Woman in the Nineteenth Century
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Title: Woman in the Nineteenth Century
Author: Margaret Fuller
Author of introduction, etc.: Horace Greeley
Editor: Arthur B. Fuller
Release date: August 1, 2005 [eBook #8642]
Most recently updated: June 22, 2018
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8642
Credits: Produced by David Garcia, Yvonne Dailey, Carlo Traverso,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY ***
Produced by David Garcia, Yvonne Dailey, Carlo Traverso,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
Woman in the Nineteenth Century,
and
Kindred Papers Relating to the Sphere, Condition and Duties, of Woman.
by Margaret Fuller Ossoli.
Edited by her brother, Arthur B. Fuller.
With an introduction by Horace Greeley.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
It has been thought desirable that such papers of Margaret Fuller
Ossoli as pertained to the condition, sphere and duties of Woman,
should be collected and published together. The present volume
contains, not only her "Woman in the Nineteenth Century,"--which has
been before published, but for some years out of print, and
inaccessible to readers who have sought it,--but also several other
papers, which have appeared at various times in the _Tribune_ and
elsewhere, and yet more which have never till now been published.
My free access to her private manuscripts has given to me many papers,
relating to Woman, never intended for publication, which yet seem
needful to this volume, in order to present a complete and harmonious
view of her thoughts on this important theme. I have preferred to
publish them without alteration, as most just to her views and to the
reader; though, doubtless, she would have varied their expression and
form before giving them to the press.
It seems right here to remark, In order to avoid any misapprehension,
that Margaret Ossoli's thoughts wore not directed so exclusively to
the subject of the present volume as have been the minds of some
others. As to the movement for the emancipation of Woman from the
unjust burdens and disabilities to which she has been subject oven in
our own land, my sister could neither remain indifferent nor silent;
yet she preferred, as in respect to every other reform, to act
independently and to speak independently from her own stand-point, and
never to merge her individuality in any existing organization. This
she did, not as condemning such organizations, nor yet as judging them
wholly unwise or uncalled for, but because she believed she could
herself accomplish more for their true and high objects, unfettered by
such organizations, than if a member of them. The opinions avowed
throughout this volume, and wherever expressed, will, then, be found,
whether consonant with the reader's or no, in all cases honestly and
heartily her own,--the result of her own thought and faith. She never
speaks, never did speak, for any clique or sect, but as her individual
judgment, her reason and conscience, her observation and experience,
taught her to speak.
I could have wished that some one other than a brother should have
spoken a few fitting words of Margaret Fuller, as a woman, to form a
brief but proper accompaniment to this volume, which may reach some
who have never read her "Memoirs," recently published, or have never
known her in personal life. This seemed the more desirable, because
the strictest verity in speaking of her must seem, to such as knew her
not, to be eulogy. But, after several disappointments as to the
editorship of the volume, the duty, at last, has seemed to devolve
upon me; and I have no reason to shrink from it but a sense of
inadequacy.
It is often supposed that literary women, and those who are active and
earnest in promoting great intellectual, philanthropic, or religious
movements, must of necessity neglect the domestic concerns of life. It
may be that this is sometimes so, nor can such neglect be too severely
reprehended; yet this is by no means a necessary result. Some of the
most devoted mothers the world has ever known, and whose homes were
the abode of every domestic virtue, themselves the embodiment of all
these, have been women whose minds were highly cultured, who loved and
devoted both thought and time to literature, and were active in
philanthropic and diffusive efforts for the welfare of the race.
The letter to M., which is published on page 345, is inserted chiefly
as showing the integrity and wisdom with which Margaret advised her
friends; the frankness with which she pointed out to every young woman
who asked counsel any deficiencies of character, and the duties of
life; and that among these latter she gave due place to the humblest
which serve to make home attractive and happy. It is but simple
justice for me to bear, in conjunction with many others, my tribute to
her domestic virtues and fidelity to all home duties. That her mind
found chief delight in the lowest forms of these duties may not be
true, and it would be sad if it were; but it is strictly true that
none, however humble, were either slighted or shunned.
In common with a younger sister and brother, I shared her care in my
early instruction, and found over one of the truest counsellors in a
sister who scorned not the youngest mind nor the simplest intellectual
wants in her love for communion, through converse or the silent page,
with the minds of the greatest and most gifted.
During a lingering illness, in childhood, well do I remember her as
the angel of the sick-chamber, reading much to me from books useful
and appropriate, and telling many a narrative not only fitted to wile
away the pain of disease and the weariness of long confinement, but to
elevate the mind and heart, and to direct them to all things noble and
holy; over ready to watch while I slept, and to perform every gentle
and kindly office. But her care of the sick--that she did not neglect,
but was eminent in that sphere of womanly duty, even when no tie of
kindred claimed this of her, Mr. Cass's letter abundantly shows; and
also that this gentleness was united to a heroism which most call
manly, but which, I believe, may as justly be called truly womanly.
Mr. Cass's letter is inserted because it arrived too late to find a
place in her "Memoirs," and yet more because it bears much on Margaret
Ossoli's characteristics as a woman.
A few also of her private letters and papers, not bearing, save,
indirectly, on the subject of this volume, are yet inserted in it, as
further illustrative of her thought, feeling and action, in life's
various relations. It is believed that nothing which exhibits a true
woman, especially in her relations to others as friend, sister,
daughter, wife, or mother, can fail to interest and be of value to her
sex, indeed to all who are interested in human welfare and
advancement, since these latter so much depend on the fidelity of
Woman. Nor will anything pertaining to the education and care of
children be deemed irrelevant, especially by mothers, upon whom these
duties must always largely devolve.
Of the intellectual gifts and wide culture of Margaret Fuller there is
no need that I should speak, nor is it wise that one standing in my
relation to her should. Those who knew her personally feel that no
words ever flowed from her pen equalling the eloquent utterances of
her lips; yet her works, though not always a clear oppression of her
thoughts, are the evidences to which the world will look as proof of
her mental greatness.
On one point, however, I do wish to bear testimony--not needed with
those who knew her well, but interesting, perhaps, to some readers
into whose bands this volume may fall. It is on a subject which one
who knew her from his childhood up--at _home_, where best the
_heart_ and _soul_ can be known,--in the unrestrained hours
of domestic life,--in various scenes, and not for a few days, nor
under any peculiar circumstances--can speak with confidence, because
he speaks what he "doth know, and testifieth what he hath seen." It
relates to her Christian faith and hope. "With all her intellectual
gifts, with all her high, moral, and noble characteristics," there are
some who will ask, "was her intellectual power sanctified by Christian
faith as its basis? Were her moral qualities, her beneficent life, the
results of a renewed heart?" I feel no hesitation here, nor would
think it worth while to answer such questions at all, were her life to
be read and known by all who read this volume, and were I not
influenced also, in some degree, by the tone which has characterized a
few sectarian reviews of her works, chiefly in foreign periodicals.
Surely, if the Saviour's test, "By their fruits ye shall know them,"
be the true one, Margaret Ossoli was preeminently a Christian. If a
life of constant self-sacrifice,--if devotion to the welfare of
kindred and the race,--if conformity to what she believed God's law,
so that her life seemed ever the truest form of prayer, active
obedience to the Deity,--in fine, if carrying Christianity into all
the departments of action, so far as human infirmity allows,--if these
be the proofs of a Christian, then whoever has read her "Memoirs"
thoughtfully, and without sectarian prejudice or the use of sectarian
standards of judgment, must feel her to have been a Christian. But not
alone in outward life, in mind and heart, too, was she a Christian.
The being brought into frequent and intimate contact with religious
persons has been one of the chief privileges of my vocation, but never
yet have I met with any person whose reverence for holy things was
deeper than hers. Abhorring, as all honest minds must, every species
of cant, she respected true religious thought and feeling, by
whomsoever cherished. God seemed nearer to her than to any person I
have over known. In the influences of His Holy Spirit upon the heart
she fully believed, and in experience realized them. Jesus, the friend
of man, can never have been more truly loved and honored than she
loved and honored him. I am aware that this is strong language, but
strength of language cannot equal the strength of my conviction on a
point where I have had the best opportunities of judgment. Rich as is
the religion of Jesus in its list of holy confessors, yet it can spare
and would exclude none who in heart, mind and life, confessed and
reverenced him as did she. Among my earliest recollections, is her
devoting much time to a thorough examination of the evidences of
Christianity, and ultimately declaring that to her, better than all
arguments or usual processes of proof, was the soul's want of a divine
religion, and the voice within that soul which declared the teachings
of Christ to be true and from God; and one of my most cherished
possessions is that Bible which she so diligently and thoughtfully
read, and which bears, in her own handwriting, so many proofs of
discriminating and prayerful perusal. As in regard to reformatory
movements so here, she joined no organized body of believers,
sympathizing with all of them whose views were noble and Christian;
deploring and bearing faithful testimony against anything she deemed
narrowness or perversion in theology or life.
This volume from her hand is now before the reader. The fact that a
large share of it was never written or revised by its authoress for
publication will be kept in view, as explaining any inaccuracy of
expression or repetition of thought, should such occur in its pages.
Nor will it be deemed surprising, if, in papers written by so
progressive a person, at so various periods of life, and under
widely-varied circumstances, there should not always be found perfect
union as to every expressed opinion.
It is probable that this will soon be followed by another volume,
containing a republication of "Summer on the Lakes," and also the
"Letters from Europe," by the same hand.
In the preparation of this volume much valuable assistance has been
afforded by Mr. Greeley, of the New York _Tribune_, who has been
earnest in his desire and efforts for the diffusion of what Margaret
has written.
A. B. F.
BOSTON, _May 10th_, 1855.
INTRODUCTION.
* * * * *
The problem of Woman's position, or "sphere,"--of her duties,
responsibilities, rights and immunities as Woman,--fitly attracts a
large and still-increasing measure of attention from the thinkers and
agitators of our time, The legislators, so called,--those who
ultimately enact into statutes what the really governing class (to
wit, the thinkers) have originated, matured and gradually commended to
the popular comprehension and acceptance,--are not as yet much
occupied with this problem, only fitfully worried and more or less
consciously puzzled by it. More commonly they merely echo the mob's
shallow retort to the petition of any strong-minded daughter or
sister, who demands that she be allowed a voice in disposing of the
money wrenched from her hard earnings by inexorable taxation, or in
shaping the laws by which she is ruled, judged, and is liable to be
sentenced to prison or to death, "It is a woman's business to obey her
husband, keep his home tidy, and nourish and train his children." But
when she rejoins to this, "Very true; but suppose I choose not to have
a husband, or am not chosen for a wife--what then? I am still subject
to your laws. Why am I not entitled, as a rational human being, to a
voice in shaping them? I have physical needs, and must somehow earn a
living. Why should I not be at liberty to earn it in any honest and
useful calling?"--the mob's flout is hushed, and the legislator Is
struck dumb also. They were already at the end of their scanty
resources of logic, and it would be cruel for woman to ask further:
"Suppose me a wife, and my husband a drunken prodigal--what am I to do
then? May I not earn food for my babes without being exposed to have
it snatched from their mouths to replenish the rumseller's till, and
aggravate my husband's madness? If some sympathizing relative sees fit
to leave me a bequest wherewith to keep my little ones together, why
may I not be legally enabled to secure this to their use and benefit?
In short, why am I not regarded by the law as a _soul_, responsible
for my acts to God and humanity, and not as a mere body, devoted to the
unreasoning service of my husband?" The state gives no answer, and the
champions of her policy evince wisdom in imitating her silence.
The writer of the following pages was one of the earliest as well as
ablest among American women, to demand for her sex equality before the
law with her titular lord and master, Her writings on this subject
have the force which springs from the ripening of profound reflection
into assured conviction. She wrote as one who had observed, and who
deeply felt what she deliberately uttered. Others have since spoken
more fluently, more variously, with a greater affluence of
illustration; but none, it is believed, more earnestly or more
forcibly. It is due to her memory, as well as to the great and living
cause of which she was so eminent and so fearless an advocate, that
what she thought and said with regard to the position of her sex and
its limitations, should be fully and fairly placed before the public.
For several years past her principal essay on "Woman," here given, has
not been purchasable at any price, and has only with great difficulty
been accessible to the general reader. To place it within the reach of
those who need and require it, is the main impulse to the publication
of this volume; but the accompanying essays and papers will be found
equally worthy of thoughtful consideration.
H. GREELEY.
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
PART I.
WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
* * * * *
PART II
MISCELLANIES
AULAURON AND LAURIE
WRONGS AND DUTIES OF AMERICAN WOMAN
GEORGE SAND
THE SAME SUBJECT
CONSUELO
JENNY LIND, THE "CONSUELO" OF GEORGE SAND
CAROLINE
EVER-GROWING LIVES
HOUSEHOLD NOBLENESS
"GLUMDALCLITCHES"
"ELLEN; OR, FORGIVE AND FORGET,"
"COUBRIER DES ETATS UNIS,"
THE SAME SUBJECT
BOOKS OF TRAVEL
REVIEW OF MRS. JAMESON'S ESSAYS
WOMAN'S INFLUENCE OVER THE INSANE
REVIEW OF BROWNING'S POEMS
CHRISTMAS
CHILDREN'S BOOKS
WOMAN IN POVERTY
THE IRISH CHARACTER
THE SAME SUBJECT
EDUCATE MEN AND WOMEN AS SOULS
* * * * *
PART III.
EXTRACTS FROM JOURNAL AND LETTERS
* * * * *
APPENDIX
PREFACE TO WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
* * * * *
The following essay is a reproduction, modified and expanded, of an
article published in "The Dial, Boston, July, 1843," under the title
of "The Great Lawsuit.--Man _versus_ Men; Woman _versus_ Women."
This article excited a good deal of sympathy, add still more interest.
It is in compliance with wishes expressed from many quarters that it
is prepared for publication in its present form.
Objections having been made to the former title, as not sufficiently
easy to be understood, the present has been substituted as expressive
of the main purpose of the essay; though, by myself, the other is
preferred, partly for the reason others do not like it,--that is, that
it requires some thought to see what it means, and might thus prepare
the reader to meet me on my own ground. Besides, it offers a larger
scope, and is, in that way, more just to my desire. I meant by that
title to intimate the fact that, while it is the destiny of Man, in
the course of the ages, to ascertain and fulfil the law of his being,
so that his life shall be seen, as a whole, to be that of an angel or
messenger, the action of prejudices and passions which attend, in the
day, the growth of the individual, is continually obstructing the holy
work that is to make the earth a part of heaven. By Man I mean both
man and woman; these are the two halves of one thought. I lay no
especial stress on the welfare of either. I believe that the
development of the one cannot be effected without that of the other.
My highest wish is that this truth should be distinctly and rationally
apprehended, and the conditions of life and freedom recognized as the
same for the daughters and the sons of time; twin exponents of a
divine thought.
I solicit a sincere and patient attention from those who open the
following pages at all. I solicit of women that they will lay it to
heart to ascertain what is for them the liberty of law. It is for
this, and not for any, the largest, extension of partial privileges
that I seek. I ask them, if interested by these suggestions, to search
their own experience and intuitions for better, and fill up with fit
materials the trenches that hedge them in. From men I ask a noble and
earnest attention to anything that can be offered on this great and
still obscure subject, such as I have met from many with whom I stand
in private relations.
And may truth, unpolluted by prejudice, vanity or selfishness, be
granted daily more and more as the due of inheritance, and only
valuable conquest for us all!
_November_, 1844.
WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
* * * * *
"Frailty, thy name is WOMAN."
"The Earth waits for her Queen."
The connection between these quotations may not be obvious, but it is
strict. Yet would any contradict us, if we made them applicable to the
other side, and began also,
Frailty, thy name is MAN.
The Earth waits for its King?
Yet Man, if not yet fully installed in his powers, has given much
earnest of his claims. Frail he is indeed,--how frail! how impure!
Yet often has the vein of gold displayed itself amid the baser ores,
and Man has appeared before us in princely promise worthy of his
future.
If, oftentimes, we see the prodigal son feeding on the husks in the
fair field no more his own, anon we raise the eyelids, heavy from
bitter tears, to behold in him the radiant apparition of genius and
love, demanding not less than the all of goodness, power and beauty.
We see that in him the largest claim finds a due foundation. That
claim is for no partial sway, no exclusive possession. He cannot be
satisfied with any one gift of life, any one department of knowledge
or telescopic peep at the heavens. He feels himself called to
understand and aid Nature, that she may, through his intelligence, be
raised and interpreted; to be a student of, and servant to, the
universe-spirit; and king of his planet, that, as an angelic minister
he may bring it into conscious harmony with the law of that spirit.
In clear, triumphant moments, many times, has rung through the spheres
the prophecy of his jubilee; and those moments, though past in time,
have been translated into eternity by thought; the bright signs they
left hang in the heavens, as single stars or constellations, and,
already, a thickly sown radiance consoles the wanderer in the darkest
night. Other heroes since Hercules have fulfilled the zodiac of
beneficent labors, and then given up their mortal part to the fire
without a murmur; while no God dared deny that they should have their
reward,
Siquis tamen, Hercule, siquis
Forte Deo doliturus erit, daia praemia nollet,
Sed meruise dari sciet, invitus que probabit,
Assensere Dei
Sages and lawgivers have bent their whole nature to the search for
truth, and thought themselves happy if they could buy, with the
sacrifice of all temporal ease and pleasure, one seed for the future
Eden. Poets and priests have strung the lyre with the heart-strings,
poured out their best blood upon the altar, which, reared anew from
age to age, shall at last sustain the flame pure enough to rise to
highest heaven. Shall we not name with as deep a benediction those
who, if not so immediately, or so consciously, in connection with the
eternal truth, yet, led and fashioned by a divine instinct, serve no
less to develop and interpret the open secret of love passing into
life, energy creating for the purpose of happiness; the artist whose
hand, drawn by a preexistent harmony to a certain medium, moulds it
to forms of life more highly and completely organized than are seen
elsewhere, and, by carrying out the intention of nature, reveals her
meaning to those who are not yet wise enough to divine it; the
philosopher who listens steadily for laws and causes, and from those
obvious infers those yet unknown; the historian who, in faith that all
events must have their reason and their aim, records them, and thus
fills archives from which the youth of prophets may be fed; the man of
science dissecting the statements, testing the facts and demonstrating
order, even where he cannot its purpose?
Lives, too, which bear none of these names, have yielded tones of no
less significance. The candlestick set in a low place has given light
as faithfully, where it was needed, as that upon the hill, In close
alleys, in dismal nooks, the Word has been read as distinctly, as when
shown by angels to holy men in the dark prison. Those who till a spot
of earth scarcely larger than is wanted for a grave, have deserved
that the sun should shine upon its sod till violets answer.
So great has been, from time to time, the promise, that, in all ages,
men have said the gods themselves came down to dwell with them; that
the All-Creating wandered on the earth to taste, in a limited nature,
the sweetness of virtue; that the All-Sustaining incarnated himself to
guard, in space and time, the destinies of this world; that heavenly
genius dwelt among the shepherds, to sing to them and teach them how
to sing. Indeed,
"Der stets den Hirten gnadig sich bewies."
"He has constantly shown himself favorable to shepherds."
And the dwellers in green pastures and natural students of the stars
were selected to hail, first among men, the holy child, whose life and
death were to present the type of excellence, which has sustained the
heart of so large a portion of mankind in these later generations.
Such marks have been made by the footsteps of _man_ (still, alas!
to be spoken of as the _ideal_ man), wherever he has passed
through the wilderness of _men_, and whenever the pigmies stepped
in one of those, they felt dilate within the breast somewhat that
promised nobler stature and purer blood. They were impelled to forsake
their evil ways of decrepit scepticism and covetousness of corruptible
possessions. Convictions flowed in upon them. They, too, raised the
cry: God is living, now, to-day; and all beings are brothers, for they
are his children. Simple words enough, yet which only angelic natures
can use or hear in their full, free sense.
These were the triumphant moments; but soon the lower nature took its
turn, and the era of a truly human life was postponed.
