The Milwaukee Journal – Sept 21, 1912
Mrs. Mark Wilks, whose husband is in jail because she refuses to pay her taxes, is credited with discovering a new and formidable weapon for the suffragettes. The suffragettes are generally women of property and they will follow Mrs. Wilkes example immediately, it is said.
The plan will work only in cases of husbands whose wives have independent incomes. Nor will it work in cases where the husbands pay taxes on their wives' incomes. Some husbands, like Wilks, haven't enough money to pay their wives taxes. Suffragette husbands who can pay are counted on to refuse to do so. Thus will a large portion of the Englishmen with suffragette wives be in jail shortly.
Under the married women property act a husband has no jurisdiction over his wife's property and income. Under the income tax he is responsible for her taxes. If the taxes are not paid, the husband, not the wife, is imprisoned. Mrs. Wilks refused to pay her income tax - $185 - and her husband was locked up. He will spend the rest of his life in prison unless his wife pays or the law is changed. When at liberty he is a teacher in Clapton.
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See Coverture
Monday, December 01, 2003
Sunday, January 26, 2003
The Woman Question -- by Stephen Leacock (1916)
I WAS sitting the other
day in what is called
the Peacock Alley of one of our leading hotels,
drinking tea with another thing like myself,
a man. At the next table were a group of Superior
Beings in silk, talking. I couldn't help overhearing
what they said--at least not when I held my head
a little sideways.
They were speaking of the war.
" There wouldn't have been any war," said one, " if women were allowed to vote."
" No, indeed," chorused all the others.
The woman who had spoken looked about her defiantly. She wore spectacles and was of the type that we men used to call, in days when we still retained a little courage, an Awful Woman.
" When women have the vote," she went on "there will he no more war. The women will forbid it."
She gazed about her angrily. She evidently wanted to be heard. My friend and I hid ourselves behind a little fern and trembled.
But we listened. We were hoping that the Awful Woman would explain how war would be ended. She didn't. She went on to explain instead that when women have the vote there will be no more poverty, no disease, no germs, no cigarette smoking and nothing to drink but water.
It seemed a gloomy world.
" Come," whispered my friend, " this is no place for us. Let us go to the bar."
" No," I said, " leave me. I am going to write an article on the Woman Question. The time has come when it has got to be taken up and solved."
So I set myself to write it.
The woman problem may be stated somewhat after this fashion. The great majority of the women of to-day find themselves without any means of support of their own. I refer of course to the civilised white women. The gay savage in her jungle, attired in a cocoanut leaf, armed with a club and adorned with the neck of a soda-water bottle, is all right. Trouble hasn't reached her yet. Like all savages, she has a far better time--more varied, more interesting, more worthy of a human being--than falls to the lot of the rank and file of civilised men and women. Very few of us recognise this great truth. We have a mean little vanity over our civilisation. We are touchy about it. We do not realise that so far we have done little but increase the burden of work and multiply the means of death. But for the hope of better things to come, our civilisation would not seem worth while.
But this is a digression. Let us go back. The great majority of women have no means of support of their own. This is true also of men. But the men can acquire means of support. They can hire themselves out and work. Better still, by the industrious process of intrigue rightly called " busyness," or business, they may presently get hold of enough of other people's things to live without working. Or again, men can, with a fair prospect of success, enter the criminal class, either in its lower ranks as a housebreaker, or in its upper ranks, through politics. Take it all in all a man has a certain chance to get along in life.
A woman, on the other hand, has little or none. The world's work is open to her, but she cannot do it. She lacks the physical strength for laying bricks or digging coal. If put to work on a steel beam a hundred feet above the ground, she would fall off. For the pursuit of business her head is all wrong. Figures confuse her. She lacks sustained attention and in point of morals the average woman is, even for business, too crooked.
This last point is one that will merit a little emphasis. Men are queer creatures. They are able to set up a code of rules or a standard, often quite an artificial one and stick to it. They have acquired the art of playing the game. Eleven men can put on white flannel trousers and call themselves a cricket team, on which an entirely new set of obligations, almost a new set of personalities, are wrapped about them. Women could never be a team of anything.
So it is in business. Men are able to maintain a sort of rough-and-ready code which prescribes the particular amount of cheating that a man may do under the rules. This is called business honesty, and many men adhere to it with dog-like tenacity, growing old in it, till it is stamped on their grizzled faces, visibly. They can feel it inside them like a virtue. So much will they cheat and no more. Hence men are able to trust one another, knowing the exact degree of dishonesty they are entitled to expect.
