfect civilization.
Well, if it does, all I can say is that what consoles me for getting old is the thought that I shall not be there to see it.
This momentous question has been asked, and is daily answered, in a Paris paper called La Fronde, on the staff of which all the writers are women. This is a very delicate question to ask, and I am not sure that it is particularly politic to do so on the part of women.
That women take love more seriously than men is a fact which, I believe, is incontestable; but what would become of women if men were to decide in the negative and answer that love should not be taken seriously?
Their only protection, their only weapon would be taken away from them. See what happens in countries, not civilized, I must quickly add, where men do not take love seriously.
In these countries there is practically no difference between a woman and a slave, and even a beast of burden. The Arab, the Kaffir, the Zulu, the Soudanese, can be seen on horseback, or walking majestically with a blanket slung over his shoulder, while his womankind are following, carrying a baby on their backs, a pail of water or a cask of beer on their heads, and the rest of the burden in their hands.
These primitive creatures find all this quite natural, men as well as women, and their greatest source of amusement is to see a white man carry his wife's umbrella. How they pity and scorn that poor white man!
They look at him, and seem to say: 'Aren't you a man?' The more these men treat their women as inferior beings, the more highly the women think of the men, and the more respect they feel for them. And we would probably do the same if love, which we men do take seriously, did not subject, and even enslave, us to women.
Indeed, this would be our right—our Divine right—and women, I repeat, are very impolitic to compel us to remind them of what happened at the beginning.
We men have a Divine right to rule over women, and if we use that power given to us only with the greatest moderation, it is because we love women seriously.
This love for you, ladies, is your only safeguard. See how imprudent of you it is to come and ask us if we take love seriously.
Not only do we take love seriously, but I believe that there is nothing else in this world that is taken so seriously.
Love is the only universally serious thing in the world. Ask scientists what they think of actors. They will tell you that there is no such despicable profession in the world. Yet actors—and rightly, too—take their art seriously.
Literature and music appear to those who cultivate them the most absolutely serious things in existence, yet men of business, whose chief object in life is money-making, shrug their shoulders, and feel ready to say, like a London Lord Mayor to his son, who wanted to devote his life to literature: 'I will be very much obliged to you if you will decide on choosing an honest and respectable calling.'
What is serious to some is not to others. There is nothing in this world which is universally serious—that is to say, recognised as serious by all the civilized members of the human race, except bread and love.
The mission of man is to keep it alive with bread, and we perpetuate it with love. When we have eaten and when we have loved, we have fulfilled our mission. All the rest is accessory, and only more or less serious.
Poets and artists, who help make life beautiful, are not indispensable; they are not serious. Scientists, who make great discoveries, help make life more comfortable; they protect us against disease; they drug us; they cure us, but they are not indispensable—the world would go on without them; they are not serious.
Only as long as there is bread and there is love will the world go on and the earth continue to be inhabited by the human race; bread and love are serious.
I fear that I may have offended many people who think that they are indispensable and that their vocation is serious. Well, I am very sorry—very sorry indeed—but I cannot help it. The world was made thus, and when it was made I was not consulted.
Put aside a few men and women, most of them to be found in the leisure class or among the parasites of society, for whom love is a pastime, and you will find that love is taken very seriously by men, if not quite in the same way as it is taken by women, who are more delicate and refined psychologists than men generally are.
But, my dear ladies, as long as we men are only too proud and happy to fight the battle of life for you, to live for you, and, when occasion arises, sometimes die for you, please thank the progress of civilization, which has made us forget the origin of our relations toward each other; do not give us reasons for reminding you of it, and, for Heaven's sake! when we have spent years working twelve hours a day, providing you with all the comforts, and often the luxuries, of life, reared and settled in the world a large family of boys and girls, do not come and ask us if we take love seriously. You are adding insult to injury. Yes, indeed, we take love seriously, and matrimony too.
'You are often writing about women,' fair correspondents keep writing to me, 'sometimes praising them, often criticising them. Couldn't you now and then tell us something of what you think of men, especially in their relations with women? We know you to be fair, sometimes generous, always good-humoured. Now, do have a try.'
The invitation is tempting and intended to be pleasant, and I yield to it, not only without any reluctance, but with a good deal of pleasure.
To plunge in medias res, Are men fair to women? The laws, which are made by men, the usages—everything is calculated to cause men to reduce to a minimum the qualities, the intelligence, and the influence of women.