Thus is man still a stranger to his inheritance, still a pleader,
still a pilgrim. Yet his happiness is secure in the end. And now, no
more a glimmering consciousness, but assurance begins to be felt and
spoken, that the highest ideal Man can form of his own powers is that
which he is destined to attain. Whatever the soul knows how to seek,
it cannot fail to obtain. This is the Law and the Prophets. Knock and
it shall be opened; seek and ye shall find. It is demonstrated; it is
a maxim. Man no longer paints his proper nature in some form, and
says, "Prometheus had it; it is God-like;" but "Man must have it; it
is human." However disputed by many, however ignorantly used, or
falsified by those who do receive it, the fact of an universal,
unceasing revelation has been too clearly stated in words to be lost
sight of in thought; and sermons preached from the text, "Be ye
perfect," are the only sermons of a pervasive and deep-searching
influence.
But, among those who meditate upon this text, there is a great
difference of view as to the way in which perfection shall be sought.
"Through the intellect," say some. "Gather from every growth of life
its seed of thought; look behind every symbol for its law; if thou
canst _see_ clearly, the rest will follow."
"Through the life," say others. "Do the best thou knowest today.
Shrink not from frequent error in this gradual, fragmentary state.
Follow thy light for as much as it will show thee; be faithful as far
as thou canst, in hope that faith presently will lead to sight. Help
others, without blaming their need of thy help. Love much, and be
forgiven."
"It needs not intellect, needs not experience," says a third. "If you
took the true way, your destiny would be accomplished, in a purer and
more natural order. You would not learn through facts of thought or
action, but express through them the certainties of wisdom. In
quietness yield thy soul to the causal soul. Do not disturb thy
apprenticeship by premature effort; neither check the tide of
instruction by methods of thy own. Be still; seek not, but wait in
obedience. Thy commission will be given."
Could we indeed say what we want, could we give a description of the
child that is lost, he would be found. As soon as the soul can affirm
clearly that a certain demonstration is wanted, it is at hand. When
the Jewish prophet described the Lamb, as the expression of what was
required by the coming era, the time drew nigh. But we say not, see
not as yet, clearly, what we would. Those who call for a more
triumphant expression of love, a love that cannot be crucified, show
not a perfect sense of what has already been given. Love has already
been expressed, that made all things new, that gave the worm its place
and ministry as well as the eagle; a love to which it was alike to
descend into the depths of hell, or to sit at the right hand of the
Father.
Yet, no doubt, a new manifestation is at hand, a new hour in the day
of Man. We cannot expect to see any one sample of completed being,
when the mass of men still lie engaged in the sod, or use the freedom
of their limbs only with wolfish energy. The tree cannot come to
flower till its root be free from the cankering worm, and its whole
growth open to air and light. While any one is base, none can be
entirely free and noble. Yet something new shall presently be shown of
the life of man, for hearts crave, if minds do not know how to ask it.
Among the strains of prophecy, the following, by an earnest mind of a
foreign land, written some thirty years ago, is not yet outgrown; and
it has the merit of being a positive appeal from the heart, instead of
a critical declaration what Man should _not_ do.
"The ministry of Man implies that he must be filled from the divine
fountains which are being engendered through all eternity, so that, at
the mere name of his master, he may be able to cast all his enemies
into the abyss; that he may deliver all parts of nature from the
barriers that imprison them; that he may purge the terrestrial
atmosphere from the poisons that infect it; that he may preserve the
bodies of men from the corrupt influences that surround, and the
maladies that afflict them; still more, that he may keep their souls
pure from the malignant insinuations which pollute, and the gloomy
images that obscure them; that he may restore its serenity to the
Word, which false words of men fill with mourning and sadness; that he
may satisfy the desires of the angels, who await from him the
development of the marvels of nature; that, in fine, his world may be
filled with God, as eternity is." [Footnote: St. Martin]
Another attempt we will give, by an obscure observer of our own day
and country, to draw some lines of the desired image. It was suggested
by seeing the design of Crawford's Orpheus, and connecting with the
circumstance of the American, in his garret at Rome, making choice of
this subject, that of Americans here at home showing such ambition to
represent the character, by calling their prose and verse "Orphic
sayings"--"Orphics." We wish we could add that they have shown that
musical apprehension of the progress of Nature through her ascending
gradations which entitled them so to do, but their attempts are
frigid, though sometimes grand; in their strain we are not warmed by
the fire which fertilized the soil of Greece.
Orpheus was a lawgiver by theocratic commission. He understood nature,
and made her forms move to his music. He told her secrets in the form
of hymns, Nature as seen in the mind of God. His soul went forth
toward all beings, yet could remain sternly faithful to a chosen type
of excellence. Seeking what he loved, he feared not death nor hell;
neither could any shape of dread daunt his faith in the power of the
celestial harmony that filled his soul.
It seemed significant of the state of things in this country, that the
sculptor should have represented the seer at the moment when he was
obliged with his hand to shade his eyes.
Each Orpheus must to the depths descend;
For only thus the Poet can be wise;
Must make the sad Persephone his friend,
And buried love to second life arise;
Again his love must lose through too much love,
Must lose his life by living life too true,
For what he sought below is passed above,
Already done is all that he would do
Must tune all being with his single lyre,
Must melt all rooks free from their primal pain,
Must search all nature with his one soul's fire,
Must bind anew all forms in heavenly chain.
If he already sees what he must do,
Well may he shade his eyes from the far-shining view.
A better comment could not be made on what is required to perfect Man,
and place him in that superior position for which he was designed,
than by the interpretation of Bacon upon the legends of the Syren
coast "When the wise Ulysses passed," says he, "he caused his mariners
to stop their ears, with wax, knowing there was in them no power to
resist the lure of that voluptuous song. But he, the much experienced
man, who wished to be experienced in all, and use all to the service
of wisdom, desired to hear the song that he might understand its
meaning. Yet, distrusting his own power to be firm in his better
purpose, he caused himself to be bound to the mast, that he might be
kept secure against his own weakness. But Orpheus passed unfettered,
so absorbed in singing hymns to the gods that he could not even hear
those sounds of degrading enchantment."
Meanwhile, not a few believe, and men themselves have expressed the
opinion, that the time is come when Eurydice is to call for an
Orpheus, rather than Orpheus for Eurydice; that the idea of Man,
however imperfectly brought out, has been far more so than that of
Woman; that she, the other half of the same thought, the other chamber
of the heart of life, needs now take her turn in the full pulsation,
and that improvement in the daughters will best aid in the reformation
of the sons of this age.
It should be remarked that, as the principle of liberty is better
understood, and more nobly interpreted, a broader protest is made in
behalf of Woman. As men become aware that few men have had a fair
chance, they are inclined to say that no women have had a fair chance.
The French Revolution, that strangely disguised angel, bore witness in
favor of Woman, but interpreted her claims no less ignorantly than
those of Man. Its idea of happiness did not rise beyond outward
enjoyment, unobstructed by the tyranny of others. The title it gave
was "citoyen," "citoyenne;" and it is not unimportant to Woman that
even this species of equality was awarded her. Before, she could be
condemned to perish on the scaffold for treason, not as a citizen, but
as a subject. The right with which this title then invested a human
being was that of bloodshed and license. The Goddess of Liberty was
impure. As we read the poem addressed to her, not long since, by
Beranger, we can scarcely refrain from tears as painful as the tears
of blood that flowed when "such crimes were committed in her name."
Yes! Man, born to purify and animate the unintelligent and the cold,
can, in his madness, degrade and pollute no less the fair and the
chaste. Yet truth was prophesied in the ravings of that hideous fever,
caused by long ignorance and abuse. Europe is conning a valued lesson
from the blood-stained page. The same tendencies, further unfolded,
will bear good fruit in this country.
Yet, by men in this country, as by the Jews, when Moses was leading
them to the promised land, everything has been done that inherited
depravity could do, to hinder the promise of Heaven from its
fulfilment. The cross, here as elsewhere, has been planted only to be
blasphemed by cruelty and fraud. The name of the Prince of Peace has
been profaned by all kinds of injustice toward the Gentile whom he
said he came to save. But I need not speak of what has been done
towards the Red Man, the Black Man. Those deeds are the scoff of the
world; and they have been accompanied by such pious words that the
gentlest would not dare to intercede with "Father, forgive them, for
they know not what they do."
Here, as elsewhere, the gain of creation consists always in the growth
of individual minds, which live and aspire, as flowers bloom and birds
sing, in the midst of morasses; and in the continual development of
that thought, the thought of human destiny, which is given to eternity
adequately to express, and which ages of failure only seemingly
impede. Only seemingly; and whatever seems to the contrary, this
country is as surely destined to elucidate a great moral law, as
Europe was to promote the mental culture of Man.
Though the national independence be blurred by the servility of
individuals; though freedom and equality have been proclaimed only to
leave room for a monstrous display of slave-dealing and slave-keeping;
though the free American so often feels himself free, like the Roman,
only to pamper his appetites end his indolence through the misery of
his fellow-beings; still it is not in vain that the verbal statement
has been made, "All men are born free and equal." There it stands, a
golden certainty wherewith to encourage the good, to shame the bad.
The New World may be called clearly to perceive that it incurs the
utmost penalty if it reject or oppress the sorrowful brother. And, if
men are deaf, the angels hear. But men cannot be deaf. It is
inevitable that an external freedom, an independence of the
encroachments of other men, such as has been achieved for the nation,
should be so also for every member of it. That which has once been
clearly conceived in the intelligence cannot fail, sooner or later, to
be acted out. It has become a law as irrevocable as that of the Medes
in their ancient dominion; men will privately sin against it, but the
law, as expressed by a leading mind of the age,
"Tutti fatti a semblanza d'un Solo,
Figli tutti d'un solo riscatto,
In qual'ora, in qual parte del suolo
Trascorriamo quest' aura vital,
Siam fratelli, siam stretti ad un patto:
Maladetto colui che lo infrange,
Che s'innalza sul finoco che piange
Che contrista uno spirto immortal." [Footnote: Manzoni]
"All made in the likeness of the One.
All children of one ransom,
In whatever hour, in whatever part of the soil,
We draw this vital air,
We are brothers; we must be bound by one compact;
Accursed he who infringes it,
Who raises himself upon the weak who weep,
Who saddens an immortal spirit."
This law cannot fail of universal recognition. Accursed be he who
willingly saddens an immortal spirit--doomed to infamy in later, wiser
ages, doomed in future stages of his own being to deadly penance, only
short of death. Accursed be he who sins in ignorance, if that
ignorance be caused by sloth.
We sicken no less at the pomp than the strife of words. We feel that
never were lungs so puffed with the wind of declamation, on moral and
religious subjects, as now. We are tempted to implore these
"word-heroes," these word-Catos, word-Christs, to beware of cant
[Footnote: Dr. Johnson's one piece of advice should be written on
every door: "Clear your mind of cant." But Byron, to whom it was so
acceptable, in clearing away the noxious vine, shook down the
building. Sterling's emendation is worthy of honor:
"Realize your cant, not cast it off."]
above all things; to remember that hypocrisy is the most hopeless as
well as the meanest of crimes, and that those must surely be polluted
by it, who do not reserve a part of their morality and religion for
private use. Landor says that he cannot have a great deal of mind who
cannot afford to let the larger part of it lie fallow; and what is true
of genius is not less so of virtue. The tongue is a valuable member,
but should appropriate but a small part of the vital juices that are
needful all over the body. We feel that the mind may "grow black and
rancid in the smoke" even "of altars." We start up from the harangue
to go into our closet and shut the door. There inquires the spirit,
"Is this rhetoric the bloom of healthy blood, or a false pigment
artfully laid on?" And yet again we know where is so much smoke, must
be some fire; with so much talk about virtue and freedom, must be
mingled some desire for them; that it cannot be in vain that such have
become the common topics of conversation among men, rather than schemes
for tyranny and plunder, that the very newspapers see it best to
proclaim themselves "Pilgrims," "Puritans," "Heralds of Holiness." The
king that maintains so costly a retinue cannot be a mere boast, or
Carabbas fiction. We have waited here long in the dust; we are tired
and hungry; but the triumphal procession must appear at last.
Of all its banners, none has been more steadily upheld, and under none
have more valor and willingness for real sacrifices been shown, than
that of the champions of the enslaved African. And this band it is,
which, partly from a natural following out of principles, partly
because many women have been prominent in that cause, makes, just now,
the warmest appeal in behalf of Woman.
Though there has been a growing liberality on this subject, yet
society at large is not so prepared for the demands of this party, but
that its members are, and will be for some time, coldly regarded as
the Jacobins of their day.
"Is it not enough," cries the irritated trader, "that you have done
all you could to break up the national union, and thus destroy the
prosperity of our country, but now you must be trying to break up
family union, to take my wife away from the cradle and the
kitchen-hearth to vote at polls, and preach from a pulpit? Of course,
if she does such things, she cannot attend to those of her own sphere.
She is happy enough as she is. She has more leisure than I
have,--every means of improvement, every indulgence."
"Have you asked her whether she was satisfied with these
_indulgences_?"
"No, but I know she is. She is too amiable to desire what would make
me unhappy, and too judicious to wish to step beyond the sphere of her
sex. I will never consent to have our peace disturbed by any such
discussions."
"'Consent--you?' it is not consent from you that is in question--it is
assent from your wife."
"Am not I the head of my house?"
"You are not the head of your wife. God has given her a mind of her own.
"I am the head, and she the heart."
"God grant you play true to one another, then! I suppose I am to be
grateful that you did not say she was only the hand. If the head
represses no natural pulse of the heart, there can be no question as
to your giving your consent. Both will be of one accord, and there
needs but to present any question to get a full and true answer. There
is no need of precaution, of indulgence, nor consent. But our doubt is
whether the heart _does_ consent with the head, or only obeys its
decrees with a passiveness that precludes the exercise of its natural
powers, or a repugnance that turns sweet qualities to bitter, or a
doubt that lays waste the fair occasions of life. It is to ascertain
the truth that we propose some liberating measures."
Thus vaguely are these questions proposed and discussed at present.
But their being proposed at all implies much thought, and suggests
more. Many women are considering within themselves what they need that
they have not, and what they can have if they find they need it. Many
men are considering whether women are capable of being and having more
than they are and have, _and_ whether, if so, it will be best to
consent to improvement in their condition.
This morning, I open the Boston "Daily Mail," and find in its "poet's
corner" a translation of Schiller's "Dignity of Woman." In the
advertisement of a book on America, I see in the table of contents
this sequence, "Republican Institutions. American Slavery. American
Ladies."
I open the "_Deutsche Schnellpost_" published in New York, and
find at the head of a column, _Juden und Frauenemancipation in
Ungarn_--"Emancipation of Jews and Women in Hungary."
The past year has seen action in the Rhode Island legislature, to
secure married women rights over their own property, where men showed
that a very little examination of the subject could teach them much;
an article in the Democratic Review on the same subject more largely
considered, written by a woman, impelled, it is said, by glaring wrong
to a distinguished friend, having shown the defects in the existing
laws, and the state of opinion from which they spring; and on answer
from the revered old man, J. Q. Adams, in some respects the Phocion of
his time, to an address made him by some ladies. To this last I shall
again advert in another place.
These symptoms of the times have come under my view quite
accidentally: one who seeks, may, each month or week, collect more.
The numerous party, whose opinions are already labeled and adjusted
too much to their mind to admit of any new light, strive, by lectures
on some model-woman of bride-like beauty and gentleness, by writing
and lending little treatises, intended to mark out with precision the
limits of Woman's sphere, and Woman's mission, to prevent other than
the rightful shepherd from climbing the wall, or the flock from using
any chance to go astray.
Without enrolling ourselves at once on either side, let us look upon
the subject from the best point of view which to-day offers; no
better, it is to be feared, than a high house-top. A high hill-top, or
at least a cathedral-spire, would be desirable.
It may well be an Anti-Slavery party that pleads for Woman, if we
consider merely that she does not hold property on equal terms with
men; so that, if a husband dies without making a will, the wife,
instead of taking at once his place as head of the family, inherits
only a part of his fortune, often brought him by herself, as if she
were a child, or ward only, not an equal partner.
We will not speak of the innumerable instances in which profligate and
idle men live upon the earnings of industrious wives; or if the wives
leave them, and take with them the children, to perform the double
duty of mother and father, follow from place to place, and threaten to
rob them of the children, if deprived of the rights of a husband, as
they call them, planting themselves in their poor lodgings,
frightening them into paying tribute by taking from them the children,
running into debt at the expense of these otherwise so overtasked
helots. Such instances count up by scores within my own memory. I have
seen the husband who had stained himself by a long course of low vice,
till his wife was wearied from her heroic forgiveness, by finding that
his treachery made it useless, and that if she would provide bread for
herself and her children, she must be separate from his ill fame--I
have known this man come to install himself in the chamber of a woman
who loathed him, and say she should never take food without his
company. I have known these men steal their children, whom they knew
they had no means to maintain, take them into dissolute company,
expose them to bodily danger, to frighten the poor woman, to whom, it
seems, the fact that she alone had borne the pangs of their birth, and
nourished their infancy, does not give an equal right to them. I do
believe that this mode of kidnapping--and it is frequent enough in all
classes of society--will be by the next age viewed as it is by Heaven
now, and that the man who avails himself of the shelter of men's laws
to steal from a mother her own children, or arrogate any superior
right in them, save that of superior virtue, will bear the stigma he
deserves, in common with him who steals grown men from their
mother-land, their hopes, and their homes.
I said, we will not speak of this now; yet I _have_ spoken, for
the subject makes me feel too much. I could give instances that would
startle the most vulgar and callous; but I will not, for the public
opinion of their own sex is already against such men, and where cases
of extreme tyranny are made known, there is private action in the
wife's favor. But she ought not to need this, nor, I think, can she
long. Men must soon see that as, on their own ground, Woman is the
weaker party, she ought to have legal protection, which would make
such oppression impossible. But I would not deal with "atrocious
instances," except in the way of illustration, neither demand from men
a partial redress in some one matter, but go to the root of the whole.
If principles could be established, particulars would adjust
themselves aright. Ascertain the true destiny of Woman; give her
legitimate hopes, and a standard within herself; marriage and all
other relations would by degrees be harmonized with these.
But to return to the historical progress of this matter. Knowing that
there exists in the minds of men a tone of feeling toward women as
toward slaves, such as is expressed in the common phrase, "Tell that
to women and children;" that the infinite soul can only work through
them in already ascertained limits; that the gift of reason, Man's
highest prerogative, is allotted to them in much lower degree; that
they must be kept from mischief and melancholy by being constantly
engaged in active labor, which is to be furnished and directed by
those better able to think, &c., &c.,--we need not multiply instances,
for who can review the experience of last week without recalling words
which imply, whether in jest or earnest, these views, or views like
these,--knowing this, can we wonder that many reformers think that
measures are not likely to be taken in behalf of women, unless their
wishes could be publicly represented by women?
"That can never be necessary," cry the other side. "All men are
privately influenced by women; each has his wife, sister, or female
friends, and is too much biased by these relations to fail of
representing their interests; and, if this is not enough, let them
propose and enforce their wishes with the pen. The beauty of home
would be destroyed, the delicacy of the sex be violated, the dignity
of halls of legislation degraded, by an attempt to introduce them
there. Such duties are inconsistent with those of a mother;" and then
we have ludicrous pictures of ladies in hysterics at the polls, and
senate-chambers filled with cradles.
But if, in reply, we admit as truth that Woman seems destined by
nature rather for the inner circle, we must add that the arrangements
of civilized life have not been, as yet, such as to secure it to her.
Her circle, if the duller, is not the quieter. If kept from
"excitement," she is not from drudgery. Not only the Indian squaw
carries the burdens of the camp, but the favorites of Louis XIV.
accompany him in his journeys, and the washerwoman stands at her tub,
and carries home her work at all seasons, and in all states of health.
Those who think the physical circumstances of Woman would make a part
in the affairs of national government unsuitable, are by no means
those who think it impossible for negresses to endure field-work, even
during pregnancy, or for sempstresses to go through their killing
labors.
As to the use of the pen, there was quite as much opposition to
Woman's possessing herself of that help to free agency as there is now
to her seizing on the rostrum or the desk; and she is likely to draw,
from a permission to plead her cause that way, opposite inferences to
what might be wished by those who now grant it.