With women it is entirely different. They bring to business an unimpaired vision. They see it as it is. It would be impossible to trust them. They refuse to play fair.
Thus it comes about that woman is excluded, to a great extent, from the world's work and the world's pay.
There is nothing really open to her except one thing--marriage. She must find a man who will be willing, in return for her society, to give her half of everything he has, allow her the sole use of his house during the daytime, pay her taxes, and provide her clothes.
This was, formerly and for many centuries, not such a bad solution of the question. The women did fairly well out of it. It was the habit to marry early and often. The " house and home " was an important place. The great majority of people, high and low, lived on the land. The work of the wife and the work of the husband ran closely together. The two were complementary and fitted into one another. A woman who had to superintend the baking of bread and the brewing of beer, the spinning of yarn and the weaving of clothes, could not complain that her life was incomplete.
Then came the modern age, beginning let us say about a hundred and fifty years ago. The distinguishing marks of it have been machinery and the modern city. The age of invention swept the people off the land. It herded them into factories, creating out of each man a poor miserable atom divorced from hereditary ties, with no rights, no duties, and no place in the world except what his wages contract may confer on him. Every man for himself, and sink or swim, became the order of the day. It was nicknamed " industrial freedom." The world's production increased enormously. It is doubtful if the poor profited much. They obtained the modern city--full of light and noise and excitement, lively with crime and gay with politics--and the free school where they learned to read and write, by which means they might hold a mirror to their poverty and take a good look at it. They lost the quiet of the country-side, the murmur of the brook and the inspiration of the open sky. These are unconscious things, but the peasant who has been reared among them, for all his unconsciousness, pines and dies without them. It is doubtful if the poor have gained. The chaw-bacon rustic who trimmed a hedge in the reign of George I, compared well with the pale slum-rat of the reign of George V.
But if the machine age has profoundly altered the position of the working man, it has done still more with woman. It has dispossessed her. Her work has been taken away. The machine does it. It makes the clothes and brews the beer. The roar of the vacuum cleaner has hushed the sound of the broom. The proud proportions of the old-time cook are dwindled to the slim outline of the gas- stove expert operating on a beefsteak with the aid of a thermometer. And at the close of day the machine, wound with a little key, sings the modern infant to its sleep, with the faultless lullaby of the Victrola. The home has passed, or at least is passing out of existence. In place of it is the " apartment "--an incomplete thing, a mere part of something, where children are an intrusion, where hospitality is done through a caterer, and where Christmas is only the twenty-fifth of December.
All this the machine age did for woman. For a time she suffered--the one thing she had learned, in the course of centuries, to do with admirable fitness. With each succeeding decade of the modern age things grew worse instead of better. The age for marriage shifted. A wife instead of being a helpmate had become a burden that must be carried. It was no longer true that two could live on less than one. The prudent youth waited till he could " afford " a wife. Love itself grew timid. Little Cupid exchanged his bow and arrow for a book on arithmetic and studied money sums. The schoolgirl who flew to Gretna Green 3 in a green and yellow cabriolet beside a peach-faced youth-- angrily pursued by an ancient father of thirty-eight --all this drifted into the pictures of the past, romantic but quite impossible.
Thus the unmarried woman, a quite distinct thing from the " old maid " of ancient times, came into existence, and multiplied and increased till there were millions of her.
Then there rose up in our own time, or within call of it, a deliverer. It was the Awful Woman with the Spectacles, and the doctrine that she preached was Woman's Rights. She came as a new thing, a hatchet in her hand, breaking glass. But in reality she was no new thing at all, and had her lineal descent in history from age to age. The Romans knew her as a sibyl and shuddered at her. The Middle Ages called her a witch and burnt her. The ancient law of England named her a scold and ducked her in a pond. But the men of the modern age, living indoors and losing something of their ruder fibre, grew afraid of her. The Awful Woman --meddlesome, vociferous, intrusive--came into her own.
Her softer sisters followed her. She became the leader of her sex. " Things are all wrong," she screamed, " with the status of women." Therein she was quite right. " The remedy for it all," she howled, " is to make women ' free,' to give women the vote. When once women are ' free ' everything will be all right." Therein the woman with the spectacles was, and is, utterly wrong.
The women's vote, when they get it, will leave women much as they were before.