For instance, let a woman make a reputation in art or literature, and men begin to smile and shrug their shoulders: they dispute her talent.
I maintain, without much fear of contradiction, that a woman, in order to succeed in a profession, must have ten times more talent than a man, inasmuch as a man will have friends and comrades to help him, and a woman only difficulties put in her way by man to surmount.
Man receives encouragements from all sides. If he is successful, he even knows that his talent will receive official recognition. In France he may become a member of the French Academy; in England, of the Royal Academy. Orders will be given him by rich patrons, and 'orders' conferred on him by sovereigns and statesmen.
Why should not women get all this? Why, simply because man, being both 'verdict' and 'execution,' has kept everything for himself. Personally, I have no great liking for female genius—to my prejudiced mind a female genius is a freak; but what I like or do not like is quite out of the question. Here I state facts, and why women should not have as much chance to prove their genius as men I should like to know.
Everybody knows that the famous School of Alexandria, in the fifth century, had as orators and teachers the greatest philosophers and theologians of the time, such men as St. Jerome, St. Cyril, etc.
Among these sublime intellects rose a young girl, twenty years old, pure, radiantly beautiful, who modestly said to them:
'Please make room for me—hear me. I want my place in the glorious sun.'
She ascended the famous chair and began to explain before an enthusiastic crowd the works of Plato and Aristotle. Her talent, her learning, her eloquence astonished the people who thronged to hear young and fair Hypatia, daughter of Theo.
Now, do you believe that all those learned, bearded philosophers and theologians encouraged her, applauded her? No. History tells us they lay in wait in a street where she used to pass, and when she appeared in her chariot, resplendent with youth, beauty, and glory, acclaimed by the crowd, they—St. Cyril and his companions—seized her, killed her, cut her body in hundreds of pieces, which they threw to the four winds of the earth.
Now, modern Hypatias are not treated quite so roughly by men, who content themselves with turning them to ridicule, although I have heard of some who did not hesitate in disposing of successful women's reputations as the learned doctors of Alexandria disposed of the body of Hypatia.
Women, perhaps unfortunately, cannot all be intended to be mothers, or spend their lives mending socks and attending to spring house-cleaning. Such women, who have received a high education, may not feel inclined to be shop-girls, ladies'-maids, or cooks. If they feel that they have talent, and can paint or write successfully, every man ought to give them a helping hand.
'There are too many men in the world,' once exclaimed H. Taine. This was only a joke, but there is a great deal of truth in it. There are, in France especially, far too many men engaged in official Government offices, in professional occupations, and in stores; too many doctors without patients; too many lawyers without briefs; too many functionaries, each doing little or nothing, and the others seeing that he does it; too many men in stores showing women dresses, silks, and gloves.
And the woman hater exclaimed: 'No wonder men cannot find a living to make; all the occupations that once were filled by men are now monopolized by women. The hearth is deserted, the street crowded—that's the triumph of modern feminism.'
On the other hand some feminists, more royalist than the King, exclaim: 'Woman should be kept in clover, the protégée of humanity, and never be allowed to work.'
And, taken between two fires, poor women are ready to shout at the top of their voices, 'Save us from our friends as well as from our enemies!' It is a fact that at a recent congress of Socialists an orator declared himself in favour of the suppression of work for women.
But women do want to work, and many of them married, too. If what husbands earn is not enough to maintain the family or keep it in comfort, they are partners, and they wish to contribute to the revenue.
If they are not married, they want to support themselves or help to keep aged parents. Many of them prefer their independence to matrimony, which not uncommonly turns out to be about the hardest way for a woman to get a living.
Women have a right to work as they have a right to live, and every work which is suitable for women should be open to them. And when I see Lancashire make girls work in the coal-mines I may ask, 'What work is there that women cannot do?'
God forbid that I should be in favour of women working in the mines, but this is not necessary. There are so many men who do a kind of work that women should do, and could do just as well, if not better, that there should be no question of any kind of work done by women which men could do better.
The earth was meant to keep her children, and she would if everybody, man or woman, was in his or her right place. The supply is all there and all right, but it is its distribution which is all wrong. The same may be said of work.
There should be in this world work for all and bread for all, men or women, only the poor inhabitants of this globe have not yet been able to obtain a proper division of the goods which they have inherited from nature.
Thanks to the discoveries of science and the openings of new markets, opportunities for work increase every day, but men and women are like children in a room full of toys—they all make a rush for those which tempt them most, and fight and die in order to obtain them. In the presence of all the careers open to them, they rush toward the most easy to follow or the most brilliant.