As to the possibility of her filling with grace and dignity any such
position, we should think those who had seen the great actresses, and
heard the Quaker preachers of modern times, would not doubt that Woman
can express publicly the fulness of thought and creation, without
losing any of the peculiar beauty of her sex. What can pollute and
tarnish is to act thus from any motive except that something needs to
be said or done. Woman could take part in the processions, the songs,
the dances of old religion; no one fancied her delicacy was impaired
by appearing in public for such a cause.
As to her home, she is not likely to leave it more than she now does
for balls, theatres, meetings for promoting missions, revival
meetings, and others to which she flies, in hope of an animation for
her existence commensurate with what she sees enjoyed by men.
Governors of ladies'-fairs are no less engrossed by such a charge,
than the governor of a state by his; presidents of Washingtonian
societies no less away from home than presidents of conventions. If
men look straitly to it, they will find that, unless their lives are
domestic, those of the women will not be. A house is no home unless it
contain food and fire for the mind as well as for the body. The female
Greek, of our day, is as much in the street as the male to cry, "What
news?" We doubt not it was the same in Athens of old. The women, shut
out from the market-place, made up for it at the religious festivals.
For human beings are not so constituted that they can live without
expansion. If they do not get it in one way, they must in another, or
perish.
As to men's representing women fairly at present, while we hear from
men who owe to their wives not only all that is comfortable or
graceful, but all that is wise, in the arrangement of their lives, the
frequent remark, "You cannot reason with a woman,"--when from those of
delicacy, nobleness, and poetic culture, falls the contemptuous phrase
"women and children," and that in no light sally of the hour, but in
works intended to give a permanent statement of the best
experiences,--when not one man, in the million, shall I say? no, not
in the hundred million, can rise above the belief that Woman was made
_for Man_,--when such traits as these are daily forced upon the
attention, can we feel that Man will always do justice to the
interests of Woman? Can we think that he takes a sufficiently
discerning and religious view of her office and destiny _ever_ to
do her justice, except when prompted by sentiment,--accidentally or
transiently, that is, for the sentiment will vary according to the
relations in which he is placed? The lover, the poet, the artist, are
likely to view her nobly. The father and the philosopher have some
chance of liberality; the man of the world, the legislator for
expediency, none.
Under these circumstances, without attaching importance, in
themselves, to the changes demanded by the champions of Woman, we hail
them as signs of the times. We would have every arbitrary barrier
thrown down. We would have every path laid open to Woman as freely as
to Man. Were this done, and a slight temporary fermentation allowed to
subside, we should see crystallizations more pure and of more various
beauty. We believe the divine energy would pervade nature to a degree
unknown in the history of former ages, and that no discordant
collision, but a ravishing harmony of the spheres, would ensue.
Yet, then and only then will mankind be ripe for this, when inward and
outward freedom for Woman as much as for Man shall be acknowledged as
a _right_, not yielded as a concession. As the friend of the
negro assumes that one man cannot by right hold another in bondage, so
should the friend of Woman assume that Man cannot by right lay even
well-meant restrictions on Woman. If the negro be a soul, if the woman
be a soul, apparelled in flesh, to one Master only are they
accountable. There is but one law for souls, and, if there is to be an
interpreter of it, he must come not as man, or son of man, but as son
of God.
Were thought and feeling once so far elevated that Man should esteem
himself the brother and friend, but nowise the lord and tutor, of
Woman,--were he really bound with her in equal worship,--arrangements
as to function and employment would be of no consequence. What Woman
needs is not as a woman to act or rule, but as a nature to grow, as an
intellect to discern, as a soul to live freely and unimpeded, to
unfold such powers as were given her when we left our common home. If
fewer talents were given her, yet if allowed the free and full
employment of these, so that she may render back to the giver his own
with usury, she will not complain; nay, I dare to say she will bless
and rejoice in her earthly birth-place, her earthly lot. Let us
consider what obstructions impede this good era, and what signs give
reason to hope that it draws near.
I was talking on this subject with Miranda, a woman, who, if any in
the world could, might speak without heat and bitterness of the
position of her sex. Her father was a man who cherished no sentimental
reverence for Woman, but a firm belief in the equality of the sexes.
She was his eldest child, and came to him at an age when he needed a
companion. From the time she could speak and go alone, he addressed
her not as a plaything, but as a living mind. Among the few verses he
ever wrote was a copy addressed to this child, when the first locks
were cut from her head; and the reverence expressed on this occasion
for that cherished head, he never belied. It was to him the temple of
immortal intellect. He respected his child, however, too much to be an
indulgent parent. He called on her for clear judgment, for courage,
for honor and fidelity; in short, for such virtues as he knew. In so
far as he possessed the keys to the wonders of this universe, he
allowed free use of them to her, and, by the incentive of a high
expectation, he forbade, so far as possible, that she should let the
privilege lie idle.
Thus this child was early led to feel herself a child of the spirit.
She took her place easily, not only in the world of organized being,
but in the world of mind. A dignified sense of self-dependence was
given as all her portion, and she found it a sure anchor. Herself
securely anchored, her relations with others were established with
equal security. She was fortunate in a total absence of those charms
which might have drawn to her bewildering flatteries, and in a strong
electric nature, which repelled those who did not belong to her, and
attracted those who did. With men and women her relations were
noble,--affectionate without passion, intellectual without coldness.
The world was free to her, and she lived freely in it. Outward
adversity came, and inward conflict; but that faith and self-respect
had early been awakened which must always lead, at last, to an outward
serenity and an inward peace.
Of Miranda I had always thought as an example, that the restraints
upon the sex were insuperable only to those who think them so, or who
noisily strive to break them. She had taken a course of her own, and
no man stood in her way. Many of her acts had been unusual, but
excited no uproar. Few helped, but none checked her; and the many men
who knew her mind and her life, showed to her confidence as to a
brother, gentleness as to a sister. And not only refined, but very
coarse men approved and aided one in whom they saw resolution and
clearness of design. Her mind was often the leading one, always
effective.
When I talked with her upon these matters, and had said very much what
I have written, she smilingly replied; "And yet we must admit that I
have been fortunate, and this should not be. My good father's early
trust gave the first bias, and the rest followed, of course. It is
true that I have had less outward aid, in after years, than most
women; but that is of little consequence. Religion was early awakened
in my soul,--a sense that what the soul is capable to ask it must
attain, and that, though I might be aided and instructed by others, I
must depend on myself as the only constant friend. This
self-dependence, which was honored in me, is deprecated as a fault in
most women. They are taught to learn their rule from without, not to
unfold it from within.
"This is the fault of Man, who is still vain, and wishes to be more
important to Woman than, by right, he should be."
"Men have not shown this disposition toward you," I said.
"No; because the position I early was enabled to take was one of
self-reliance. And were all women as sure of their wants as I was, the
result would be the same. But they are so overloaded with precepts by
guardians, who think that nothing is so much to be dreaded for a woman
as originality of thought or character, that their minds are impeded
by doubts till they lose their chance of fair, free proportions. The
difficulty is to got them to the point from which they shall naturally
develop self-respect, and learn self-help.
"Once I thought that men would help to forward this state of things
more than I do now. I saw so many of them wretched in the connections
they had formed in weakness and vanity. They seemed so glad to esteem
women whenever they could.
"'The soft arms of affection,' said one of the most discerning
spirits, 'will not suffice for me, unless on them I see the steel
bracelets of strength.'
"But early I perceived that men never, in any extreme of despair,
wished to be women. On the contrary, they were ever ready to taunt one
another, at any sign of weakness, with,
"'Art thou not like the women, who,'--
The passage ends various ways, according to the occasion and rhetoric
of the speaker. When they admired any woman, they were inclined to
speak of her as 'above her sex.' Silently I observed this, and feared
it argued a rooted scepticism, which for ages had been fastening on
the heart, and which only an age of miracles could eradicate. Ever I
have been treated with great sincerity; and I look upon it as a signal
instance of this, that an intimate friend of the other sex said, in a
fervent moment, that I 'deserved in some star to be a man.' He was
much surprised when I disclosed my view of my position and hopes, when
I declared my faith that the feminine side, the side of love, of
beauty, of holiness, was now to have its full chance, and that, if
either were better, it was better now to be a woman; for even the
slightest achievement of good was furthering an especial work of our
time. He smiled incredulously. 'She makes the best she can of it,'
thought he. 'Let Jews believe the pride of Jewry, but I am of the
better sort, and know better.'
"Another used as highest praise, in speaking of a character in
literature, the words 'a manly woman.'
"So in the noble passage of Ben Jonson:
'I meant the day-star should not brighter ride,
Nor shed like influence, from its lucent seat;
I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet,
Free from that solemn vice of greatness, pride;
I meant each softest virtue there should meet,
Fit in that softer bosom to abide,
Only a learned and a _manly_ soul
I purposed her, that should with even powers
The rock, the spindle, and the shears control
Of destiny, and spin her own free hours.'"
"Me thinks," said I, "you are too fastidious in objecting to this.
Jonson, in using the word 'manly,' only meant to heighten the picture
of this, the true, the intelligent fate, with one of the deeper
colors."
"And yet," said she, "so invariable is the use of this word where a
heroic quality is to be described, and I feel so sure that persistence
and courage are the most womanly no less than the most manly
qualities, that I would exchange these words for others of a larger
sense, at the risk of marring the fine tissue of the verse. Read, 'A
heavenward and instructed soul,' and I should be satisfied. Let it not
be said, wherever there is energy or creative genius, 'She has a
masculine mind.'"
* * * * *
This by no means argues a willing want of generosity toward Woman. Man
is as generous towards her as he knows how to be.
Wherever she has herself arisen in national or private history, and
nobly shone forth in any form of excellence, men have received her,
not only willingly, but with triumph. Their encomiums, indeed, are
always, in some sense, mortifying; they show too much surprise. "Can
this be you?" he cries to the transfigured Cinderella; "well, I should
never have thought it, but I am very glad. We will tell every one that
you have '_surpassed your sex_.'"
In every-day life, the feelings of the many are stained with vanity.
Each wishes to be lord in a little world, to be superior at least over
one; and he does not feel strong enough to retain a life-long
ascendency over a strong nature. Only a Theseus could conquer before
he wed the Amazonian queen. Hercules wished rather to rest with
Dejanira, and received the poisoned robe as a fit guerdon. The tale
should be interpreted to all those who seek repose with the weak.
But not only is Man vain and fond of power, but the same want of
development, which thus affects him morally, prevents his
intellectually discerning the destiny of Woman: The boy wants no
woman, but only a girl to play ball with him, and mark his pocket
handkerchief.
Thus, in Schiller's Dignity of Woman, beautiful as the poem is, there
is no "grave and perfect man," but only a great boy to be softened and
restrained by the influence of girls. Poets--the elder brothers of
their race--have usually seen further; but what can you expect of
every-day men, if Schiller was not more prophetic as to what women
must be? Even with Richter, one foremost thought about a wife was that
she would "cook him something good." But as this is a delicate
subject, and we are in constant danger of being accused of slighting
what are called "the functions," let me say, in behalf of Miranda and
myself, that we have high respect for those who "cook something good,"
who create and preserve fair order in houses, and prepare therein the
shining raiment for worthy inmates, worthy guests. Only these
"functions" must not be a drudgery, or enforced necessity, but a part
of life. Let Ulysses drive the beeves home, while Penelope there piles
up the fragrant loaves; they are both well employed if these be done
in thought and love, willingly. But Penelope is no more meant for a
baker or weaver solely, than Ulysses for a cattle-herd.
The sexes should not only correspond to and appreciate, but prophesy
to one another. In individual instances this happens. Two persons love
in one another the future good which they aid one another to unfold.
This is imperfectly or rarely done in the general life. Man has gone
but little way; now he is waiting to see whether Woman can keep step
with him; but, instead of calling but, like a good brother, "You can
do it, if you only think so," or impersonally, "Any one can do what he
tries to do;" he often discourages with school-boy brag: "Girls can't
do that; girls can't play ball." But let any one defy their taunts,
break through and be brave and secure, they rend the air with shouts.
This fluctuation was obvious in a narrative I have lately seen, the
story of the life of Countess Emily Plater, the heroine of the last
revolution in Poland. The dignity, the purity, the concentrated
resolve, the calm, deep enthusiasm, which yet could, when occasion
called, sparkle up a holy, an indignant fire, make of this young
maiden the figure I want for my frontispiece. Her portrait is to be
seen in the book, a gentle shadow of her soul. Short was the career.
Like the Maid of Orleans, she only did enough to verify her
credentials, and then passed from a scene on which she was, probably,
a premature apparition.
When the young girl joined the army, where the report of her exploits
had preceded her, she was received in a manner that marks the usual
state of feeling. Some of the officers were disappointed at her quiet
manners; that she had not the air and tone of a stage-heroine. They
thought she could not have acted heroically unless in buskins; had no
idea that such deeds only showed the habit of her mind. Others talked
of the delicacy of her sex, advised her to withdraw from perils and
dangers, and had no comprehension of the feelings within her breast
that made this impossible. The gentle irony of her reply to these
self-constituted tutors (not one of whom showed himself her equal in
conduct or reason), is as good as her indignant reproof at a later
period to the general, whose perfidy ruined all.
But though, to the mass of these men, she was an embarrassment and a
puzzle, the nobler sort viewed her with a tender enthusiasm worthy of
her. "Her name," said her biographer, "is known throughout Europe. I
paint her character that she may be as widely loved."
With pride, he shows her freedom from all personal affections; that,
though tender and gentle in an uncommon degree, there was no room for
a private love in her consecrated life. She inspired those who knew
her with a simple energy of feeling like her own. "We have seen," they
felt, "a woman worthy the name, capable of all sweet affections,
capable of stern virtue."
It is a fact worthy of remark, that all these revolutions in favor of
liberty have produced female champions that share the same traits, but
Emily alone has found a biographer. Only a near friend could have
performed for her this task, for the flower was reared in feminine
seclusion, and the few and simple traits of her history before her
appearance in the field could only have been known to the domestic
circle. Her biographer has gathered them up with a brotherly devotion.
No! Man is not willingly ungenerous. He wants faith and love, because
he is not yet himself an elevated being. He cries, with sneering
scepticism, "Give us a sign." But if the sign appears, his eyes
glisten, and he offers not merely approval, but homage.
The severe nation which taught that the happiness of the race was
forfeited through the fault of a Woman, and showed its thought of what
sort of regard Man owed her, by making him accuse her on the first
question to his God,--who gave her to the patriarch as a handmaid,
and, by the Mosaical law, bound her to allegiance like a serf,--even
they greeted, with solemn rapture, all great and holy women as
heroines, prophetesses, judges in Israel; and, if they made Eve listen
to the serpent, gave Mary as a bride to the Holy Spirit. In other
nations it has been the same down to our day. To the Woman who could
conquer a triumph was awarded. And not only those whose strength was
recommended to the heart by association with goodness and beauty, but
those who were bad, if they were steadfast and strong, had their
claims allowed. In any age a Semiramis, an Elizabeth of England, a
Catharine of Russia, makes her place good, whether in a large or small
circle. How has a little wit, a little genius, been celebrated in a
Woman! What an intellectual triumph was that of the lonely Aspasia,
and how heartily acknowledged! She, indeed, met a Pericles. But what
annalist, the rudest of men, the most plebeian of husbands, will spare
from his page one of the few anecdotes of Roman women--Sappho!
Eloisa! The names are of threadbare celebrity. Indeed, they were not
more suitably met in their own time than the Countess Colonel Plater
on her first joining the army. They had much to mourn, and their great
impulses did not find due scope. But with time enough, space enough,
their kindred appear on the scene. Across the ages, forms lean, trying
to touch the hem of their retreating robes. The youth here by my side
cannot be weary of the fragments from the life of Sappho. He will not
believe they are not addressed to himself, or that he to whom they
were addressed could be ungrateful. A recluse of high powers devotes
himself to understand and explain the thought of Eloisa; he asserts
her vast superiority in soul and genius to her master; he curses the
fate that casts his lot in another age than hers. He could have
understood her; he would have been to her a friend, such as Abelard
never could. And this one Woman he could have loved and reverenced,
and she, alas! lay cold in her grave hundreds of years ago. His sorrow
is truly pathetic. These responses, that come too late to give joy,
are as tragic as anything we know, and yet the tears of later ages
glitter as they fall on Tasso's prison bars. And we know how
elevating to the captive is the security that somewhere an
intelligence must answer to his.
The Man habitually most narrow towards Woman will be flushed, as by
the worst assault on Christianity, if you say it has made no
improvement in her condition. Indeed, those most opposed to new acts
in her favor, are jealous of the reputation of those which have been
done.
We will not speak of the enthusiasm excited by actresses,
improvisatrici, female singers,--for here mingles the charm of beauty
and grace,--but female authors, even learned women, if not
insufferably ugly and slovenly, from the Italian professor's daughter
who taught behind the curtain, down to Mrs. Carter and Madame Dacier,
are sure of an admiring audience, and, what is far better, chance to
use what they have learned, and to learn more, if they can once get a
platform on which to stand.
But how to get this platform, or how to make it of reasonably easy
access, is the difficulty. Plants of great vigor will almost always
struggle into blossom, despite impediments. But there should be
encouragement, and a free genial atmosphere for those of move timid
sort, fair play for each in its own kind. Some are like the little,
delicate flowers which love to hide in the dripping mosses, by the
sides of mountain torrents, or in the shade of tall trees. But others
require an open field, a rich and loosened soil, or they never show
their proper hues.
It may be said that Man does not have his fair play either; his
energies are repressed and distorted by the interposition of
artificial obstacles. Ay, but he himself has put them there; they have
grown out of his own imperfections. If there _is_ a misfortune in
Woman's lot, it is in obstacles being interposed by men, which do
_not_ mark her state; and, if they express her past ignorance, do
not her present needs. As every Man is of Woman born, she has slow but
sure means of redress; yet the sooner a general justness of thought
makes smooth the path, the better.
Man is of Woman born, and her face bends over him in infancy with an
expression he can never quite forget. Eminent men have delighted to
pay tribute to this image, and it is an hackneyed observation, that
most men of genius boast some remarkable development in the mother.
The rudest tar brushes off a tear with his coat-sleeve at the hallowed
name. The other day, I met a decrepit old man of seventy, on a
journey, who challenged the stage company to guess where he was going.
They guessed aright, "To see your mother." "Yes," said he, "she is
ninety-two, but has good eyesight still, they say. I have not seen her
these forty years, and I thought I could not die in peace without." I
should have liked his picture painted as a companion-piece to that of
a boisterous little boy, whom I saw attempt to declaim at a school
exhibition--
"O that those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly since I heard thee last."
He got but very little way before sudden tears shamed him from the
stage.
Some gleams of the same expression which shone down upon his infancy,
angelically pure and benign, visit Man again with hopes of pure love,
of a holy marriage. Or, if not before, in the eyes of the mother of
his child they again are seen, and dim fancies pass before his mind,
that Woman may not have been born for him alone, but have come from
heaven, a commissioned soul, a messenger of truth and love; that she
can only make for him a home in which he may lawfully repose, in so
far as she is
"True to the kindred points of Heaven and home."
In gleams, in dim fancies, this thought visits the mind of common men.
It is soon obscured by the mists of sensuality, the dust of routine,
and he thinks it was only some meteor or ignis fatuus that shone. But,
as a Rosicrucian lamp, it burns unwearied, though condemned to the
solitude of tombs; and to its permanent life, as to every truth, each
age has in some form borne witness. For the truths, which visit the
minds of careless men only in fitful gleams, shine with radiant
clearness into those of the poet, the priest, and the artist.