Let it be admitted quite frankly that women are going to get the vote. Within a very short time all over the British Isles and North America-- in the States and the nine provinces of Canada-- woman suffrage will soon be an accomplished fact. It is a coming event which casts its shadow, or its illumination, in front of it. The woman's vote and total prohibition are two things that are moving across the map with gigantic strides. Whether they are good or bad things is another question. They are coming. As for the women's vote, it has largely come. And as for prohibition, it is going to be recorded as one of the results of the European War, foreseen by nobody. When the King of England decided that the way in which he could best help the country was by giving up drinking, the admission was fatal. It will stand as one of the landmarks of British history comparable only to such things as the signing of the Magna Charta by King John, or the serving out of rum and water instead of pure rum in the British Navy under George III.
So the woman's vote and prohibition are coming. A few rare spots--such as Louisiana, and the City of New York--will remain and offer here and there a wet oasis in the desert of dry virtue. Even that cannot endure. Before many years are past, all over this continent women with a vote and men without a drink will stand looking at one another and wondering, what next ?
For when the vote is reached the woman question will not be solved but only begun. In and of itself, a vote is nothing. It neither warms the skin nor fills the stomach. Very often the privilege of a vote confers nothing but the right to express one's opinion as to which of two crooks is the crookeder.
But after the women have obtained the vote the question is, what are they going to do with it ? The answer is, nothing, or at any rate nothing that men would not do without them. Their only visible use of it will be to elect men into office, Fortunately for us all they will not elect women. Here and there perhaps at the outset, it will be done as the result of a sort of spite, a kind of sex antagonism bred by the controversy itself. But, speaking broadly, the women's vote will not be used to elect women to office. Women do not think enough of one another to do that. If they want a lawyer they consult a man, and those who can afford it have their clothes made by men, and their cooking done by a chef. As for their money, no woman would entrust that to another woman's keeping. They are far too wise for that.
So the woman's vote will not result in the setting up of female prime ministers and of parliaments in which the occupants of the treasury bench cast languishing eyes across at the flushed faces of the opposition. From the utter ruin involved in such an attempt at mixed government, the women themselves will save us. They will elect men. They may even pick some good ones. It is a nice question and will stand thinking about.
But what else, or what further can they do, by means of their vote and their representatives to '' emancipate " and " liberate " their sex ?
Many feminists would tell us at once that if women had the vote they would, first and foremost, throw everything open to women on the same terms as men. Whole speeches are made on this point, and a fine fury thrown into it, often very beautiful to behold.
The entire idea is a delusion. Practically all of the world's work is open to women now, wide open.
The only trouble is that they can't do it. There is nothing to prevent a woman from managing a bank, or organising a company, or running a department store, or floating a merger, or building a railway-- except the simple fact that she can't. Here and there an odd woman does such things, but she is only the exception that proves the rule. Such women are merely--and here I am speaking in the most decorous biological sense--" sports." The ordinary woman cannot do the ordinary man's work. She never has and never will. The reasons why she can't are so many, that is, she " can't " in so many different ways, that it is not worth while to try to name them.
Here and there it is true there are things closed to women, not by their own inability but by the law. This is a gross injustice. There is no defence for it. The province in which I live, for example, refuses to allow women to practise as lawyers. This is wrong. Women have just as good a right to fail at being lawyers as they have at anything else. But even if all these legal disabilities, where they exist, were removed (as they will be under a woman's vote) the difference to women at large will be infinitesimal. A few gifted " sports " will earn a handsome livelihood, but the woman question in the larger sense will not move one inch nearer to solution.
The feminists, in fact, are haunted by the idea that it is possible for the average woman to have a life patterned after that of the ordinary man. They imagine her as having a career, a profession, a vocation--something which will be her " life work "--just as selling coal is the life work of the coal merchant.
If this were so, the whole question would be solved. Women and men would become equal and independent. It is thus indeed that the feminist sees them, through the roseate mist created by imagination. Husband and wife appear as a couple of honourable partners who share a house together. Each is off to business in the morning. The husband is, let us say, a stockbroker: the wife manufactures iron and steel. The wife is a Liberal, the husband a Conservative. At their dinner they have animated discussion over the tariff till it is time for them to go to their clubs.