Agriculture is forsaken by men who prefer swaggering in towns with top-hats and frock-coats, instead of imitating in their own country the virile, valiant men of the new worlds who fell forests, reclaim the land, and are the advanced pioneers of civilization. They prefer being clerks or shop assistants.
Instead of taking a pickaxe, working a piece of land and making it their own, they prefer taking a pen and adding from 9 a.m. till 5 or 6 p.m. pounds and shillings which do not belong to them. The result is that they overcrowd the cities, and women can often obtain no work except on condition that they accept it for a smaller remuneration than would be offered to men, or, in other words, submit to being sweated.
Is it a manly occupation to be assistant in a draper's store, to be a hairdresser, copyist, to make women's dresses, hats, corsets? When I see in dry goods stores a great big man over six feet high measure ribbons or lace, instead of tilling the soil or doing any other kind of manly work, I want to say to him, 'Aren't you a man?'
Europe is full of men doing such work. I know America is not, although I have many times seen in the United States positions filled by men which would be filled equally well by women, and often better.
Many writers maintain that woman was intended to tread on a path of roses, to be tended, petted—I may have been myself guilty of holding views somewhat in this direction—but women are not all born in 'society'; millionaires are very few, and people whom you may call rich form after all but a very small minority in the whole community. The path of roses can only exist for the very few, and, besides, there are women whose aim in life is not to be petted. In fact, some absolutely object to being petted.
I tell you the time is coming, and coming at giant strides, when every child—boy or girl—will be made early to choose the kind of work he or she best feels ready to undertake to make a living. The time is coming when no poverty will stare in the face the woman who can and is willing to work.
Maybe the time is coming when a woman who bravely earns a good living will be considered not only most respectable—she is that now—but will be envied for her 'social standard' by the frivolous, useless women who, from morning to night, yawn and wonder how they could invent anything to make them spend an hour usefully for their good or the good of their fellow-creatures.
The women's-righters are so often accused, and justly, too, of trying to disturb the equilibrium of happiness in family life, that they should immediately be praised when they do something likely to establish it on a firmer basis.
In Paris they have just succeeded in starting, under the best and happiest auspices, schools where girls will be taught how to bring up babies and how to keep house. When it is considered that, out of about a million children which are born annually, over 260,000 die before the age of five, it calls for the utmost care in the watchfulness and habits of parents with regard to young children.
Of all European countries, it is perhaps in France that mortality among babies is largest. France is being depopulated, or at least is not increasing her population. Enough children are born, but not enough are brought to grown-up age. This problem, over the solution of which our legislators are very anxious, is vital to France. It will not be solved by laws enacted, congresses held, and leagues founded. It will be solved by a reform in the manners and habits of the people, by making marriage easier, by marrying for love more often, and by teaching French women that the first duty of a mother is to raise her children herself, and the second to know how to do it. This new school, just established in France, will help in the right direction.
The teaching of household duties will also tend to make marriages happier by enabling wives to be more clever and economical. If we consider that in England and France, which each has a population of about 40,000,000, only about 100,000 men in each country have an income of more than £500 a year, it will soon be clear that the great problem of happiness can only be solved by the good management of wives.
Girls will be taught family hygiene, domestic economy, and the art of cooking, including that of utilizing the remnants of a previous meal. They will be taught how to 'shop' intelligently; that is to say, to distinguish good material from shoddy, and thus obtain the worth of their money. They will, I hope, also be taught how to make a bargain, a talent which I must say is practically inborn in every French woman of the middle and lower classes. No woman in the world knows as she does how to bring down the price of things to what she wants it to be, in Paris especially.
Perhaps they will advise her to do what I would advise every visitor to Italy. I take it that you do not speak Italian. Never mind that; three words will serve your purpose perfectly. When you are in an Italian shop and you ask the price of an article you wish to buy, say to the man 'Quanto?' (how much?); as soon as he has named it, say 'Troppo' (too much). Then he will say something else. Just remark 'Mezzo' (half that), and then pay, and you will find that the shopkeeper has still 40 or 50 per cent. profit.
When I consider that women's-righters, as a rule, complain bitterly of men for being of opinion that the only thing which young girls should think about is to prepare to become one day good wives and mothers, I believe that great credit should be given to them for having had the idea of starting schools where young girls will be taught all the duties of attentive mothers and economical wives.