Whatever may have been the domestic manners of the ancients, the idea
of Woman was nobly manifested in their mythologies and poems, whore
she appears as Site in the Ramayana, a form of tender purity; as the
Egyptian Isis, [Footnote: For an adequate description of the Isis, see
Appendix A.] of divine wisdom never yet surpassed. In Egypt, too, the
Sphynx, walking the earth with lion tread, looked out upon its marvels
in the calm, inscrutable beauty of a virgin's face, and the Greek
could only add wings to the great emblem. In Greece, Ceres and
Proserpine, significantly termed "the great goddesses," were seen
seated side by side. They needed not to rise for any worshipper or any
change; they were prepared for all things, as those initiated to their
mysteries knew. More obvious is the meaning of these three forms, the
Diana, Minerva, and Vesta. Unlike in the expression of their beauty,
but alike in this,--that each was self-sufficing. Other forms were
only accessories and illustrations, none the complement to one like
these. Another might, indeed, be the companion, and the Apollo and
Diana set off one another's beauty. Of the Vesta, it is to be
observed, that not only deep-eyed, deep-discerning Greece, but ruder
Rome, who represents the only form of good man (the always busy
warrior) that could be indifferent to Woman, confided the permanence
of its glory to a tutelary goddess, and her wisest legislator spoke of
meditation as a nymph.
Perhaps in Rome the neglect of Woman was a reaction on the manners of
Etruria, where the priestess Queen, warrior Queen, would seem to have
been so usual a character.
An instance of the noble Roman marriage, where the stern and calm
nobleness of the nation was common to both, we see in the historic
page through the little that is told us of Brutus and Portia.
Shakspeare has seized on the relation in its native lineaments,
harmonizing the particular with the universal; and, while it is
conjugal love, and no other, making it unlike the same relation as
seen in Cymbeline, or Othello, even as one star differeth from another
in glory.
"By that great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one,
Unfold to me, yourself, your other half,
Why you are heavy. ...
Dwell I but in the suburbs
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife."
Mark the sad majesty of his tone in answer. Who would not have lent a
life-long credence to that voice of honor?
"You are my true and honorable wife;
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit this sad heart."
It is the same voice that tells the moral of his life in the last
words--
"Countrymen,
My heart doth joy, that, yet in all my life,
I found no man but he was true to me."
It was not wonderful that it should be so.
Shakspeare, however, was not content to let Portia rest her plea for
confidence on the essential nature of the marriage bond:
"I grant I am a woman; but withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife.
I grant I am a woman; but withal,
A woman well reputed--Cato's daughter.
Think you I am _no stronger than my sex_,
Being so fathered and so husbanded?"
And afterward in the very scene where Brutus is suffering under that
"insupportable and touching loss," the death of his wife, Cassius
pleads--
"Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humor which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?
_Brutus_.--Yes, Cassius, and henceforth,
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leaves you so."
As indeed it was a frequent belief among the ancients, as with our
Indians, that the _body_ was inherited from the mother, the
_soul_ from the father. As in that noble passage of Ovid, already
quoted, where Jupiter, as his divine synod are looking down on the
funeral pyre of Hercules, thus triumphs--
"Neo nisi _materna_ Vulcanum parte potentem,
Sentiet. Aeternum est, a me quod traxit, et expers
Atque immune neois, nullaque domabile flamma
Idque ego defunctum terra coelestibus oris
Accipiam, cunctisque meum laetabile factum
Dis fore confido.
"The part alone of gross _maternal_ flame
Fire shall devour; while that from me he drew
Shall live immortal and its force renew;
That, when he's dead, I'll raise to realms above;
Let all the powers the righteous act approve."
It is indeed a god speaking of his union with an earthly Woman, but it
expresses the common Roman thought as to marriage,--the same which
permitted a man to lend his wife to a friend, as if she were a chattel
"She dwelt but in the suburbs of his good pleasure."
Yet the same city, as I have said, leaned on the worship of Vesta, the
Preserver, and in later times was devoted to that of Isis. In Sparta,
thought, in this respect as in all others, was expressed in the
characters of real life, and the women of Sparta were as much Spartans
as the men. The "citoyen, citoyenne" of France was here actualized.
Was not the calm equality they enjoyed as honorable as the devotion of
chivalry? They intelligently shared the ideal life of their nation.
Like the men they felt:
"Honor gone, all's gone:
Better never have been born."
They were the true friends of men. The Spartan, surely, would not
think that he received only his body from his mother. The sage, had he
lived in that community, could not have thought the souls of "vain and
foppish men will be degraded after death to the forms of women; and,
if they do not then make great efforts to retrieve themselves, will
become birds."
(By the way, it is very expressive of the hard intellectuality of the
merely _mannish_ mind, to speak thus of birds, chosen always by
the _feminine_ poet as the symbols of his fairest thoughts.)
We are told of the Greek nations in general, that Woman occupied there
an infinitely lower place than Man. It is difficult to believe this,
when we see such range and dignity of thought on the subject in the
mythologies, and find the poets producing such ideals as Cassandra,
Iphigenia, Antigone, Macaria; where Sibylline priestesses told the
oracle of the highest god, and he could not be content to reign with
a, court of fewer than nine muses. Even Victory wore a female form.
But, whatever were the facts of daily life, I cannot complain of the
age and nation which represents its thought by such a symbol as I see
before me at this moment. It is a zodiac of the busts of gods and
goddesses, arranged in pairs. The circle breathes the music of a
heavenly order. Male and female heads are distinct in expression, but
equal in beauty, strength and calmness. Each male head is that of a
brother and a king,--each female of a sister and a queen. Could the
thought thus expressed be lived out, there would be nothing more to be
desired. There would be unison in variety, congeniality in difference.
Coming nearer our own time, we find religion and poetry no less true
in their revelations. The rude man, just disengaged from the sod, the
Adam, accuses Woman to his God, and records her disgrace to their
posterity. He is not ashamed to write that he could be drawn from
heaven by one beneath him,--one made, he says, from but a small part
of himself. But in the same nation, educated by time, instructed by a
succession of prophets, we find Woman in as high a position as she has
ever occupied, No figure that has ever arisen to greet our eyes has
been received with more fervent reverence than that of the Madonna.
Heine calls her the _Dame du Comptoir_ of the Catholic church,
and this jeer well expresses a serious truth.
And not only this holy and significant image was worshipped by the
pilgrim, and the favorite subject of the artist, but it exercised an
immediate influence on the destiny of the sex. The empresses who
embraced the cross converted sons and husbands. Whole calendars of
female saints, heroic dames of chivalry, binding the emblem of faith
on the heart of the best-beloved, and wasting the bloom of youth in
separation and loneliness, for the sake of duties they thought it
religion to assume, with innumerable forms of poesy, trace their
lineage to this one. Nor, however imperfect may be the action, in our
day, of the faith thus expressed, and though we can scarcely think it
nearer this ideal than that of India or Greece was near their ideal,
is it in vain that the truth has been recognized, that Woman is not
only a part of Man, bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh, born
that men might not be lonely--but that women are in themselves
possessors of and possessed by immortal souls. This truth undoubtedly
received a greater outward stability from the belief of the church
that the earthly parent of the Saviour of souls was a woman.
The Assumption of the Virgin, as painted by sublime artists, as also
Petrarch's Hymn to the Madonna, [Footnote: Appendix B.] cannot have
spoken to the world wholly without result, yet oftentimes those who
had ears heard not.
See upon the nations the influence of this powerful example. In Spain
look only at the ballads. Woman in these is "very Woman;" she is the
betrothed, the bride, the spouse of Man; there is on her no hue of the
philosopher, the heroine, the savante, but she looks great and noble.
Why? Because she is also, through her deep devotion, the betrothed of
Heaven. Her upturned eyes have drawn down the light that casts a
radiance round her. See only such a ballad as that of "Lady Teresa's
Bridal," where the Infanta, given to the Moorish bridegroom, calls
down the vengeance of Heaven on his unhallowed passion, and thinks it
not too much to expiate by a life in the cloister the involuntary
stain upon her princely youth. [Footnote: Appendix C.] It was this
constant sense of claims above those of earthly love or happiness that
made the Spanish lady who shared this spirit a guerdon to be won by
toils and blood and constant purity, rather than a chattel to be
bought for pleasure and service.
Germany did hot need to _learn_ a high view of Woman; it was
inborn in that race. Woman was to the Teuton warrior his priestess,
his friend, his sister,--in truth, a wife. And the Christian statues
of noble pairs, as they lie above their graves in stone, expressing
the meaning of all the by-gone pilgrimage by hands folded in mutual
prayer, yield not a nobler sense of the place and powers of Woman than
belonged to the _altvater_ day. The holy love of Christ which
summoned them, also, to choose "the better part--that which could not
be taken from them," refined and hallowed in this nation a native
faith; thus showing that it was not the warlike spirit alone that left
the Latins so barbarous in this respect.
But the Germans, taking so kindly to this thought, did it the more
justice. The idea of Woman in their literature is expressed both to a
greater height and depth than elsewhere.
I will give as instances the themes of three ballads:
One is upon a knight who had always the name of the Virgin on his
lips. This protected him all his life through, in various and
beautiful modes, both from sin and other dangers; and, when he died, a
plant sprang from his grave, which so gently whispered the Ave Maria
that none could pass it by with an unpurified heart.
Another is one of the legends of the famous Drachenfels. A maiden, one
of the earliest converts to Christianity, was carried by the enraged
populace to this dread haunt of "the dragon's fabled brood," to be
their prey. She was left alone, but undismayed, for she knew in whom
she trusted. So, when the dragons came rushing towards her, she showed
them a crucifix and they crouched reverently at her feet. Next day the
people came, and, seeing these wonders, were all turned to the faith
which exalts the lowly.
The third I have in mind is another of the Rhine legends. A youth is
sitting with the maid he loves on the shore of an isle, her fairy
kingdom, then perfumed by the blossoming grape-vines which draped its
bowers. They are happy; all blossoms with them, and life promises its
richest vine. A boat approaches on the tide; it pauses at their foot.
It brings, perhaps, some joyous message, fresh dew for their flowers,
fresh light on the wave. No! it is the usual check on such great
happiness. The father of the count departs for the crusade; will his
son join him, or remain to rule their domain, and wed her he loves?
Neither of the affianced pair hesitates a moment. "I must go with my
father,"--"Thou must go with thy father." It was one thought, one
word. "I will be here again," he said, "when these blossoms have
turned to purple grapes." "I hope so," she sighed, while the prophetic
sense said "no."
And there she waited, and the grapes ripened, and were gathered into
the vintage, and he came not. Year after year passed thus, and no
tidings; yet still she waited.
He, meanwhile, was in a Moslem prison. Long he languished there
without hope, till, at last, his patron saint appeared in vision and
announced his release, but only on condition of his joining the
monastic order for the service of the saint.
And so his release was effected, and a safe voyage home given. And
once more he sets sail upon the Rhine. The maiden, still watching
beneath the vines, sees at last the object of all this patient love
approach--approach, but not to touch the strand to which she, with
outstretched arms, has rushed. He dares not trust himself to land, but
in low, heart-broken tones, tells her of Heaven's will; and that he,
in obedience to his vow, is now on his way to a convent on the
river-bank, there to pass the rest of his earthly life in the service
of the shrine. And then he turns his boat, and floats away from her
and hope of any happiness in this world, but urged, as he believes, by
the breath of Heaven.
The maiden stands appalled, but she dares not murmur, and cannot
hesitate long. She also bids them prepare her boat. She follows her
lost love to the convent gate, requests an interview with the abbot,
and devotes her Elysian isle, where vines had ripened their ruby fruit
in vain for her, to the service of the monastery where her love was to
serve. Then, passing over to the nunnery opposite, she takes the veil,
and meets her betrothed at the altar; and for a life-long union, if
not the one they had hoped in earlier years.
Is not this sorrowful story of a lofty beauty? Does it not show a
sufficiently high view of Woman, of Marriage? This is commonly the
chivalric, still more the German view.
Yet, wherever there was a balance in the mind of Man, of sentiment
with intellect, such a result was sure. The Greek Xenophon has not
only painted us a sweet picture of the domestic Woman, in his
Economics, but in the Cyropedia has given, in the picture of Panthea,
a view of Woman which no German picture can surpass, whether lonely
and quiet with veiled lids, the temple of a vestal loveliness, or with
eyes flashing, and hair flowing to the free wind, cheering on the hero
to fight for his God, his country, or whatever name his duty might
bear at the time. This picture I shall copy by and by. Yet Xenophon
grew up in the same age with him who makes Iphigenia say to Achilles,
"Better a thousand women should perish than one man cease to see
the light."
This was the vulgar Greek sentiment. Xenophon, aiming at the ideal
Man, caught glimpses of the ideal Woman also. From the figure of a
Cyrus the Pantheas stand not afar. They do not in thought; they would
not in life.
I could swell the catalogue of instances far beyond the reader's
patience. But enough have been brought forward to show that, though
there has been great disparity betwixt the nations as between
individuals in their culture on this point, yet the idea of Woman has
always cast some rays and often been forcibly represented.
Far less has Woman to complain that she has not had her share of
power. This, in all ranks of society, except the lowest, has been hers
to the extent that vanity would crave, far beyond what wisdom would
accept. In the very lowest, where Man, pressed by poverty, sees in
Woman only the partner of toils and cares, and cannot hope, scarcely
has an idea of, a comfortable home, he often maltreats her, and is
less influenced by her. In all ranks, those who are gentle and
uncomplaining, too candid to intrigue, too delicate to encroach,
suffer much. They suffer long, and are kind; verily, they have their
reward. But wherever Man is sufficiently raised above extreme poverty,
or brutal stupidity, to care for the comforts of the fireside, or the
bloom and ornament of life, Woman has always power enough, if she
choose to exert it, and is usually disposed to do so, in proportion to
her ignorance and childish vanity. Unacquainted with the importance of
life and its purposes, trained to a selfish coquetry and love of petty
power, she does not look beyond the pleasure of making herself felt at
the moment, and governments are shaken and commerce broken up to
gratify the pique of a female favorite. The English shopkeeper's wife
does not vote, but it is for her interest that the politician
canvasses by the coarsest flattery. France suffers no woman on her
throne, but her proud nobles kiss the dust at the feet of Pompadour
and Dubarry; for such flare in the lighted foreground where a Roland
would modestly aid in the closet. Spain (that same Spain which sang of
Ximena and the Lady Teresa) shuts up her women in the care of duennas,
and allows them no book but the breviary; but the ruin follows only
the more surely from the worthless favorite of a worthless queen.
Relying on mean precautions, men indeed cry peace, peace, where there
is no peace.
It is not the transient breath of poetic incense that women want; each
can receive that from a lover. It is not life-long sway; it needs but
to become a coquette, a shrew, or a good cook, to be sure of that. It
is not money, nor notoriety, nor the badges of authority which men
have appropriated to themselves. If demands, made in their behalf, lay
stress on any of these particulars, those who make them have not
searched deeply into the need. The want is for that which at once
includes these and precludes them; which would not be forbidden power,
lest there be temptation to steal and misuse it; which would not have
the mind perverted by flattery from a worthiness of esteem; it is for
that which is the birthright of every being capable of receiving
it,--the freedom, the religious, the intelligent freedom of the
universe to use its means, to learn its secret, as far as Nature has
enabled them, with God alone for their guide and their judge.
Ye cannot believe it, men; but the only reason why women over assume
what is more appropriate to you, is because you prevent them from
finding out what is fit for themselves. Were they free, were they wise
fully to develop the strength and beauty of Woman; they would never
wish to be men, or man-like. The well-instructed moon flies not from
her orbit to seize on the glories of her partner. No; for she knows
that one law rules, one heaven contains, one universe replies to them
alike. It is with women as with the slave:
"Vor dem Sklaven, wenn er die Kette bricht,
Vor dem frelen Menschen erzittert nicht."
Tremble not before the free man, but before the slave who has chains
to break.
In slavery, acknowledged slavery, women are on a par with men. Each is
a work-tool, an article of property, no more! In perfect freedom, such
as is painted in Olympus, in Swedenborg's angelic state, in the heaven
where there is no marrying nor giving in marriage, each is a purified
intelligence, an enfranchised soul,--no less.
"Jene himmlische Gestalten
Sie fragen nicht nach Mann und Welb,
Und keine kielder, keine Falten
Umgeben den verklarten Leib."
The child who song this was a prophetic form, expressive of the
longing for a state of perfect freedom, pure love. She could not
remain here, but was translated to another air. And it may be that the
air of this earth will never be so tempered that such can bear it
long. But, while they stay, they must bear testimony to the truth they
are constituted to demand.
That an era approaches which shall approximate nearer to such a temper
than any has yet done, there are many tokens; indeed, so many that
only a few of the most prominent can here be enumerated.
The reigns of Elizabeth of England and Isabella of Castile foreboded
this era. They expressed the beginning of the new state; while they
forwarded its progress. These were strong characters, and in harmony
with the wants of their time. One showed that this strength did not
unfit a woman for the duties of a wife and a mother; the other, that
it could enable her to live and die alone, a wide energetic life, a
courageous death. Elizabeth is certainly no pleasing example. In
rising above the weakness, she did not lay aside the foibles ascribed
to her sex; but her strength must be respected now, as it was in her
own time.
Mary Stuart and Elizabeth seem types, moulded by the spirit of the
time, and placed upon an elevated platform, to show to the coming ages
Woman such as the conduct and wishes of Man in general is likely to
make her. The first shows Woman lovely even to allurement; quick in
apprehension and weak in judgment; with grace and dignity of
sentiment, but no principle; credulous and indiscreet, yet artful;
capable of sudden greatness or of crime, but not of a steadfast
wisdom, nor self-restraining virtue. The second reveals Woman
half-emancipated and jealous of her freedom, such as she has figured
before or since in many a combative attitude, mannish, not equally
manly; strong and prudent more than great or wise; able to control
vanity, and the wish to rule through coquetry and passion, but not to
resign these dear deceits from the very foundation, as unworthy a
being capable of truth and nobleness. Elizabeth, taught by adversity,
put on her virtues as armor, more than produced them in a natural
order from her soul. The time and her position called on her to act
the wise sovereign, and she was proud that she could do so, but her
tastes and inclinations would have led her to act the weak woman. She
was without magnanimity of any kind.
We may accept as an omen for ourselves that it was Isabella who
furnished Columbus with the means of coming hither. This land must pay
back its debt to Woman, without whose aid it would not have been
brought into alliance with the civilized world.
A graceful and meaning figure is that introduced to us by Mr.
Prescott, in the Conquest of Mexico, in the Indian girl Marina, who
accompanied Cortez, and was his interpreter in all the various
difficulties of his career. She stood at his side, on the walls of the
besieged palace, to plead with her enraged countrymen. By her name he
was known in New Spain, and, after the conquest, her gentle
intercession was often of avail to the conquered. The poem of the
Future may be read in some features of the story of "Malinche."
The influence of Elizabeth on literature was real, though, by sympathy
with its finer productions, she was no more entitled to give name to
an era than Queen Anne. It was simply that the fact of having a female
sovereign on the throne affected the course of a writer's thoughts. In
this sense, the presence of a woman on the throne always makes its
mark. Life is lived before the eyes of men, by which their
imaginations are stimulated as to the possibilities of Woman. "We will
die for our king, Maria, Theresa," cry the wild warriors, clashing
their swords; and the sounds vibrate through the poems of that
generation. The range of female character in Spenser alone might
content us for one period. Britomart and Belphoebe have as much room
on the canvas as Florimel; and, where this is the case, the haughtiest
Amazon will not murmur that Una should be felt to be the fairest type.
Unlike as was the English queen to a fairy queen, we may yet conceive
that it was the image of a queen before the poet's mind that called up
this splendid court of women. Shakspeare's range is also great; but he
has left out the heroic characters, such as the Macaria of Greece, the
Britomart of Spenser. Ford and Massinger have, in this respect, soared
to a higher flight of feeling than he. It was the holy and heroic
Woman they most loved, and if they could not paint an Imogen, a
Desdemona, a Rosalind, yet, in those of a stronger mould, they showed
a higher ideal, though with so much less poetic power to embody it,
than we see in Portia or Isabella, the simple truth of Cordelia,
indeed, is of this sort. The beauty of Cordelia is neither male nor
female; it is the beauty of virtue.
The ideal of love and marriage rose high in the mind of all the
Christian nations who were capable of grave and deep feeling. We may
take as examples of its English aspect the lines,
"I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more."