These two impossible creatures haunt the brain of the feminist and disport them in the pages of the up-to-date novel;
The whole thing is mere fiction. It is quite impossible for women--the average and ordinary women--to go in for having a career. Nature has forbidden it. The average woman must necessarily have--I can only give the figures roughly--about three and a quarter children. She must replace in the population herself and her husband with something over to allow for the people who never marry and for the children that do not reach maturity. If she fails to do this the population comes to an end. Any scheme of social life must allow for these three and a quarter children and for the years of care that must be devoted to them. The vacuum cleaner can take the place of the housewife. It cannot replace the mother. No man ever said his prayers at the knees of a vacuum cleaner, or drew his first lessons in manliness and worth from the sweet old-fashioned stories that a vacuum cleaner told. Feminists of the enraged kind may talk as they will of the paid attendant and the expert baby-minder. Fiddlesticks ! These things are a mere supplement, useful enough but as far away from the realities of motherhood as the vacuum cleaner itself. But the point is one that need not be laboured. Sensible people understand it as soon as said. With fools it is not worth while to argue. But, it may be urged, there are, even as it is, a great many women who are working. The wages that they receive are extremely low. They are lower in most cases than the wages for the same, or similar work, done by men. Cannot the woman's vote at least remedy this ?
Here is something that deserves thinking about and that is far more nearly within the realm of what is actual and possible than wild talk of equalising and revolutionising the sexes.
It is quite true that women's work is underpaid. But this is only a part of a larger social injustice. The case stands somewhat as follows: Women get low wages because low wages are all that they are worth. Taken by itself this is a brutal and misleading statement. What is meant is this. The rewards and punishments in the unequal and ill-adjusted world in which we live are most unfair. The price of anything--sugar, potatoes, labour, or anything else--varies according to the supply and demand : if many people want it and few can supply it the price goes up: if the contrary it goes down. If enough cabbages are brought to market they will not bring a cent a piece, no matter what it cost to raise them.
On these terms each of us sells his labour. The lucky ones, with some rare gift, or trained capacity, or some ability that by mere circumstance happens to be in a great demand, can sell high. If there were only one night plumber in a great city, and the water pipes in a dozen homes of a dozen millionaires should burst all at once, he might charge a fee like that of a consulting lawyer.
On the other hand the unlucky sellers whose numbers are greater than the demand--the mass of common labourers--get a mere pittance. To say that their wage represents all that they produce is to argue in a circle. It is the mere pious quietism with which the well-to-do man who is afraid to think boldly on social questions drugs his conscience to sleep.
So it stands with women's wages. It is the sheer numbers of the women themselves, crowding after the few jobs that they can do, that brings them down. It has nothing to do with the attitude of men collectively towards women in the lump. It cannot be remedied by any form of woman's freedom. Its remedy is bound up with the general removal of social injustice, the general abolition of poverty, which is to prove the great question of the century before us. The question of women's wages is a part of the wages' question.
To my thinking the whole idea of making women free and equal (politically) with men as a way of improving their status, starts from a wrong basis and proceeds in a wrong direction.
Women need not more freedom but less. Social policy should proceed from the fundamental truth that women are and must be dependent. If they cannot be looked after by an individual (a thing on which they took their chance in earlier days) they must be looked after by the State. To expect a woman, for example, if left by the death of her husband with young children without support to maintain herself by her own efforts, is the most absurd mockery of freedom ever devised. Earlier generations of mankind, for all that they lived in the jungle and wore cocoanut leaves, knew nothing of it. To turn a girl loose in the world to work for herself, when there is no work to be had, or none at a price that will support life, is a social crime.
I am not attempting to show in what way the principle of woman's dependence should be worked out in detail in legislation. Nothing short of a book could deal with it. All that the present essay attempts is the presentation of a point of view.
I have noticed that my clerical friends, on the rare occasions when they are privileged to preach to me, have a way of closing their sermons by "leaving their congregations with a thought." It is a good scheme. It suggests an inexhaustible fund of reserve thought not yet tapped. It keeps the congregation, let us hope, in a state of trembling eagerness for the next instalment.
With the readers of this essay I do the same. I leave them with the thought that perhaps in the modern age it is not the increased freedom of woman that is needed but the increased recognition of their dependence. Let the reader remain agonised over that till I write something else.
SOURCE:
Leacock, Stephen. Essays and Literary Studies, The Mayflower Press, Plymouth, Great Britain, 1916.
They were speaking of the war.
" There wouldn't have been any war," said one, " if women were allowed to vote."
" No, indeed," chorused all the others.
The woman who had spoken looked about her defiantly. She wore spectacles and was of the type that we men used to call, in days when we still retained a little courage, an Awful Woman.
" When women have the vote," she went on "there will he no more war. The women will forbid it."
She gazed about her angrily. She evidently wanted to be heard. My friend and I hid ourselves behind a little fern and trembled.
But we listened. We were hoping that the Awful Woman would explain how war would be ended. She didn't. She went on to explain instead that when women have the vote there will be no more poverty, no disease, no germs, no cigarette smoking and nothing to drink but water.
It seemed a gloomy world.
" Come," whispered my friend, " this is no place for us. Let us go to the bar."
" No," I said, " leave me. I am going to write an article on the Woman Question. The time has come when it has got to be taken up and solved."
So I set myself to write it.
The woman problem may be stated somewhat after this fashion. The great majority of the women of to-day find themselves without any means of support of their own. I refer of course to the civilised white women. The gay savage in her jungle, attired in a cocoanut leaf, armed with a club and adorned with the neck of a soda-water bottle, is all right. Trouble hasn't reached her yet. Like all savages, she has a far better time--more varied, more interesting, more worthy of a human being--than falls to the lot of the rank and file of civilised men and women. Very few of us recognise this great truth. We have a mean little vanity over our civilisation. We are touchy about it. We do not realise that so far we have done little but increase the burden of work and multiply the means of death. But for the hope of better things to come, our civilisation would not seem worth while.
But this is a digression. Let us go back. The great majority of women have no means of support of their own. This is true also of men. But the men can acquire means of support. They can hire themselves out and work. Better still, by the industrious process of intrigue rightly called " busyness," or business, they may presently get hold of enough of other people's things to live without working. Or again, men can, with a fair prospect of success, enter the criminal class, either in its lower ranks as a housebreaker, or in its upper ranks, through politics. Take it all in all a man has a certain chance to get along in life.
A woman, on the other hand, has little or none. The world's work is open to her, but she cannot do it. She lacks the physical strength for laying bricks or digging coal. If put to work on a steel beam a hundred feet above the ground, she would fall off. For the pursuit of business her head is all wrong. Figures confuse her. She lacks sustained attention and in point of morals the average woman is, even for business, too crooked.
This last point is one that will merit a little emphasis. Men are queer creatures. They are able to set up a code of rules or a standard, often quite an artificial one and stick to it. They have acquired the art of playing the game. Eleven men can put on white flannel trousers and call themselves a cricket team, on which an entirely new set of obligations, almost a new set of personalities, are wrapped about them. Women could never be a team of anything.
So it is in business. Men are able to maintain a sort of rough-and-ready code which prescribes the particular amount of cheating that a man may do under the rules. This is called business honesty, and many men adhere to it with dog-like tenacity, growing old in it, till it is stamped on their grizzled faces, visibly. They can feel it inside them like a virtue. So much will they cheat and no more. Hence men are able to trust one another, knowing the exact degree of dishonesty they are entitled to expect.
With women it is entirely different. They bring to business an unimpaired vision. They see it as it is. It would be impossible to trust them. They refuse to play fair.
Thus it comes about that woman is excluded, to a great extent, from the world's work and the world's pay.
There is nothing really open to her except one thing--marriage. She must find a man who will be willing, in return for her society, to give her half of everything he has, allow her the sole use of his house during the daytime, pay her taxes, and provide her clothes.
This was, formerly and for many centuries, not such a bad solution of the question. The women did fairly well out of it. It was the habit to marry early and often. The " house and home " was an important place. The great majority of people, high and low, lived on the land. The work of the wife and the work of the husband ran closely together. The two were complementary and fitted into one another. A woman who had to superintend the baking of bread and the brewing of beer, the spinning of yarn and the weaving of clothes, could not complain that her life was incomplete.
Then came the modern age, beginning let us say about a hundred and fifty years ago. The distinguishing marks of it have been machinery and the modern city. The age of invention swept the people off the land. It herded them into factories, creating out of each man a poor miserable atom divorced from hereditary ties, with no rights, no duties, and no place in the world except what his wages contract may confer on him. Every man for himself, and sink or swim, became the order of the day. It was nicknamed " industrial freedom." The world's production increased enormously. It is doubtful if the poor profited much. They obtained the modern city--full of light and noise and excitement, lively with crime and gay with politics--and the free school where they learned to read and write, by which means they might hold a mirror to their poverty and take a good look at it. They lost the quiet of the country-side, the murmur of the brook and the inspiration of the open sky. These are unconscious things, but the peasant who has been reared among them, for all his unconsciousness, pines and dies without them. It is doubtful if the poor have gained. The chaw-bacon rustic who trimmed a hedge in the reign of George I, compared well with the pale slum-rat of the reign of George V.