Or the address of the Commonwealth's man to his wife, as she looked
out from the Tower window to see him, for the last time, on his way to
the scaffold. He stood up in the cart, waved his hat, and cried, "To
Heaven, my love, to Heaven, and leave you in the storm!"
Such was the love of faith and honor,--a love which stopped, like
Colonel Hutchinson's, "on this side idolatry," because it was
religious. The meeting of two such souls Donne describes as giving
birth to an "abler soul."
Lord Herbert wrote to his love,
"Were not our souls immortal made,
Our equal loves can make them such."
In the "Broken Heart," of Ford, Penthea, a character which engages my
admiration even more deeply than the famous one of Calanthe, is made
to present to the mind the most beautiful picture of what these
relations should be in their purity. Her life cannot sustain the
violation of what she so clearly feels.
Shakspeare, too, saw that, in true love, as in fire, the utmost ardor
is coincident with the utmost purity. It is a true lover that exclaims
in the agony of Othello,
"If thou art false, O then Heaven mocks Itself!"
The son, framed, like Hamlet, to appreciate truth in all the beauty of
relations, sinks into deep melancholy when he finds his natural
expectations disappointed. He has no other. She to whom he gave the
name, disgraces from his heart's shrine all the sex.
"Frailty, thy name is Woman."
It is because a Hamlet could find cause to say so, that I have put the
line, whose stigma has never been removed, at the head of my work.
But, as a lover, surely Hamlet would not have so far mistaken, as to
have finished with such a conviction. He would have felt the faith of
Othello, and that faith could not, in his more dispassionate mind,
have been disturbed by calumny.
In Spain, this thought is arrayed in a sublimity which belongs to the
sombre and passionate genius of the nation. Calderon's Justina resists
all the temptation of the Demon, and raises her lover, with her, above
the sweet lures of mere temporal happiness. Their marriage is vowed at
the stake; their goals are liberated together by the martyr flame into
"a purer state of sensation and existence."
In Italy, the great poets wove into their lives an ideal love which
answered to the highest wants. It included those of the intellect and
the affections, for it was a love of spirit for spirit. It was not
ascetic, or superhuman, but, interpreting all things, gave their
proper beauty to details of the common life, the common day. The poet
spoke of his love, not as a flower to place in his bosom, or hold
carelessly in his hand, but as a light toward which he must find wings
to fly, or "a stair to heaven." He delighted to speak of her, not only
as the bride of his heart, but the mother of his soul; for he saw
that, in cases where the right direction had been taken, the greater
delicacy of her frame and stillness of her life left her more open
than is Man to spiritual influx. So he did not look upon her as
betwixt him and earth, to serve his temporal needs, but, rather,
betwixt him and heaven, to purify his affections and lead him to
wisdom through love. He sought, in her, not so much the Eve as the
Madonna.
In these minds the thought, which gleams through all the legends of
chivalry, shines in broad intellectual effulgence, not to be
misinterpreted; and their thought is reverenced by the world, though
it lies far from the practice of the world as yet,--so far that it
seems as though a gulf of death yawned between.
Even with such men the practice was, often, widely different from the
mental faith. I say mental; for if the heart were thoroughly alive
with it, the practice could not be dissonant. Lord Herbert's was a
marriage of convention, made for him at fifteen; he was not
discontented with it, but looked only to the advantages it brought of
perpetuating his family on the basis of a great fortune. He paid, in
act, what he considered a dutiful attention to the bond; his thoughts
travelled elsewhere; and while forming a high ideal of the
companionship of minds in marriage, he seems never to have doubted
that its realization must be postponed to some other state of being.
Dante, almost immediately after the death of Beatrice, married a lady
chosen for him by his friends, and Boccaccio, in describing the
miseries that attended, in this case,
"The form of an union where union is none,"
speaks as if these were inevitable to the connection, and as if the
scholar and poet, especially, could expect nothing but misery and
obstruction in a domestic partnership with Woman.
Centuries have passed since, but civilized Europe is still in a
transition state about marriage; not only in practice but in thought.
It is idle to speak with contempt of the nations where polygamy is an
institution, or seraglios a custom, while practices far more debasing
haunt, well-nigh fill, every city and every town, and so far as union
of one with one is believed to be the only pure form of marriage, a
great majority of societies and individuals are still doubtful whether
the earthly bond must be a meeting of souls, or only supposes a
contract of convenience and utility. Were Woman established in the
rights of an immortal being, this could not be. She would not, in some
countries, be given away by her father, with scarcely more respect for
her feelings than is shown by the Indian chief, who sells his daughter
for a horse, and beats her if she runs away from her new home. Nor, in
societies where her choice is left free, would she be perverted, by
the current of opinion that seizes her, into the belief that she must
marry, if it be only to find a protector, and a home of her own.
Neither would Man, if he thought the connection of permanent
importance, form it so lightly. He would not deem it a trifle, that he
was to enter into the closest relations with another soul, which, if
not eternal in themselves, must eternally affect his growth. Neither,
did he believe Woman capable of friendship, [Footnote: See Appendix D,
Spinoza's view] would he, by rash haste, lose the chance of finding a
friend in the person who might, probably, live half a century by his
side. Did love, to his mind, stretch forth into infinity, he would not
miss his chance of its revelations, that he might the sooner rest from
his weariness by a bright fireside, and secure a sweet and graceful
attendant "devoted to him alone." Were he a step higher, he would not
carelessly enter into a relation where he might not be able to do the
duty of a friend, as well as a protector from external ill, to the
other party, and have a being in his power pining for sympathy,
intelligence and aid, that he could not give.
What deep communion, what real intercourse is implied in sharing the
joys and cares of parentage, when any degree of equality is admitted
between the parties! It is true that, in a majority of instances, the
man looks upon his wife as an adopted child, and places her to the
other children in the relation of nurse or governess, rather than that
of parent. Her influence with them is sure; but she misses the
education which should enlighten that influence, by being thus
treated. It is the order of nature that children should complete the
education, moral and mental, of parents, by making them think what is
needed for the best culture of human beings, and conquer all faults
and impulses that interfere with their giving this to these dear
objects, who represent the world to them. Father and mother should
assist one another to learn what is required for this sublime
priesthood of Nature. But, for this, a religious recognition of
equality is required.
Where this thought of equality begins to diffuse itself, it is shown
in four ways.
First;--The household partnership. In our country, the woman looks for
a "smart but kind" husband; the man for a "capable, sweet-tempered"
wife. The man furnishes the house; the woman regulates it. Their
relation is one of mutual esteem, mutual dependence. Their talk is of
business; their affection shows itself by practical kindness. They
know that life goes more smoothly and cheerfully to each for the
other's aid; they are grateful and content. The wife praises her
husband as a "good provider;" the husband, in return, compliments her
as a "capital housekeeper." This relation is good so far as it goes.
Next comes a closer tie, which takes the form either of mutual
idolatry or of intellectual companionship. The first, we suppose, is
to no one a pleasing subject of contemplation. The parties weaken and
narrow one another; they lock the gate against all the glories of the
universe, that they may live in a cell together. To themselves they
seem the only wise; to all others, steeped in infatuation; the gods
smile as they look forward to the crisis of cure; to men, the woman
seems an unlovely syren; to women, the man an effeminate boy.
The other form, of intellectual companionship, has become more and
more frequent. Men engaged in public life, literary men, and artists,
have often found in their wives companions and confidants in thought
no less than in feeling. And, as the intellectual development of Woman
has spread wider and risen higher, they have, not unfrequently, shared
the same employment; as in the case of Roland and his wife, who were
friends in the household and in the nation's councils, read, regulated
home affairs, or prepared public documents together, indifferently. It
is very pleasant, in letters begun by Roland and finished by his wife,
to see the harmony of mind, and the difference of nature; one thought,
but various ways of treating it.
This is one of the best instances of a marriage of friendship. It
was only friendship, whose basis was esteem; probably neither party
knew love, except by name. Roland was a good man, worthy to esteem,
and be esteemed; his wife as deserving of admiration as able to do
without it.
Madame Roland is the fairest specimen we yet have of her class; as
clear to discern her aim, as valiant to pursue it, as Spenser's
Britomart; austerely set apart from all that did not belong to her,
whether as Woman or as mind. She is an antetype of a class to which
the coming time will afford a field--the Spartan matron, brought by
the culture of the age of books to intellectual consciousness and
expansion. Self-sufficingness, strength, and clearsightedness were, in
her, combined with a power of deep and calm affection. She, too, would
have given a son or husband the device for his shield, "Return with it
or upon it;" and this, not because she loved little, but much. The
page of her life is one of unsullied dignity. Her appeal to posterity
is one against the injustice of those who committed such crimes in the
name of Liberty. She makes it in behalf of herself and her husband. I
would put beside it, on the shelf, a little volume, containing a
similar appeal from the verdict of contemporaries to that of mankind,
made by Godwin in behalf of his wife, the celebrated, the by most men
detested, Mary Wolstonecraft. In his view, it was an appeal from the
injustice of those who did such wrong in the name of virtue. Were this
little book interesting for no other cause, it would be so for the
generous affection evinced under the peculiar circumstances. This man
had courage to love and honor this woman in the face of the world's
sentence, and of all that was repulsive in her own past history. He
believed he saw of what soul she was, and that the impulses she had
struggled to act out were noble, though the opinions to which they had
led might not be thoroughly weighed. He loved her, and he defended her
for the meaning and tendency of her inner life. It was a good fact.
Mary Wolstonecraft, like Madame Dudevant (commonly known as George
Sand) in our day, was a woman whose existence better proved the need
of some new interpretation of Woman's Rights than anything she wrote.
Such beings as these, rich in genius, of most tender sympathies,
capable of high virtue and a chastened harmony, ought not to find
themselves, by birth, in a place so narrow, that, in breaking bonds,
they become outlaws. Were there as much room in the world for such, as
in Spenser's poem for Britomart, they would not run their heads so
wildly against the walls, but prize their shelter rather. They find
their way, at last, to light and air, but the world will not take off
the brand it has set upon them. The champion of the Rights of Woman
found, in Godwin, one who would plead that cause like a brother. He
who delineated with such purity of traits the form of Woman in the
Marguerite, of whom the weak St. Leon could never learn to be
worthy,--a pearl indeed whose price was above rubies,--was not false
in life to the faith by which he had hallowed his romance. He acted,
as he wrote, like a brother. This form of appeal rarely fails to touch
the basest man:--"Are you acting toward other women in the way you
would have men act towards your sister?" George Sand smokes, wears
male attire, wishes to be addressed as "Mon frere;"--perhaps, if she
found those who were as brothers indeed, she would not care whether
she were brother or sister. [Footnote: A note appended by my sister in
this place, in the first edition, is here omitted, because it is
incorporated in another article in this volume, treating of George
Sand more at length.--[ED.]] We rejoice to see that she, who expresses
such a painful contempt for men in most of her works, as shows she
must have known great wrong from them, depicts, in "La Roche Mauprat,"
a man raised by the workings of love from the depths of savage
sensualism to a moral and intellectual life. It was love for a pure
object, for a steadfast woman, one of those who, the Italian said,
could make the "stair to heaven."
This author, beginning like the many in assault upon bad institutions,
and external ills, yet deepening the experience through comparative
freedom, sees at last that the only efficient remedy must come from
individual character. These bad institutions, indeed, it may always be
replied, prevent individuals from forming good character, therefore we
must remove them. Agreed; yet keep steadily the higher aim in view.
Could you clear away all the bad forms of society, it is vain, unless
the individual begin to be ready for better. There must be a parallel
movement in these two branches of life. And all the rules left by
Moses availed less to further the best life than the living example of
one Messiah.
Still the mind of the age struggles confusedly with these problems,
better discerning as yet the ill it can no longer bear, than the good
by which it may supersede it. But women like Sand will speak now and
cannot be silenced; their characters and their eloquence alike
foretell an era when such as they shall easier learn to lead true
lives. But though such forebode, not such shall be parents of it.
[Footnote: Appendix E.] Those who would reform the world must show that
they do not speak in the heat of wild impulse; their lives must be
unstained by passionate error; they must be severe lawgivers to
themselves. They must be religious students of the divine purpose with
regard to man, if they would not confound the fancies of a day with
the requisitions of eternal good. Their liberty must be the liberty of
law and knowledge. But as to the transgressions against custom which
have caused such outcry against those of noble intention, it may be
observed that the resolve of Eloisa to be only the mistress of
Abelard, was that of one who saw in practice around her the contract
of marriage made the seal of degradation. Shelley feared not to be
fettered, unless so to be was to be false. Wherever abuses are seen,
the timid will suffer; the bold will protest. But society has a right
to outlaw them till she has revised her law; and this she must be
taught to do, by one who speaks with authority, not in anger or haste.
If Godwin's choice of the calumniated authoress of the "Rights of
Woman," for his honored wife, be a sign of a new era, no less so is an
article to which I have alluded some pages back, published five or six
years ago in one of the English Reviews, where the writer, in doing
fall justice to Eloisa, shows his bitter regret that she lives not now
to love him, who might have known bettor how to prize her love than
did the egotistical Abelard.
These marriages, these characters, with all their imperfections,
express an onward tendency. They speak of aspiration of soul, of
energy of mind, seeking clearness and freedom. Of a like promise are
the tracts lately published by Goodwyn Barmby (the European Pariah, as
he calls himself) and his wife Catharine. Whatever we may think of
their measures, we see in them wedlock; the two minds are wed by the
only contract that can permanently avail, that of a common faith and a
common purpose.
We might mention instances, nearer home, of minds, partners in work
and in life, sharing together, on equal terms, public and private
interests, and which wear not, on any side, the aspect of offence
shown by those last-named: persons who steer straight onward, yet, in
our comparatively free life, have not been obliged to run their heads
against any wall. But the principles which guide them might, under
petrified and oppressive institutions, have made them warlike,
paradoxical, and, in some sense, Pariahs. The phenomena are different,
the law is the same, in all these cases. Men and women have been
obliged to build up their house anew from the very foundation. If they
found stone ready in the quarry, they took it peaceably; otherwise
they alarmed the country by pulling down old towers to get materials.
These are all instances of marriage as intellectual companionship. The
parties meet mind to mind, and a mutual trust is produced, which can
buckler them against a million. They work together for a common,
purpose, and, in all these instances, with the same implement,--the
pen. The pen and the writing-desk furnish forth as naturally the
retirement of Woman as of Man.
A pleasing expression, in this kind, is afforded by the union in the
names of the Howitts. William and Mary Howitt we heard named together
for years, supposing them to be brother and sister; the equality of
labors and reputation, even so, was auspicious; more so, now we find
them man and wife. In his late work on Germany, Howitt mentions his
wife, with pride, as one among the constellation of distinguished
English-women, and in a graceful, simple manner. And still we
contemplate with pleasure the partnership in literature and affection
between the Howitts,--the congenial pursuits and productions--the
pedestrian tours wherein the married pair showed that marriage, on a
wide enough basis, does not destroy the "inexhaustible" entertainment
which lovers find in one another's company.
In naming these instances, I do not mean to imply that community of
employment is essential to the union of husband and wife, more than to
the union of friends. Harmony exists in difference, no less than in
likeness, if only the same key-note govern both parts. Woman the poem,
Man the poet! Woman the heart, Man the head! Such divisions are only
important when they are never to be transcended. If nature is never
bound down, nor the voice of inspiration stifled, that is enough. We
are pleased that women should write and speak, if they feel need of
it, from having something to tell; but silence for ages would be no
misfortune, if that silence be from divine command, and not from Man's
tradition.
While Goetz Von Berlichingen rides to battle, his wife is busy in the
kitchen; but difference of occupation does not prevent that community
of inward life, that perfect esteem, with which he says,
"Whom God loves, to him gives he such a wife."
Manzoni thus dedicates his "Adelchi."
"To his beloved and venerated wife, Enrichetta Luigia Blondel, who,
with conjugal affection and maternal wisdom, has preserved a virgin
mind, the author dedicates this 'Adelchi,' grieving that he could not,
by a more splendid and more durable monument, honor the dear name, and
the memory of so many virtues."
The relation could not be fairer, nor more equal, if she, too, had
written poems. Yet the position of the parties might have been the
reverse as well; the Woman might have sung the deeds, given voice to
the life of the Man, and beauty would have been the result; as we see,
in pictures of Arcadia, the nymph singing to the shepherds, or the
shepherd, with his pipe, alluring the nymphs; either makes a good
picture. The sounding lyre requires not muscular strength, but energy
of soul to animate the hand which would control it. Nature seems to
delight in varying the arrangements, as if to show that she will be
fettered by no rule; and we must admit the same varieties that she
admits.
The fourth and highest grade of marriage union is the religious, which
may be expressed as pilgrimage toward a common shrine. This includes
the others: home sympathies and household wisdom, for these pilgrims
must know how to assist each other along the dusty way; intellectual
communion, for how sad it would be on such a journey to have a
companion to whom you could not communicate your thoughts and
aspirations as they sprang to life; who would have no feeling for the
prospects that open, more and more glorious as we advance; who would
never see the flowers that may be gathered by the most industrious
traveller! It must include all these.
Such a fellow-pilgrim Count Zinzendorf seems to have found in his
countess, of whom he thus writes:
"Twenty-five years' experience has shown me that just the help-meet
whom I have is the only one that could suit my vocation. Who else
could have so carried through my family affairs? Who lived so
spotlessly before the world? Who so wisely aided me in my rejection of
a dry morality? Who so clearly set aside the Pharisaism which, as
years passed, threatened to creep in among us? Who so deeply discerned
as to the spirits of delusion which sought to bewilder us? Who would
have governed my whole economy so wisely, richly and hospitably, when
circumstances commanded? Who have taken indifferently the part of
servant or mistress, without, on the one side, affecting an especial
spirituality; on the other, being sullied by any worldly pride? Who,
in a community where all ranks are eager to be on a level, would, from
wise and real causes, have known how to maintain inward and outward
distinctions? Who, without a murmur, have seen her husband encounter
such dangers by land and sea? Who undertaken with him, and
_sustained_, such astonishing pilgrimages? Who, amid such
difficulties, would have always held up her head and supported me? Who
found such vast sums of money, and acquitted them on her own credit?
And, finally, who, of all human beings, could so well understand and
interpret to others my inner and outer being as this one, of such
nobleness in her way of thinking, such great intellectual capacity,
and so free from the theological perplexities that enveloped me!"
Let any one peruse, with all intentness, the lineaments of this
portrait, and see if the husband had not reason, with this air of
solemn rapture and conviction, to challenge comparison? We are
reminded of the majestic cadence of the line whose feet stop in the
just proportion of Humanity,
"Daughter of God and Mati, accomplished Eve!"
An observer [Footnote: Spangenberg] adds this testimony:
"We may, in many marriages, regard it as the best arrangement, if the
man has so much advantage over his wife, that she can, without much
thought of her own, be led and directed by him as by a father. But it
was not so with the count and his consort. She was not made to be a
copy; she was an original; and, while she loved and honored him, she
thought for herself, on all subjects, with so much intelligence, that
he could and did look on her as a sister and friend also."
Compare with this refined specimen of a religiously civilized life the
following imperfect sketch of a North American Indian, and we shall
see that the same causes will always produce the same results, The
Flying Pigeon (Ratchewaine) was the wife of a barbarous chief, who had
six others; but she was his only true wife, because the only one of a
strong and pure character, and, having this, inspired a veneration, as
like as the mind of the man permitted to that inspired by the Countess
Zinzendorf. She died when her son was only four years old, yet left on
his mind a feeling of reverent love worthy the thought of Christian
chivalry. Grown to manhood, he shed tears on seeing her portrait.
THE FLYING PIGEON.
"Ratchewaine was chaste, mild, gentle in her disposition, kind,
generous, and devoted to her husband. A harsh word was never known to
proceed from her mouth; nor was she ever known to be in a passion.
Mabaskah used to say of her, after her death, that her hand was shut
when those who did not want came into her presence; but when the
really poor came in, it was like a strainer full of holes, letting all
she held in it pass through. In the exercise of generous feeling she
was uniform, It was not indebted for its exercise to whim, nor
caprice, nor partiality. No matter of what nation the applicant for
her bounty was, or whether at war or peace with her nation; if he were
hungry, she fed him; if naked, she clothed him; and, if houseless, she
gave him shelter. The continued exercise of this generous feeling kept
her poor. And she has been known to give away her last blanket--all
the honey that was in the lodge, the last bladder of bear's oil, and
the last piece of dried meat.
"She was scrupulously exact in the observance of all the religious
rites which her faith imposed upon her. Her conscience is represented
to have been extremely tender. She often feared that her acts were
displeasing to the Great Spirit, when she would blacken her face, and
retire to some lone place, and fast and pray."
To these traits should be added, but for want of room, anecdotes which
show the quick decision and vivacity of her mind. Her face was in
harmony with this combination. Her brow is as ideal and the eyes and
lids as devout and modest as the Italian picture of the Madonna, while
the lower part of the face has the simplicity and childish strength of
the Indian race. Her picture presents the finest specimen of Indian
beauty we have ever seen. Such a Woman is the sister and friend of all
beings, as the worthy Man is their brother and helper.
With like pleasure we survey the pairs wedded on the eve of missionary
effort They, indeed, are fellow-pilgrims on the well-made road, and
whether or no they accomplish all they hope for the sad Hindoo, or the
nearer savage, we feel that in the burning waste their love is like to
be a healing dew, in the forlorn jungle a tent of solace to one
another. They meet, as children of one Father, to read together one
book of instruction.
We must insert in this connection the most beautiful picture presented
by ancient literature of wedded love under this noble form.
It is from the romance in which Xenophon, the chivalrous Greek,
presents his ideal of what human nature should be.
The generals of Cyrus had taken captive a princess, a woman of
unequalled beauty, and hastened to present her to the prince as that
part of the spoil he would think most worthy of his acceptance. Cyrus
visits the lady, and is filled with immediate admiration by the
modesty and majesty with which she receives him. He finds her name is
Panthea, and that she is the wife of Abradatus, a young king whom she
entirely loves. He protects her as a sister, in his camp, till he can
restore her to her husband.
After the first transports of joy at this reunion, the heart of
Panthea is bent on showing her love and gratitude to her magnanimous
and delicate protector. And as she has nothing so precious to give as
the aid of Abradatus, that is what she most wishes to offer. Her
husband is of one soul with her in this, as in all things.
The description of her grief and self-destruction, after the death
which ensued upon this devotion, I have seen quoted, but never that of
their parting when she sends him forth to battle. I shall copy both.
If they have been read by any of my readers, they may be so again with
profit in this connection, for never were the heroism of a true Woman,
and the purity of love in a true marriage, painted in colors more
delicate and more lively.
"The chariot of Abradatus, that had four perches and eight horses, was
completely adorned for him; and when he was going to put on his linen
corslet, which was a sort of armor used by those of his country,
Panthea brought him a golden helmet, and arm-pieces, broad bracelets
for his wrists, a purple habit that reached down to his feet, and
hung in folds at the bottom, and a crest dyed of a violet color. These
things she had made, unknown to her husband, and by taking the measure
of his armor. He wondered when he saw them, and inquired thus of
Panthea: 'And have you made me these arms, woman, by destroying your
own ornaments?' 'No, by Jove!' said Panthea, 'not what is the most
valuable of them; for it is you, if you appear to others to be what I
think you, that will be my greatest ornament.' And, saying that, she
put on him the armor, and, though she endeavored to conceal it, the
tears poured down her checks. When Abradatus, who was before a man of
fine appearance, was set out in those arms, he appeared the most
beautiful and noble of all, especially being likewise so by nature.
Then, taking the reins from the driver, he was just preparing to mount
the chariot, when Panthea, after she had desired all that were there
to retire, thus said:
"'O Abradatus! if ever there was a woman who had a greater regard to
her husband than to her own soul, I believe you know that I am such an
one; what need I therefore speak of things in particular? for I reckon
that my actions have convinced you more than any words I can now use.
And yet, though I stand thus affected toward you, as you know I do, I
swear, by this friendship of mine and yours, that I certainly would
rather choose to be put under ground jointly with you, approving
yourself a brave man, than to live with you in disgrace and shame; so
much do I think you and myself worthy of the noblest things. Then I
think that we both lie under great obligations to Cyrus, that, when I
was a captive, and chosen out for himself, he thought fit to treat me
neither as a slave, nor, indeed, as a woman of mean account, but he
took and kept me for you, as if I were his brother's wife. Besides,
when Araspes, who was my guard, went away from him, I promised him,
that, if he would allow me to send for you, you would come to him, and
approve yourself a much better and move faithful friend than Araspes.'
"Thus she spoke; and Abradatus, being struck with admiration at her
discourse, laying, his hand gently on her head, and lifting up his
eyes to heaven, made this prayer: 'Do thou, O greatest Jove! I grant
me to appear a husband worthy of Panthea, and a friend worthy of
Cyrus, who has done us so much honor!'
"Having said this, he mounted the chariot by the door of the driver's
seat; and, after he had got up, when the driver shut the door,
Panthea, who had now no other way to salute him, kissed the seat of
the chariot. The chariot then moved, and she, unknown to him,
followed, till Abradatus turning about, and seeing her, said: 'Take
courage, Panthea! Fare you happily and well, and now go your ways.' On
this her women and servants carried her to her conveyance, and, laying
her down, concealed her by throwing the covering of a tent over her.
The people, though Abradatus and his chariot made a noble spectacle,
were not able to look at him till Panthea was gone."
After the battle--
"Cyrus calling to some of his servants, 'Tell me, said he, 'has any
one seen Abradatus? for I admire that he now does not appear.' One
replied, 'My sovereign, it is because he is not living, but died in
the battle as he broke in with his chariot on the Egyptians. All the
rest, except his particular companions, they say, turned off when they
saw the Egyptians' compact body. His wife is now said to have taken up
his dead body, to have placed it in the carriage that she herself was
conveyed in, and to have brought it hither to some place on the river
Pactolus, and her servants are digging a grave on a certain elevation.
They say that his wife, after setting him out with all the ornaments
she has, is sitting on the ground with his head on her knees.' Cyrus,
hearing this, gave himself a blow on the thigh, mounted his horse at a
leap, and, taking with him a thousand horse, rode away to this scene
of affliction; but gave orders to Gadatas and Gobryas to take with
them all the rich ornaments proper for a friend and an excellent man
deceased, and to follow after him; and whoever had herds of cattle
with him, he ordered them to take both oxen, and horses, and sheep in
good number, and to bring them away to the place where, by inquiry,
they should find him to be, that he might sacrifice these to
Abradatus.
"As soon as he saw the woman sitting on the ground, and the dead body
there lying, he shed tears at the afflicting sight, and said: 'Alas!
thou brave and faithful soul, hast thou left us, and art thou gone?'
At the same time he took him by the right hand, and the hand of the
deceased came away, for it had been cut off with a sword by the
Egyptians. He, at the sight of this, became yet much more concerned
than before. The woman shrieked out in a lamentable manner, and,
taking the hand from Cyrus, kissed it, fitted it to its proper place
again, as well as she could, and said: 'The rest, Cyrus, is in the
same condition, but what need you see it? And I know that I was not
one of the least concerned in these his sufferings, and, perhaps, you
were not less so; for I, fool that I was! frequently exhorted him to
behave in such a manner as to appear a friend to you, worthy of
notice; and I know he never thought of what he himself should suffer,
but of what he should do to please you. He is dead, therefore,' said
she, 'without reproach, and I, who urged him on, sit here alive.'
Cyrus, shedding tears for some time in silence, then spoke:--'He has
died, woman, the noblest death; for he has died victorious! Do you
adorn him with these things that I furnish you with.' (Gobryas and
Gadatas were then come up, and had brought rich ornaments in great
abundance with them.) 'Then,' said he, 'be assured that he shall not
want respect and honor in all other things; but, over and above,
multitudes shall concur in raising him a monument that shall be worthy
of us, and all the sacrifices shall be made him that are proper to be
made in honor of a brave man. You shall not be left destitute, but,
for the sake of your modesty and every other virtue, I will pay you
all other honors, as well as place those about you who will conduct
you wherever you please. Do you but make it known to me where it is
that you desire to be conveyed to.' And Panthea replied: 'Be
confident, Cyrus, I will not conceal from you to whom it is that I
desire to go.'
"He, having said this, went away with great pity for her that she
should have lost such a husband, and for the man that he should have
left such a wife behind him, never to see her more. Panthea then gave
orders for her servants to retire, 'till such time,' said she, 'as I
shall have lamented my husband as I please.' Her nurse she bid to
stay, and gave orders that, when she was dead, she would wrap her and
her husband up in one mantle together. The nurse, after having
repeatedly begged her not to do this, and meeting with no success, but
observing her to grow angry, sat herself down, breaking out into
tears. She, being beforehand provided with a sword, killed herself,
and, laying her head down on her husband's breast, she died. The nurse
set up a lamentable cry, and covered them both, as Panthea had
directed.
"Cyrus, as soon as he was informed of what the woman had done, being
struck with it, went to help her if he could. The servants, three in
number, seeing what had been done, drew their swords and killed
themselves, as they stood at the place where she bad ordered them. And
the monument is now said to have been raised by continuing the mound
on to the servants; and on a pillar above, they say, the names of the
man and woman were written in Syriac letters.
"Below were three pillars, and they were inscribed thus, 'Of the
servants.' Cyrus, when he came to this melancholy scene, was struck
with admiration of the woman, and, having lamented over her, went
away. He took care, as was proper, that all the funeral rites should
be paid them in the noblest manner, and the monument, they say, was
raised up to a very great size."
* * * * *
These be the ancients, who, so many assert, had no idea of the dignity
of Woman, or of marriage. Such love Xenophon could paint as subsisting
between those who after death "would see one another never more."
Thousands of years have passed since, and with the reception of the
Cross, the nations assume the belief that those who part thus may meet
again and forever, if spiritually fitted to one another, as Abradatus
and Panthea were, and yet do we see such marriages among them? If at
all, how often?
I must quote two more short passages from Xenophon, for he is a writer
who pleases me well.
Cyrus, receiving the Armenians whom he had conquered--
"'Tigranes,' said he, 'at what rate would you purchase the regaining
of your wife?' Now Tigranes happened to be _but lately married_,
and had a very great love for his wife." (That clause perhaps sounds
_modern_.)
"'Cyrus,' said he, 'I would ransom her at the expense of my life.'
"'Take then your own to yourself,' said he. ...
"When they came home, one talked of Cyrus' wisdom, another of his
patience and resolution, another of his mildness. One spoke of his
beauty and smallness of his person, and, on that, Tigranes asked his
wife, 'And do you, Armenian dame, think Cyrus handsome?' 'Truly,' said
she, 'I did not look at him.' 'At whom, then, _did_ you look?'
said Tigranes. 'At him who said that, to save me from servitude, he
would ransom me at the expense of his own life.'"
From the Banquet.--
"Socrates, who observed her with pleasure, said, 'This young girl has
confirmed me in the opinion I have had, for a long time, that the
female sex are nothing inferior to ours, excepting only in strength of
body, or, perhaps, his steadiness of judgment.'"
* * * * *
In the Economics, the manner in which the husband gives counsel to his
young wife presents the model of politeness and refinement. Xenophon
is thoroughly the gentleman; gentle in breeding and in soul. All the
men he describes are so, while the shades of manner are distinctly
marked. There is the serene dignity of Socrates, with gleams of
playfulness thrown across its cool, religious shades, the princely
mildness of Cyrus, and the more domestic elegance of the husband in
the Economics.
There is no way that men sin more against refinement, as well as
discretion, than in their conduct toward their wives. Let them look at
the men of Xenophon. Such would know how to give counsel, for they
would know how to receive it. They would feel that the most intimate
relations claimed most, not least, of refined courtesy. They would not
suppose that confidence justified carelessness, nor the reality of
affection want of delicacy in the expression of it.
Such men would be too wise to hide their affairs from the wife, and
then expect her to act as if she knew them. They would know that, if
she is expected to face calamity with courage, she must be instructed
and trusted in prosperity, or, if they had failed in wise confidence,
such as the husband shows in the Economics, they would be ashamed of
anger or querulous surprise at the results that naturally follow.
Such men would not be exposed to the bad influence of bad wives; for
all wives, bad or good, loved or unloved, inevitably influence their
husbands, from the power their position not merely gives, but
necessitates, of coloring evidence and infusing feelings in hours when
the--patient, shall I call him?--is off his guard. Those who
understand the wife's mind, and think it worth while to respect her
springs of action, know bettor where they are. But to the bad or
thoughtless man, who lives carelessly and irreverently so near another
mind, the wrong he does daily back upon himself recoils. A Cyrus, an
Abradatus, knows where he stands.
* * * * *
But to return to the thread of my subject.
Another sign of the times is furnished by the triumphs of Female
Authorship. These have been great, and are constantly increasing.
Women have taken possession of so many provinces for which men had
pronounced them unfit, that, though these still declare there are some
inaccessible to them, it is difficult to say just _where_ they
must stop.
The shining names of famous women have cast light upon the path of the
sex, and many obstructions have been removed. When a Montague could
learn better than her brother, and use her lore afterwards to such
purpose as an observer, it seemed amiss to hinder women from preparing
themselves to see, or from seeing all they could, when prepared. Since
Somerville has achieved so much, will any young girl be prevented from
seeking a knowledge of the physical sciences, if she wishes it? De
Stael's name was not so clear of offence; she could not forget the
Woman in the thought; while she was instructing you as a mind, she
wished to be admired as a Woman; sentimental tears often dimmed the
eagle glance. Her intellect, too, with all its splendor, trained in a
drawing-room, fed on flattery, was tainted and flawed; yet its beams
make the obscurest school-house in New England warmer and lighter to
the little rugged girls who are gathered together on its wooden bench.
They may never through life hear her name, but she is not the less
their benefactress.
The influence has been such, that the aim certainly is, now, in
arranging school instruction for girls, to give them as fair a field
as boys. As yet, indeed, these arrangements are made with little
judgment or reflection; just as the tutors of Lady Jane Grey, and
other distinguished women of her time, taught them Latin and Greek,
because they knew nothing else themselves, so now the improvement in
the education of girls is to be made by giving them young men as
teachers, who only teach what has been taught themselves at college,
while methods and topics need revision for these new subjects, which
could better be made by those who had experienced the same wants.
Women are, often, at the head of these institutions; but they have, as
yet, seldom been thinking women, capable of organizing a new whole for
the wants of the time, and choosing persons to officiate in the
departments. And when some portion of instruction of a good sort is
got from the school, the far greater proportion which is infused from
the general atmosphere of society contradicts its purport. Yet books
and a little elementary instruction are not furnished in vain. Women
are better aware how great and rich the universe is, not so easily
blinded by narrowness or partial views of a home circle. "Her mother
did so before her" is no longer a sufficient excuse. Indeed, it was
never received as an excuse to mitigate the severity of censure, but
was adduced as a reason, rather, why there should be no effort made
for reformation.
Whether much or little has been done, or will be done,--whether women
will add to the talent of narration the power of systematizing,--whether
they will carve marble, as well as draw and paint,--is not important.
But that it should be acknowledged that they have intellect which needs
developing--that they should not be considered complete, if beings of
affection and habit alone--is important.
Yet even this acknowledgment, rather conquered by Woman than proffered
by Man, has been sullied by the usual selfishness. Too much is said of
women being better educated, that they may become better companions
and mothers _for_ men. They should be fit for such companionship,
and we have mentioned, with satisfaction, instances where it has been
established. Earth knows no fairer, holier relation than that of a
mother. It is one which, rightly understood, must both promote and
require the highest attainments. But a being of infinite scope must
not be treated with an exclusive view to any one relation. Give the
soul free course, let the organization, both of body and mind, be
freely developed, and the being will be fit for any and every relation
to which it may be called. The intellect, no more than the sense of
hearing, is to be cultivated merely that Woman may be a more valuable
companion to Man, but because the Power who gave a power, by its mere
existence signifies that it must be brought out toward perfection.
In this regard of self-dependence, and a greater simplicity and
fulness of being, we must hail as a preliminary the increase of the
class contemptuously designated as "old maids."
We cannot wonder at the aversion with which old bachelors and old
maids have been regarded. Marriage is the natural means of forming a
sphere, of taking root in the earth; it requires more strength to do
this without such an opening; very many have failed, and their
imperfections have been in every one's way. They have been more
partial, more harsh, more officious and impertinent, than those
compelled by severer friction to render themselves endurable. Those
who have a more full experience of the instincts have a distrust as to
whether the unmarried can be thoroughly human and humane, such as is
hinted in the saying, "Old-maids' and bachelors' children are well
cared for," which derides at once their ignorance and their
presumption.
Yet the business of society has become so complex, that it could now
scarcely be carried on without the presence of these despised
auxiliaries; and detachments from the army of aunts and uncles are
wanted to stop gaps in every hedge. They rove about, mental and moral
Ishmaelites, pitching their tents amid the fixed and ornamented homes
of men.
In a striking variety of forms, genius of late, both at home and
abroad, has paid its tribute to the character of the Aunt and the
Uncle, recognizing in these personages the spiritual parents, who have
supplied defects in the treatment of the busy or careless actual
parents.
They also gain a wider, if not so deep experience. Those who are not
intimately and permanently linked with others, are thrown upon
themselves; and, if they do not there find peace and incessant life,
there is none to flatter them that they are not very poor, and very
mean.
A position which so constantly admonishes, may be of inestimable
benefit. The person may gain, undistracted by other relationships, a
closer communion with the one. Such a use is made of it by saints and
sibyls. Or she may be one of the lay sisters of charity, a canoness,
bound by an inward vow,--or the useful drudge of all men, the Martha,
much sought, little prized,--or the intellectual interpreter of the
varied life she sees; the Urania of a half-formed world's twilight.
Or she may combine all these. Not needing to care that she may please
a husband, a frail and limited being, her thoughts may turn to the
centre, and she may, by steadfast contemplation entering into the
secret of truth and love, use it for the good of all men, instead of a
chosen few, and interpret through it all the forms of life. It is
possible, perhaps, to be at once a priestly servant and a loving muse.
Saints and geniuses have often chosen a lonely position, in the faith
that if, undisturbed by the pressure of near ties, they would give
themselves up to the inspiring spirit, it would enable them to
understand and reproduce life better than actual experience could.
How many "old maids" take this high stand we cannot say: it is an
unhappy fact that too many who have come before the eye are gossips
rather, and not always good-natured gossips. But if these abuse, and
none make the best of their vocation, yet it has not failed to produce
some good results. It has been seen by others, if not by themselves,
that beings, likely to be left alone, need to be fortified and
furnished within themselves; and education and thought have tended
more and more to regard these beings as related to absolute Being, as
well as to others. It has been seen that, as the breaking of no bond
ought to destroy a man, so ought the missing of none to hinder him
from growing. And thus a circumstance of the time, which springs
rather from its luxury than its purity, has helped to place women on
the true platform.
Perhaps the next generation, looking deeper into this matter, will
find that contempt is put upon old maids, or old women, at all, merely
because they do not use the elixir which would keep them always young.
Under its influence, a gem brightens yearly which is only seen to more
advantage through the fissures Time makes in the casket. [Footnote:
Appendix F.] No one thinks of Michael Angelo's Persican Sibyl, or St.
Theresa, or Tasso's Leonora, or the Greek Electra, as an old maid,
more than of Michael Angelo or Canova as old bachelors, though all had
reached the period in life's course appointed to take that degree.
See a common woman at forty; scarcely has she the remains of beauty,
of any soft poetic grace which gave her attraction as Woman, which
kindled the hearts of those who looked on her to sparkling thoughts,
or diffused round her a roseate air of gentle love. See her, who was,
indeed, a lovely girl, in the coarse, full-blown dahlia flower of what
is commonly matron-beauty, "fat, fair, and forty," showily dressed,
and with manners as broad and full as her frill or satin cloak. People
observe, "How well she is preserved!" "She is a fine woman still,"
they say. This woman, whether as a duchess in diamonds, or one of our
city dames in mosaics, charms the poet's heart no more, and would look
much out of place kneeling before the Madonna. She "does well the
honors of her house,"--"leads society,"--is, in short, always spoken
and thought of upholstery-wise.