But if the machine age has profoundly altered the position of the working man, it has done still more with woman. It has dispossessed her. Her work has been taken away. The machine does it. It makes the clothes and brews the beer. The roar of the vacuum cleaner has hushed the sound of the broom. The proud proportions of the old-time cook are dwindled to the slim outline of the gas- stove expert operating on a beefsteak with the aid of a thermometer. And at the close of day the machine, wound with a little key, sings the modern infant to its sleep, with the faultless lullaby of the Victrola. The home has passed, or at least is passing out of existence. In place of it is the " apartment "--an incomplete thing, a mere part of something, where children are an intrusion, where hospitality is done through a caterer, and where Christmas is only the twenty-fifth of December.
All this the machine age did for woman. For a time she suffered--the one thing she had learned, in the course of centuries, to do with admirable fitness. With each succeeding decade of the modern age things grew worse instead of better. The age for marriage shifted. A wife instead of being a helpmate had become a burden that must be carried. It was no longer true that two could live on less than one. The prudent youth waited till he could " afford " a wife. Love itself grew timid. Little Cupid exchanged his bow and arrow for a book on arithmetic and studied money sums. The schoolgirl who flew to Gretna Green 3 in a green and yellow cabriolet beside a peach-faced youth-- angrily pursued by an ancient father of thirty-eight --all this drifted into the pictures of the past, romantic but quite impossible.
Thus the unmarried woman, a quite distinct thing from the " old maid " of ancient times, came into existence, and multiplied and increased till there were millions of her.
Then there rose up in our own time, or within call of it, a deliverer. It was the Awful Woman with the Spectacles, and the doctrine that she preached was Woman's Rights. She came as a new thing, a hatchet in her hand, breaking glass. But in reality she was no new thing at all, and had her lineal descent in history from age to age. The Romans knew her as a sibyl and shuddered at her. The Middle Ages called her a witch and burnt her. The ancient law of England named her a scold and ducked her in a pond. But the men of the modern age, living indoors and losing something of their ruder fibre, grew afraid of her. The Awful Woman --meddlesome, vociferous, intrusive--came into her own.
Her softer sisters followed her. She became the leader of her sex. " Things are all wrong," she screamed, " with the status of women." Therein she was quite right. " The remedy for it all," she howled, " is to make women ' free,' to give women the vote. When once women are ' free ' everything will be all right." Therein the woman with the spectacles was, and is, utterly wrong.
The women's vote, when they get it, will leave women much as they were before.
Let it be admitted quite frankly that women are going to get the vote. Within a very short time all over the British Isles and North America-- in the States and the nine provinces of Canada-- woman suffrage will soon be an accomplished fact. It is a coming event which casts its shadow, or its illumination, in front of it. The woman's vote and total prohibition are two things that are moving across the map with gigantic strides. Whether they are good or bad things is another question. They are coming. As for the women's vote, it has largely come. And as for prohibition, it is going to be recorded as one of the results of the European War, foreseen by nobody. When the King of England decided that the way in which he could best help the country was by giving up drinking, the admission was fatal. It will stand as one of the landmarks of British history comparable only to such things as the signing of the Magna Charta by King John, or the serving out of rum and water instead of pure rum in the British Navy under George III.
So the woman's vote and prohibition are coming. A few rare spots--such as Louisiana, and the City of New York--will remain and offer here and there a wet oasis in the desert of dry virtue. Even that cannot endure. Before many years are past, all over this continent women with a vote and men without a drink will stand looking at one another and wondering, what next ?
For when the vote is reached the woman question will not be solved but only begun. In and of itself, a vote is nothing. It neither warms the skin nor fills the stomach. Very often the privilege of a vote confers nothing but the right to express one's opinion as to which of two crooks is the crookeder.
But after the women have obtained the vote the question is, what are they going to do with it ? The answer is, nothing, or at any rate nothing that men would not do without them. Their only visible use of it will be to elect men into office, Fortunately for us all they will not elect women. Here and there perhaps at the outset, it will be done as the result of a sort of spite, a kind of sex antagonism bred by the controversy itself. But, speaking broadly, the women's vote will not be used to elect women to office. Women do not think enough of one another to do that. If they want a lawyer they consult a man, and those who can afford it have their clothes made by men, and their cooking done by a chef. As for their money, no woman would entrust that to another woman's keeping. They are far too wise for that.