Or see that care-worn face, from which every soft line is
blotted,--those faded eyes, from which lonely tears have driven the
flashes of fancy, the mild white beam of a tender enthusiasm. This
woman is not so ornamental to a tea-party; yet she would please
better, in picture. Yet surely she, no more than the other, looks as a
human being should at the end of forty years. Forty years! have they
bound those brows with no garland? shed in the lamp no drop of
ambrosial oil?
Not so looked the Iphigenia in Aulis. Her forty years had seen her in
anguish, in sacrifice, in utter loneliness. But those pains were borne
for her father and her country; the sacrifice she had made pure for
herself and those around her. Wandering alone at night in the vestal
solitude of her imprisoning grove, she has looked up through its
"living summits" to the stars, which shed down into her aspect their
own lofty melody. At forty she would not misbecome the marble.
Not so looks the Persica. She is withered; she is faded; the drapery
that enfolds her has in its dignity an angularity, too, that tells of
age, of sorrow, of a stern resignation to the _must_. But her
eye, that torch of the soul, is untamed, and, in the intensity of her
reading, we see a soul invincibly young in faith and hope. Her age is
her charm, for it is the night of the past that gives this beacon-fire
leave to shine. Wither more and more, black Chrysalid! thou dost but
give the winged beauty time to mature its splendors!
Not so looked Victoria Colonna, after her life of a great hope, and of
true conjugal fidelity. She had been, not merely a bride, but a wife,
and each hour had helped to plume the noble bird. A coronet of pearls
will not shame her brow; it is white and ample, a worthy altar for
love and thought.
Even among the North American Indians, a race of men as completely
engaged in mere instinctive life as almost any in the world, and where
each chief, keeping many wives as useful servants, of course looks
with no kind eye on celibacy in Woman, it was excused in the following
instance mentioned by Mrs. Jameson. A woman dreamt in youth that she
was betrothed to the Sun. She built her a wigwam apart, filled it with
emblems of her alliance, and means of on independent life. There she
passed her days, sustained by her own exertions, and true to her
supposed engagement.
In any tribe, we believe, a woman, who lived as if she was betrothed
to the Sun, would be tolerated, and the rays which made her youth
blossom sweetly, would crown her with a halo in age.
There is, on this subject, a nobler view than heretofore, if not the
noblest, and improvement here must coincide with that in the view
taken of marriage. "We must have units before we can have union," says
one of the ripe thinkers of the times.
If larger intellectual resources begin to be deemed needful to Woman,
still more is a spiritual dignity in her, or even the mere assumption
of it, looked upon with respect. Joanna Southcote and Mother Anne Lee
are sure of a band of disciples; Ecstatica, Dolorosa, of enraptured
believers who will visit them in their lowly huts, and wait for days
to revere them in their trances. The foreign noble traverses land and
sea to hear a few words from the lips of the lowly peasant girl, whom
he believes especially visited by the Most High. Very beautiful, in
this way, was the influence of the invalid of St. Petersburg, as
described by De Maistre.
Mysticism, which may be defined as the brooding soul of the world,
cannot fail of its oracular promise as to Woman. "The mothers," "The
mother of all things," are expressions of thought which lead the mind
towards this side of universal growth. Whenever a mystical whisper was
heard, from Behmen down to St. Simon, sprang up the thought, that, if
it be true, as the legend says, that Humanity withers through a fault
committed by and a curse laid upon Woman, through her pure child, or
influence, shall the new Adam, the redemption, arise. Innocence is to
be replaced by virtue, dependence by a willing submission, in the
heart of the Virgin-Mother of the new race.
The spiritual tendency is toward the elevation of Woman, but the
intellectual by itself is not so. Plato sometimes seems penetrated by
that high idea of love, which considers Man and Woman as the two-fold
expression of one thought. This the angel of Swedenborg, the angel of
the coming age, cannot surpass, but only explain more fully. But then
again Plato, the man of intellect, treats Woman in the Republic as
property, and, in the Timaeus, says that Man, if he misuse the
privileges of one life, shall be degraded into the form of Woman; and
then, if ho do not redeem himself, into that of a bird. This, as I
said above, expresses most happily how antipoetical is this state of
mind. For the poet, contemplating the world of things, selects various
birds as the symbols of his most gracious and ethereal thoughts, just
as he calls upon his genius as muse rather than as God. But the
intellect, cold, is ever more masculine than feminine; warmed by
emotion, it rushes toward mother-earth, and puts on the forms of
beauty.
The electrical, the magnetic element in Woman has not been fairly
brought out at any period. Everything might be expected from it; she
has far more of it than Man. This is commonly expressed by saying that
her intuitions are more rapid and more correct. You will often see men
of high intellect absolutely stupid in regard to the atmospheric
changes, the fine invisible links which connect the forms of life
around them, while common women, if pure and modest, so that a vulgar
self do not overshadow the mental eye, will seize and delineate these
with unerring discrimination.
Women who combine this organization with creative genius are very
commonly unhappy at present. They see too much to act in conformity
with those around them, and their quick impulses seem folly to those
who do not discern the motives. This is an usual effect of the
apparition of genius, whether in Man or Woman, but is more frequent
with regard to the latter, because a harmony, an obvious order and
self-restraining decorum, is most expected from her.
Then women of genius, even more than men, are likely to be enslaved by
an impassioned sensibility. The world repels them more rudely, and
they are of weaker bodily frame.
Those who seem overladen with electricity frighten those around them.
"When she merely enters the room, I am what the French call
_herisse_," said a man of petty feelings and worldly character of
such a woman, whose depth of eye and powerful motion announced the
conductor of the mysterious fluid.
Woe to such a woman who finds herself linked to such a man in bonds
too close! It is the crudest of errors. He will detest her with all
the bitterness of wounded self-love. He will take the whole prejudice
of manhood upon himself, and, to the utmost of his power, imprison and
torture her by its imperious rigors.
Yet, allow room enough, and the electric fluid will be found to
invigorate and embellish, not destroy life. Such women are the great
actresses, the songsters. Such traits we read in a late searching,
though too French, analysis of the character of Mademoiselle Rachel,
by a modern, La Rochefeucault. The Greeks thus represent the muses;
they have not the golden serenity of Apollo; they are overflowed with
thought; there is something tragic in their air. Such are the Sibyls
of Gueroino; the eye is overfull of expression, dilated and lustrous;
it seems to have drawn the whole being into it.
Sickness is the frequent result of this overcharged existence. To this
region, however misunderstood, or interpreted with presumptuous
carelessness, belong the phenomena of magnetism, or mesmerism, as it
is now often called, where the trance of the Ecstatica purports to be
produced by the agency of one human being on another, instead of, as
in her case, direct from the spirit.
The worldling has his sneer at this as at the services of religion.
"The churches can always be filled with women"--"Show me a man in one
of your magnetic states, and I will believe."
Women are, indeed, the easy victims both of priestcraft and
self-delusion; but this would not be, if the intellect was developed
in proportion to the other powers. They would then have a regulator,
and be more in equipoise, yet must retain the same nervous
susceptibility while their physical structure is such as it is.
It is with just that hope that we welcome everything that tends to
strengthen the fibre and develop the nature on more sides. When the
intellect and affections are in harmony; when intellectual
consciousness is calm and deep; inspiration will not be confounded
with fancy.
Then, "she who advances
With rapturous, lyrical glances,
Singing the song of the earth, singing
Its hymn to the Gods,"
will not be pitied as a mad-woman, nor shrunk from as unnatural.
The Greeks, who saw everything in forms, which we are trying to
ascertain as law, and classify as cause, embodied all this in the form
of Cassandra. Cassandra was only unfortunate in receiving her gift too
soon. The remarks, however, that the world still makes in such cases,
are well expressed by the Greek dramatist.
In the Trojan dames there are fine touches of nature with regard to
Cassandra. Hecuba shows that mixture of shame and reverence that
prosaic kindred always do toward the inspired child, the poet, the
elected sufferer for the race.
When the herald announces that Cassandra is chosen to be the mistress
of Agamemnon, Hecuba answers, with indignation, betraying the pride
and faith she involuntarily felt in this daughter.
"_Hec_. The maiden of Phoebus, to whom the golden-haired
Gave as a privilege a virgin life!
_Tal_. Love of the inspired maiden hath pierced him.
_Hec_. Then cast away, my child, the sacred keys, and from thy person
The consecrated garlands which thou wearest."
Yet, when, a moment after, Cassandra appears, singing, wildly, her
inspired song, Hecuba calls her, "My _frantic_ child."
Yet how graceful she is in her tragic _raptus_, the chorus shows.
"_Chorus_. How sweetly at thy house's ills thou smil'st,
Chanting what, haply, thou wilt not show true."
If Hecuba dares not trust her highest instinct about her daughter,
still less can the vulgar mind of the herald Talthybius, a man not
without feeling, but with no princely, no poetic blood, abide the
wild, prophetic mood which insults all his prejudices.
"_Tal_. The venerable, and that accounted wise,
Is nothing better than that of no repute;
For the greatest king of all the Greeks,
The dear son of Atreus, a possessed with the love
Of this mad-Woman. I, indeed, am poor;
Yet I would not receive her to my bed."
The royal Agamemnon could see the beauty of Cassandra; _he_ was
not afraid of her prophetic gifts.
The best topic for a chapter on this subject, in the present day,
would be the history of the Seeress of Prevorst, the best observed
subject of magnetism in our present times, and who, like her
ancestresses of Delphos, was roused to ecstasy or phrensy by the touch
of the laurel.
I observe in her case, and in one known to me here, that what might
have been a gradual and gentle disclosure of remarkable powers was
broken and jarred into disease by an unsuitable marriage. Both these
persons were unfortunate in not understanding what was involved in
this relation, but acted ignorantly, as their friends desired. They
thought that this was the inevitable destiny of Woman. But when
engaged in the false position, it was impossible for them to endure
its dissonances, as those of less delicate perceptions can; and the
fine flow of life was checked and sullied. They grew sick; but, even
so, learned and disclosed more than those in health are wont to do.
In such cases, worldlings sneer; but reverent men learn wondrous news,
either from the person observed, or by thoughts caused in themselves
by the observation. Fenelon learns from Guyon, Kerner from his
Seeress, what we fain would know. But to appreciate such disclosures
one must be a child; and here the phrase, "women and children," may,
perhaps, be interpreted aright, that only little children shall enter
into the kingdom of heaven.
All these motions of the time, tides that betoken a waxing moon,
overflow upon our land. The world at large is readier to let Woman
learn and manifest the capacities of her nature than it ever was
before, and here is a less encumbered field and freer air than
anywhere else. And it ought to be so; we ought to pay for Isabella's
jewels.
The names of nations are feminine--Religion, Virtue and Victory are
feminine. To those who have a superstition, as to outward reigns, it
is not without significance that the name of the queen of our
motherland should at this crisis be Victoria,--Victoria the First.
Perhaps to us it may be given to disclose the era thus outwardly
presaged.
Another Isabella too at this time ascends the throne. Might she open a
new world to her sex! But, probably, these poor little women are,
least of any, educated to serve as examples or inspirers for the rest.
The Spanish queen is younger; we know of her that she sprained her
foot the other day, dancing in her private apartments; of Victoria,
that she reads aloud, in a distinct voice and agreeable manner, her
addresses to Parliament on certain solemn days, and, yearly, that she
presents to the nation some new prop of royalty. These ladies have,
very likely, been trained more completely to the puppet life than any
other. The queens, who have been queens indeed, were trained by
adverse circumstances to know the world around them and their own
powers.
It is moving, while amusing, to read of the Scottish peasant measuring
the print left by the queen's foot as she walks, and priding himself
on its beauty. It is so natural to wish to find what is fair and
precious in high places,--so astonishing to find the Bourbon a
glutton, or the Guelph a dullard or gossip.
In our own country, women are, in many respects, better situated than
men. Good books are allowed, with more time to read them. They are not
so early forced into the bustle of life, nor so weighed down by
demands for outward success. The perpetual changes, incident to our
society, make the blood circulate freely through the body politic,
and, if not favorable at present to the grace and bloom of life, they
are so to activity, resource, and would be to reflection, but for a
low materialist tendency, from which the women are generally exempt in
themselves, though its existence, among the men, has a tendency to
repress their impulses and make them doubt their instincts, thus often
paralyzing their action during the best years.
But they have time to think, and no traditions chain them, and few
conventionalities, compared with what must be met in other nations.
There is no reason why they should not discover that the secrets of
nature are open, the revelations of the spirit waiting, for whoever
will seek them. When the mind is once awakened to this consciousness,
it will not be restrained by the habits of the past, but fly to seek
the seeds of a heavenly future.
Their employments are more favorable to meditation than those of men.
Woman is not addressed religiously here more than elsewhere. She is
told that she should be worthy to be the mother of a Washington, or
the companion of some good man.' But in many, many instances, she has
already learned that all bribes have the same flaw; that truth and
good are to be sought solely for their own sakes. And, already, an
ideal sweetness floats over many forms, shines in many eyes.
Already deep questions are put by young girls on the great theme: What
shall I do to enter upon the eternal life?
Men are very courteous to them. They praise them often, check them
seldom. There is chivalry in the feeling toward "the ladies," which
gives them the best seats in the stage-coach, frequent admission, not
only to lectures of all sorts, but to courts of justice, halls of
legislature, reform conventions. The newspaper editor "would be better
pleased that the Lady's Book should be filled up exclusively by
ladies. It would then, indeed, be a true gem, worthy, to be presented
by young men to the, mistress of their affections." Can gallantry go
further?
In this country is venerated, wherever seen, the character which
Goethe spoke of as an Ideal, which he saw actualized in his friend and
patroness, the Grand Duchess Amelia: "The excellent woman is she, who,
if the husband dies, can be a father to the children." And this, if
read aright, tells a great deal.
Women who speak in public, if they have a moral power, such as has
been felt from Angelina Grimke and Abby Kelly,--that is, if they speak
for conscience' sake, to serve a cause which they hold sacred,--invariably
subdue the prejudices of their hearers, and excite an interest
proportionate to the aversion with which it had been the purpose to
regard them.
A passage in a private letter so happily illustrates this, that it
must be inserted here.
Abby Kelly in the Town-House of ----.
"The scene was not unheroic--to see that woman, true to humanity and
her own nature, a centre of rude eyes and tongues, even gentlemen
feeling licensed to make part of a species of mob around a female out
of her sphere. As she took her seat in the desk amid the great noise,
and in the throng, full, like a wave, of something to ensue, I saw her
humanity in a gentleness and unpretension, tenderly open to the sphere
around her, and, had she not been supported by the power of the will
of genuineness and principle, she would have failed. It led her to
prayer, which, in Woman especially, is childlike; sensibility and will
going to the side of God and looking up to him; and humanity was
poured out in aspiration.
"She acted like a gentle hero, with her mild decision and womanly
calmness. All heroism is mild, and quiet, and gentle, for it is life
and possession; and combativeness and firmness show a want of
actualness. She is as earnest, fresh and simple, as when she first
entered the crusade. I think she did much good, more than the men in
her place could do, for Woman feels more as being and reproducing--this
brings the subject more into home relations. Men speak through, and
mostly from intellect, and this addresses itself to that in others
which is combative."
Not easily shall we find elsewhere, or before this time, any written
observations on the same subject, so delicate and profound.
The late Dr. Channing, whose enlarged and tender and religious nature
shared every onward impulse of his tune, though his thoughts followed
his wishes with a deliberative caution which belonged to his habits
and temperament, was greatly interested in these expectations for
women. His own treatment of them was absolutely and thoroughly
religious. He regarded them as souls, each of which had a destiny of
its own, incalculable to other minds, and whose leading it must
follow, guided by the light of a private conscience. He had sentiment,
delicacy, kindness, taste; but they were all pervaded and ruled by
this one thought, that all beings had souls, and must vindicate their
own inheritance. Thus all beings were treated by him with an equal,
and sweet, though solemn, courtesy. The young and unknown, the woman
and the child, all felt themselves regarded with an infinite
expectation, from which there was no reaction to vulgar prejudice. He
demanded of all he met, to use his favorite phrase, "great truths."
His memory, every way dear and reverend, is, by many, especially
cherished for this intercourse of unbroken respect.
At one time, when the progress of Harriet Martineau through this
country, Angelina Grimke's appearance in public, and the visit of Mrs.
Jameson, had turned his thoughts to this subject, he expressed high
hopes as to what the coming era would bring to Woman. He had been much
pleased with the dignified courage of Mrs. Jameson in taking up the
defence of her sex in from which women usually shrink, because, if
they express themselves on such subjects with sufficient force and
clearness to do any good, they are exposed to assaults whose vulgarity
makes them painful. In intercourse with such a woman, he had shared
her indignation at the base injustice, in many respects, and in many
regions, done to the sex; and been led to think of it far more than
ever before. He seemed to think that he might some time write upon the
subject. That his aid is withdrawn from the cause is a subject of
great regret; for, on this question as on others, he would have known
how to sum up the evidence, and take, in the noblest spirit, middle
ground. He always furnished a platform on which opposing parties could
stand and look at one another under the influence of his mildness and
enlightened candor.
Two younger thinkers, men both, have uttered noble prophecies,
auspicious for Woman. Kinmont, all whose thoughts tended towards the
establishment of the reign of love and peace, thought that the
inevitable means of this would be an increased predominance given to
the idea of Woman. Had he lived longer, to see the growth of the Peace
Party, the reforms in life and medical practice which seek to
substitute water for wine and drugs, pulse for animal food, he would
have been confirmed in his view of the way in which the desired
changes are to be effected.
In this connection I must mention Shelley, who, like all men of
genius, shared the feminine development, and, unlike many, knew it.
His life was one of the first pulse-beats in the present
reform-growth. He, too, abhorred blood and heat, and, by his system
and his song, tended to reinstate a plant-like gentleness in the
development of energy. In harmony with this, his ideas of marriage
were lofty, and, of course, no less so of Woman, her nature, and
destiny.
For Woman, if, by a sympathy as to outward condition, she is led to
aid the enfranchisement of the slave, must be no less so, by inward
tendency, to favor measures which promise to bring the world more
thoroughly and deeply into harmony with her nature. When the lamb
takes place of the lion as the emblem of nations, both women and men
will be as children of one spirit, perpetual learners of the word and
doers thereof, not hearers only.
A writer in the New York Pathfinder, in two articles headed
"Femality," has uttered a still more pregnant word than any we have
named. He views Woman truly from the soul, and not from society, and
the depth and leading of his thoughts are proportionably remarkable.
He views the feminine nature as a harmonizer of the vehement elements,
and this has often been hinted elsewhere; but what he expresses most
forcibly is the lyrical, the inspiring and inspired apprehensiveness
of her being.
This view being identical with what I have before attempted to
indicate, as to her superior susceptibility to magnetic or electric
influence, I will now try to express myself more fully.
There are two aspects of Woman's nature, represented by the ancients
as Muse and Minerva. It is the former to which the writer in the
Pathfinder looks. It is the latter which Wordsworth has in mind, when
he says,
"With a placid brow,
Which woman ne'er should forfeit, keep thy vow."
The especial genius of Woman I believe to be electrical in movement,
intuitive in function, spiritual in tendency. She excels not so easily
in classification, or recreation, as in an instinctive seizure of
causes, and a simple breathing out of what she receives, that has the
singleness of life, rather than the selecting and energizing of art.
More native is it to her to be the living model of the artist than to
set apart from herself any one form in objective reality; more native
to inspire and receive the poem, than to create it. In so far as soul
is in her completely developed, all soul is the same, but in so far as
it is modified in her as Woman, it flows, it breathes, it sings,
rather than deposits soil, or finishes work; and that which is
especially feminine flushes, in blossom, the face of earth, and
pervades, like air and water, all this seeming solid globe, daily
renewing and purifying its life. Such may be the especially feminine
element spoken of as Femality. But it is no more the order of nature
that it should be incarnated pure in any form, than that the masculine
energy should exist unmingled with it in any form.