So the woman's vote will not result in the setting up of female prime ministers and of parliaments in which the occupants of the treasury bench cast languishing eyes across at the flushed faces of the opposition. From the utter ruin involved in such an attempt at mixed government, the women themselves will save us. They will elect men. They may even pick some good ones. It is a nice question and will stand thinking about.
But what else, or what further can they do, by means of their vote and their representatives to '' emancipate " and " liberate " their sex ?
Many feminists would tell us at once that if women had the vote they would, first and foremost, throw everything open to women on the same terms as men. Whole speeches are made on this point, and a fine fury thrown into it, often very beautiful to behold.
The entire idea is a delusion. Practically all of the world's work is open to women now, wide open.
The only trouble is that they can't do it. There is nothing to prevent a woman from managing a bank, or organising a company, or running a department store, or floating a merger, or building a railway-- except the simple fact that she can't. Here and there an odd woman does such things, but she is only the exception that proves the rule. Such women are merely--and here I am speaking in the most decorous biological sense--" sports." The ordinary woman cannot do the ordinary man's work. She never has and never will. The reasons why she can't are so many, that is, she " can't " in so many different ways, that it is not worth while to try to name them.
Here and there it is true there are things closed to women, not by their own inability but by the law. This is a gross injustice. There is no defence for it. The province in which I live, for example, refuses to allow women to practise as lawyers. This is wrong. Women have just as good a right to fail at being lawyers as they have at anything else. But even if all these legal disabilities, where they exist, were removed (as they will be under a woman's vote) the difference to women at large will be infinitesimal. A few gifted " sports " will earn a handsome livelihood, but the woman question in the larger sense will not move one inch nearer to solution.
The feminists, in fact, are haunted by the idea that it is possible for the average woman to have a life patterned after that of the ordinary man. They imagine her as having a career, a profession, a vocation--something which will be her " life work "--just as selling coal is the life work of the coal merchant.
If this were so, the whole question would be solved. Women and men would become equal and independent. It is thus indeed that the feminist sees them, through the roseate mist created by imagination. Husband and wife appear as a couple of honourable partners who share a house together. Each is off to business in the morning. The husband is, let us say, a stockbroker: the wife manufactures iron and steel. The wife is a Liberal, the husband a Conservative. At their dinner they have animated discussion over the tariff till it is time for them to go to their clubs.
These two impossible creatures haunt the brain of the feminist and disport them in the pages of the up-to-date novel;
The whole thing is mere fiction. It is quite impossible for women--the average and ordinary women--to go in for having a career. Nature has forbidden it. The average woman must necessarily have--I can only give the figures roughly--about three and a quarter children. She must replace in the population herself and her husband with something over to allow for the people who never marry and for the children that do not reach maturity. If she fails to do this the population comes to an end. Any scheme of social life must allow for these three and a quarter children and for the years of care that must be devoted to them. The vacuum cleaner can take the place of the housewife. It cannot replace the mother. No man ever said his prayers at the knees of a vacuum cleaner, or drew his first lessons in manliness and worth from the sweet old-fashioned stories that a vacuum cleaner told. Feminists of the enraged kind may talk as they will of the paid attendant and the expert baby-minder. Fiddlesticks ! These things are a mere supplement, useful enough but as far away from the realities of motherhood as the vacuum cleaner itself. But the point is one that need not be laboured. Sensible people understand it as soon as said. With fools it is not worth while to argue. But, it may be urged, there are, even as it is, a great many women who are working. The wages that they receive are extremely low. They are lower in most cases than the wages for the same, or similar work, done by men. Cannot the woman's vote at least remedy this ?
Here is something that deserves thinking about and that is far more nearly within the realm of what is actual and possible than wild talk of equalising and revolutionising the sexes.
It is quite true that women's work is underpaid. But this is only a part of a larger social injustice. The case stands somewhat as follows: Women get low wages because low wages are all that they are worth. Taken by itself this is a brutal and misleading statement. What is meant is this. The rewards and punishments in the unequal and ill-adjusted world in which we live are most unfair. The price of anything--sugar, potatoes, labour, or anything else--varies according to the supply and demand : if many people want it and few can supply it the price goes up: if the contrary it goes down. If enough cabbages are brought to market they will not bring a cent a piece, no matter what it cost to raise them.
On these terms each of us sells his labour. The lucky ones, with some rare gift, or trained capacity, or some ability that by mere circumstance happens to be in a great demand, can sell high. If there were only one night plumber in a great city, and the water pipes in a dozen homes of a dozen millionaires should burst all at once, he might charge a fee like that of a consulting lawyer.