Male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism.
But, in fact, they are perpetually passing into one another. Fluid
hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. There is no wholly masculine
man, no purely feminine woman.
History jeers at the attempts of physiologists to bind great original
laws by the forms which flow from them. They make a rule; they say
from observation what can and cannot be. In vain! Nature provides
exceptions to every rule. She sends women to battle, and sets Hercules
spinning; she enables women to bear immense burdens, cold, and frost;
she enables the man, who feels maternal love, to nourish his infant
like a mother. Of late she plays still gayer pranks. Not only she
deprives organizations, but organs, of a necessary end. She enables
people to read with the top of the head, and see with the pit of the
stomach. Presently she will make a female Newton, and a male Syren.
Man partakes of the feminine in the Apollo, Woman of the masculine as
Minerva.
What I mean by the Muse is that unimpeded clearness of the intuitive
powers, which a perfectly truthful adherence to every admonition of
the higher instincts would bring to a finely organized human being. It
may appear as prophecy or as poesy. It enabled Cassandra to foresee
the results of actions passing round her; the Seeress to behold the
true character of the person through the mask of his customary life.
(Sometimes she saw a feminine form behind the man, sometimes the
reverse.) It enabled the daughter of Linnaeus to see the soul of the
flower exhaling from the flower. [Footnote: The daughter of Linnaeus
states, that, while looking steadfastly at the red lily, she saw its
spirit hovering above it, as a red flame. It is true, this, like many
fair spirit-stories, may be explained away as an optical illusion, but
its poetic beauty and meaning would, even then, make it valuable, as
an illustration of the spiritual fact.] It gave a man, but a poet-man,
the power of which he thus speaks: "Often in my contemplation of
nature, radiant intimations, and as it were sheaves of light, appear
before me as to the facts of cosmogony, in which my mind has, perhaps,
taken especial part." He wisely adds, "but it is necessary with
earnestness to verify the knowledge we gain by these flashes of
light." And none should forget this. Sight must be verified by light
before it can deserve the honors of piety and genius. Yet sight comes
first, and of this sight of the world of causes, this approximation to
the region of primitive motions, women I hold to be especially
capable. Even without equal freedom with the other sex, they have
already shown themselves so; and should these faculties have free
play, I believe they will open new, deeper and purer sources of joyous
inspiration than have as yet refreshed the earth.
Let us be wise, and not impede the soul. Let her work as she will. Let
us have one creative energy, one incessant revelation. Let it take
what form it will, and let us not bind it by the past to man or woman,
black or white. Jove sprang from Rhea, Pallas from Jove. So let it be.
If it has been the tendency of these remarks to call Woman rather to
the Minerva side,--if I, unlike the more generous writer, have spoken
from society no less than the soul,--let it be pardoned! It is love
that has caused this,--love for many incarcerated souls, that might be
freed, could the idea of religious self-dependence be established in
them, could the weakening habit of dependence on others be broken up.
Proclus teaches that every life has, in its sphere, a totality or
wholeness of the animating powers of the other spheres; having only,
as its own characteristic, a predominance of some one power. Thus
Jupiter comprises, within himself, the other twelve powers, which
stand thus: The first triad is _demiurgic or fabricative_, that
is, Jupiter, Neptune, Vulcan; the second, _defensive_, Vesta,
Minerva, Mars; the third, _vivific_, Ceres, Juno, Diana; and the
fourth, Mercury, Venus, Apollo, _elevating and harmonic_. In the
sphere of Jupiter, energy is predominant--with Venus, beauty; but each
comprehends and apprehends all the others.
When the same community of life and consciousness of mind begin among
men, humanity will have, positively and finally, subjugated its brute
elements and Titanic childhood; criticism will have perished;
arbitrary limits and ignorant censure be impossible; all will have
entered upon the liberty of law, and the harmony of common growth.
Then Apollo will sing to his lyre what Vulcan forges on the anvil, and
the Muse weave anew the tapestries of Minerva.
It is, therefore, only in the present crisis that the preference is
given to Minerva. The power of continence must establish the
legitimacy of freedom, the power of self-poise the perfection of
motion.
Every relation, every gradation of nature is incalculably precious,
but only to the soul which is poised upon itself, and to whom no loss,
no change, can bring dull discord, for it is in harmony with the
central soul.
If any individual live too much in relations, so that he becomes a
stranger to the resources of his own nature, he falls, after a while,
into a distraction, or imbecility, from which he can only be cured by
a time of isolation, which gives the renovating fountains time to rise
up. With a society it is the same. Many minds, deprived of the
traditionary or instinctive means of passing a cheerful existence,
must find help in self-impulse, or perish. It is therefore that, while
any elevation, in the view of union, is to be hailed with joy, we
shall not decline celibacy as the great fact of the time. It is one
from which no vow, no arrangement, can at present save a thinking
mind. For now the rowers are pausing on their oars; they wait a change
before they can pull together. All tends to illustrate the thought of
a wise cotemporary. Union is only possible to those who are units. To
be fit for relations in time, souls, whether of Man or Woman, must be
able to do without them in the spirit.
It is therefore that I would have Woman lay aside all thought, such as
she habitually cherishes, of being taught and led by men. I would have
her, like the Indian girl, dedicate herself to the Sun, the Sun of
Truth, and go nowhere if his beams did not make clear the path. I
would have her free from compromise, from complaisance, from
helplessness, because I would have her good enough and strong enough
to love one and all beings, from the fulness, not the poverty of
being.
Men, as at present instructed, will not help this work, because they
also are under the slavery of habit. I have seen with delight their
poetic impulses. A sister is the fairest ideal, and how nobly
Wordsworth, and even Byron, have written of a sister!
There is no sweeter sight than to see a father with his little
daughter. Very vulgar men become refined to the eye when leading a
little girl by the hand. At that moment, the right relation between
the sexes seems established, and you feel as if the man would aid in
the noblest purpose, if you ask him in behalf of his little daughter.
Once, two fine figures stood before me, thus. The father of very
intellectual aspect, his falcon eye softened by affection as he looked
down on his fair child; she the image of himself, only more graceful
and brilliant in expression. I was reminded of Southey's Kehama; when,
lo, the dream was rudely broken! They were talking of education, and
he said,
"I shall not have Maria brought too forward. If she knows too much,
she will never find a husband; superior women hardly ever can."
"Surely," said his wife, with a blush, "you wish Maria to be as good
and wise as she can, whether it will help her to marriage or not."
"No," he persisted, "I want her to have a sphere and a home, and some
one to protect her when I am gone."
It was a trifling incident, but made a deep impression. I felt that
the holiest relations fail to instruct the unprepared and perverted
mind. If this man, indeed, could have looked at it on the other side,
he was the last that would have been willing to have been taken
himself for the home and protection he could give, but would have been
much more likely to repeat the tale of Alcibiades with his phials.
But men do _not_ look at both sides, and women must leave off
asking them and being influenced by them, but retire within
themselves, and explore the ground-work of life till they find their
peculiar secret. Then, when they come forth again, renovated and
baptized, they will know how to turn all dross to gold, and will be
rich and free though they live in a hut, tranquil if in a crowd. Then
their sweet singing shall not be from passionate impulse, but the
lyrical overflow of a divine rapture, and a new music shall be evolved
from this many-chorded world.
Grant her, then, for a while, the armor and the javelin. Let her put
from her the press of other minds, and meditate in virgin loneliness.
The same idea shall reappear in due time as Muse, or Ceres, the
all-kindly, patient Earth-Spirit.
Among the throng of symptoms which denote the present tendency to a
crisis in the life of Woman,--which resembles the change from
girlhood, with its beautiful instincts, but unharmonized thoughts, its
blind pupilage and restless seeking, to self-possessed, wise and
graceful womanhood,--I have attempted to select a few.
One of prominent interest is the unison upon the subject of three male
minds, which, for width of culture, power of self-concentration and
dignity of aim, take rank as the prophets of the coming age, while
their histories and labors are rooted in the past.
Swedenborg came, he tells us, to interpret the past revelation and
unfold a new. He announces the New Church that is to prepare the way
for the New Jerusalem, a city built of precious stones, hardened and
purified by secret processes in the veins of earth through the ages.
Swedenborg approximated to that harmony between the scientific and
poetic lives of mind, which we hope from the perfected man. The links
that bind together the realms of nature, the mysteries that accompany
her births and growths, were unusually plain to him. He seems a man to
whom insight was given at a period when the mental frame was
sufficiently matured to retain and express its gifts.
His views of Woman are, in the main, satisfactory. In some details we
my object to them, as, in all his system, there are still remains of
what is arbitrary and seemingly groundless--fancies that show the
marks of old habits, and a nature as yet not thoroughly leavened with
the spiritual leaven. At least, so it seems to me now. I speak
reverently, for I find such reason to venerate Swedenborg, from an
imperfect knowledge of his mind, that I feel one more perfect might
explain to me much that does not now secure my sympathy.
His idea of Woman is sufficiently large and noble to interpose no
obstacle to her progress. His idea of marriage is consequently
sufficient. Man and Woman share an angelic ministry; the union is of
one with one, permanent and pure.
As the New Church extends its ranks, the needs of Woman must be more
considered.
Quakerism also establishes Woman on a sufficient equality with Man.
But, though the original thought of Quakerism is pure, its scope is
too narrow, and its influence, having established a certain amount of
good and made clear some truth, must, by degrees, be merged in one of
wider range. [Footnote: In worship at stated periods, in daily
expression, whether by word or deed, the Quakers have placed Woman on
the same platform with Man. Can any one assert that they have reason
to repent this?] The mind of Swedenborg appeals to the various nature
of Man, and allows room for aesthetic culture and the free expression
of energy.
As apostle of the new order, of the social fabric that is to rise from
love, and supersede the old that was based on strife, Charles Fourier
comes next, expressing, in an outward order, many facts of which
Swedenborg saw the secret springs. The mind of Fourier, though grand
and clear, was, in some respects, superficial. He was a stranger to
the highest experiences. His eye was fixed on the outward more than
the inward needs of Man. Yet he, too, was a seer of the divine order,
in its musical expression, if not in its poetic soul. He has filled
one department of instruction for the new era, and the harmony in
action, and freedom for individual growth, he hopes, shall exist; and,
if the methods he proposes should not prove the true ones, yet his
fair propositions shall give many hints, and make room for the
inspiration needed for such.
He, too, places Woman on an entire equality with Man, and wishes to
give to one as to the other that independence which must result from
intellectual and practical development.
Those who will consult him for no other reason, might do so to see how
the energies of Woman may be made available in the pecuniary way. The
object of Fourier was to give her the needed means of self-help, that
she might dignify and unfold her life for her own happiness, and that
of society. The many, now, who see their daughters liable to
destitution, or vice to escape from it, may be interested to examine
the means, if they have not yet soul enough to appreciate the ends he
proposes.
On the opposite side of the advancing army leads the great apostle of
individual culture, Goethe. Swedenborg makes organization and union
the necessary results of solitary thought. Fourier, whose nature was,
above all, constructive, looked to them too exclusively. Better
institutions, he thought, will make better men. Goethe expressed, in
every way, the other side. If one man could present better forms, the
rest could not use them till ripe for them.
Fourier says, As the institutions, so the men! All follies are
excusable and natural under bad institutions.
Goethe thinks, As the man, so the institutions! There is no excuse for
ignorance and folly. A man can grow in any place, if he will.
Ay! but, Goethe, bad institutions are prison-walls and impure air,
that make him stupid, so that he does not will.
And thou, Fourier, do not expect to change mankind at once, or even
"in three generations," by arrangement of groups and series, or
flourish of trumpets for attractive industry. If these attempts are
made by unready men, they will fail.
Yet we prize the theory of Fourier no less than the profound
suggestion of Goethe. Both are educating the age to a clearer
consciousness of what Man needs, what Man can be; and better life must
ensue.
Goethe, proceeding on his own track, elevating the human being, in the
most imperfect states of society, by continual efforts at
self-culture, takes as good care of women as of men. His mother, the
bold, gay Frau Aja, with such playful freedom of nature; the wise and
gentle maiden, known in his youth, over whose sickly solitude "the
Holy Ghost brooded as a dove;" his sister, the intellectual woman
_par excellence_; the Duchess Amelia; Lili, who combined the
character of the woman of the world with the lyrical sweetness of the
shepherdess, on whose chaste and noble breast flowers and gems were
equally at home; all these had supplied abundant suggestions to his
mind, as to the wants and the possible excellences of Woman. And from
his poetic soul grew up forms new and more admirable than life has yet
produced, for whom his clear eye marked out paths in the future.
In Faust Margaret represents the redeeming power, which, at present,
upholds Woman, while waiting for a better day. The lovely little girl,
pure in instinct, ignorant in mind, is misled and profaned by man
abusing her confidence.[Footnote: As Faust says, her only fault was a
"kindly delusion,"--"ein guter wahn."] To the Mater _Dolorosa_
she appeals for aid. It is given to the soul, if not against outward
sorrow; and the maiden, enlightened by her sufferings, refusing to
receive temporal salvation by the aid of an evil power, obtains the
eternal in its stead.
In the second part, the intellectual man, after all his manifold
strivings, owes to the interposition of her whom he had betrayed
_his_ salvation. She intercedes, this time, herself a glorified
spirit, with the Mater _Gloriosa_.
Leonora, too, is Woman, as we see her now, pure, thoughtful, refined
by much acquaintance with grief.
Iphigenia he speaks of in his journals as his "daughter," and she is
the daughter [Footnote: Goethe was as false to his ideas, in practice,
as Lord Herbert. And his punishment was the just and usual one of
connections formed beneath the standard of right, from the impulses of
the baser self. Iphigenia was the worthy daughter of his mind; but the
son, child of his degrading connection in actual life, corresponded
with that connection. This son, on whom Goethe vainly lavished so much
thought and care, was like his mother, and like Goethe's attachment
for his mother. "This young man," says a late well-informed writer (M.
Henri Blaze), "Wieland, with good reason, called the son of the
servant, _der Sohn der Magd_. He inherited from his father only
his name and his _physique_."] whom a man will wish, even if he
has chosen his wife from very mean motives. She is the virgin,
steadfast, soul, to whom falsehood is more dreadful than any other
death.
But it is to Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship and Wandering Years that
I would especially refer, as these volumes contain the sum of the
Sage's observations during a long life, as to what Man should do,
under present circumstances, to obtain mastery over outward, through
an initiation into inward life, and severe discipline of faculty.
As Wilhelm advances into the upward path, he becomes acquainted with
better forms of Woman, by knowing how to seek, and how to prize them
when found. For the weak and immature man will, often, admire a
superior woman, but he will not be able to abide by a feeling which is
too severe a tax on his habitual existence. But, with Wilhelm, the
gradation is natural, and expresses ascent in the scale of being. At
first, he finds charm in Mariana and Philina, very common forms of
feminine character, not without redeeming traits, no less than charms,
but without wisdom or purity. Soon he is attended by Mignon, the
finest expression ever yet given to what I have called the lyrical
element in Woman. She is a child, but too full-grown for this man; he
loves, but cannot follow her; yet is the association not without an
enduring influence. Poesy has been domesticated in his life; and,
though he strives to bind down her heavenward impulse, as art or
apothegm, these are only the tents, beneath which he may sojourn for a
while, but which may be easily struck, and carried on limitless
wanderings.
Advancing into the region of thought, he encounters a wise
philanthropy in Natalia (instructed, let us observe, by an
_uncle_); practical judgment and the outward economy of life in
Theresa; pure devotion in the Fair Saint.
Further, and last, he comes to the house of Macaria, the soul of a
star; that is, a pure and perfected intelligence embodied in feminine
form, and the centre of a world whose members revolve harmoniously
around her. She instructs him in the archives of a rich human history,
and introduces him to the contemplation of the heavens.
From the hours passed by the side of Mariana to these with Macaria, is
a wide distance for human feet to traverse. Nor has Wilhelm travelled
so far, seen and suffered so much, in vain, He now begins to study how
he may aid the next generation; he sees objects in harmonious
arrangement, and from his observations deduces precepts by which to
guide his course as a teacher and a master, "help-full, comfort-full."
In all these expressions of Woman, the aim of Goethe is satisfactory
to me. He aims at a pure self-subsistence, and a free development of
any powers with which they may be gifted by nature as much for them as
for men. They are units, addressed as souls. Accordingly, the meeting
between Man and Woman, as represented by him, is equal and noble; and,
if he does not depict marriage, he makes it possible.
In the Macaria, bound with the heavenly bodies in fixed revolutions,
the centre of all relations, herself unrelated, he expresses the
Minerva side of feminine nature. It was not by chance that Goethe gave
her this name. Macaria, the daughter of Hercules, who offered herself
as a victim for the good of her country, was canonized by the Greeks,
and worshipped as the Goddess of true Felicity. Goethe has embodied
this Felicity as the Serenity that arises from Wisdom, a Wisdom such
as the Jewish wise man venerated, alike instructed in the designs of
heaven, and the methods necessary to carry them into effect upon
earth.
Mignon is the electrical, inspired, lyrical nature. And wherever it
appears we echo in our aspirations that of the child,
"So let me seem until I be:--
Take not the _white robe_ away."
* * * * *
"Though I lived without care and toil,
Yet felt I sharp pain enough to
Make me again forever young."
All these women, though we see them in relations, we can think of as
unrelated. They all are very individual, yet seem nowhere restrained.
They satisfy for the present, yet arouse an infinite expectation.
The economist Theresa, the benevolent Natalia, the fair Saint, have
chosen a path, but their thoughts are not narrowed to it. The
functions of life to them are not ends, but suggestions.
Thus, to them, all things are important, because none is necessary.
Their different characters have fair play, and each is beautiful in
its minute indications, for nothing is enforced or conventional; but
everything, however slight, grows from the essential life of the
being.
Mignon and Theresa wear male attire when they like, and it is graceful
for them to do so, while Macaria is confined to her arm-chair behind
the green curtain, and the Fair Saint could not bear a speck of dust
on her robe.
All things are in their places in this little world, because all is
natural and free, just as "there is room for everything out of doors."
Yet all is rounded in by natural harmony, which will always arise
where Truth and Love are sought in the light of Freedom.
Goethe's book bodes an era of freedom like its own of "extraordinary,
generous seeking," and new revelations. New individualities shall be
developed in the actual world, which shall advance upon it as gently
as the figures come out upon his canvas.
I have indicated on this point the coincidence between his hopes and
those of Fourier, though his are directed by an infinitely higher and
deeper knowledge of human nature. But, for our present purpose, it is
sufficient to show how surely these different paths have conducted to
the same end two earnest thinkers. In some other place I wish to point
out similar coincidences between Goethe's model school and the plans
of Fourier, which may cast light upon the page of prophecy.
* * * * *
Many women have observed that the time drew nigh for a better care of
the sex, and have thrown out hints that may be useful. Among these may
be mentioned--
Miss Edgeworth, who, although restrained by the habits of her age and
country, and belonging more to the eighteenth than the nineteenth
century, has done excellently as far as she goes. She had a horror of
sentimentalism, and of the love of notoriety, and saw how likely
women, in the early stages of culture, were to aim at these. Therefore
she bent her efforts to recommending domestic life. But the methods
she recommends are such as will fit a character for any position to
which it may be called. She taught a contempt of falsehood, no less in
its most graceful, than in its meanest apparitions; the cultivation of
a clear, independent judgment, and adherence to its dictates; habits
of various and liberal study and employment, and a capacity for
friendship. Her standard of character is the same for both sexes,--Truth,
honor, enlightened benevolence, and aspiration after knowledge.
Of poetry, she knows nothing, and her religion consists in honor and
loyalty to obligations once assumed--in short, in "the great idea of
duty which holds us upright." Her whole tendency is practical.
Mrs. Jameson is a sentimentalist, and, therefore, suits us ill in some
respects, but she is full of talent, has a just and refined perception
of the beautiful, and a genuine courage when she finds it necessary.
She does not appear to have thought out, thoroughly, the subject on
which we are engaged, and her opinions, expressed as opinions, are
sometimes inconsistent with one another. But from the refined
perception of character, admirable suggestion
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