On the other hand the unlucky sellers whose numbers are greater than the demand--the mass of common labourers--get a mere pittance. To say that their wage represents all that they produce is to argue in a circle. It is the mere pious quietism with which the well-to-do man who is afraid to think boldly on social questions drugs his conscience to sleep.
So it stands with women's wages. It is the sheer numbers of the women themselves, crowding after the few jobs that they can do, that brings them down. It has nothing to do with the attitude of men collectively towards women in the lump. It cannot be remedied by any form of woman's freedom. Its remedy is bound up with the general removal of social injustice, the general abolition of poverty, which is to prove the great question of the century before us. The question of women's wages is a part of the wages' question.
To my thinking the whole idea of making women free and equal (politically) with men as a way of improving their status, starts from a wrong basis and proceeds in a wrong direction.
Women need not more freedom but less. Social policy should proceed from the fundamental truth that women are and must be dependent. If they cannot be looked after by an individual (a thing on which they took their chance in earlier days) they must be looked after by the State. To expect a woman, for example, if left by the death of her husband with young children without support to maintain herself by her own efforts, is the most absurd mockery of freedom ever devised. Earlier generations of mankind, for all that they lived in the jungle and wore cocoanut leaves, knew nothing of it. To turn a girl loose in the world to work for herself, when there is no work to be had, or none at a price that will support life, is a social crime.
I am not attempting to show in what way the principle of woman's dependence should be worked out in detail in legislation. Nothing short of a book could deal with it. All that the present essay attempts is the presentation of a point of view.
I have noticed that my clerical friends, on the rare occasions when they are privileged to preach to me, have a way of closing their sermons by "leaving their congregations with a thought." It is a good scheme. It suggests an inexhaustible fund of reserve thought not yet tapped. It keeps the congregation, let us hope, in a state of trembling eagerness for the next instalment.
With the readers of this essay I do the same. I leave them with the thought that perhaps in the modern age it is not the increased freedom of woman that is needed but the increased recognition of their dependence. Let the reader remain agonised over that till I write something else.
SOURCE:
Leacock, Stephen. Essays and Literary Studies, The Mayflower Press, Plymouth, Great Britain, 1916.
Saturday, January 25, 2003
Woman's Fickleness -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- by T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe."
POPE'S Moral Essays, Ep. ii.
But the sky changes when they are wives."
According to an old adage in this country, "A woman's mind and winter wind change oft;" or, as it is sometimes said, "Winter weather and woman's thoughts often change;" another version of which we find current in Spain, "Women, wind, and fortune soon change;" and, similarly, it is said, "She can laugh and cry both in a wind."
But it has apparently always been so, and Virgil describes woman as "ever variable, ever changeable," and likens her to Proteus--
But ending in the sex she first began."
Sighs for the shadow--'How charming is a park!'
A park is purchas'd, but the fair he sees
All bath'd in tears--'O odious, odious trees.'"
Francis triumphantly answered in the affirmative, for it so happened that, a few weeks before this conversation, a gentleman of the Court had been thrown into prison on a serious charge, while his wife, who was one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, was reported to have eloped with his page.
Margaret, however, maintained that the lady was innocent, at which the King shook his head, at the same time promising that if, within a month, her character should be re-established, he would break the pane on which the disputed words were written, and grant his sister any favour she might ask. Not many days had elapsed when it was discovered that it was not the lady who had fled with the page, but her husband. During one of her visits to him in prison they had exchanged clothes, whereby he was enabled to deceive the jailer and effect his escape, which his devoted wife remained in his place.
Margaret claimed his pardon at the King's hand, who not only granted it, but gave a grand fete and tournament to celebrate this instance of conjugal affection. He also destroyed the pane of glass, although the saying on it has long passed into a proverb. It may, however, be added that Brantome, who had seen the writing, says that the words were "Toute femme varie," and not a distich, as is commonly supposed:--
Bien fou qui s'y fic."
And hopes the flickering wind with net to hold,
Who hath his hopes laid on a woman's hand."
Consents, retracts, advances, and then flies."
In fortune's spite;
Make protestations that would prove you
Her sou's delight;
Swears that no other shall win her
By passion stirr'd;
Believe her not;--the charming sinner
Will break her word;"
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong;
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But, in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, stateman, and buffoon;
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking."
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Local Allusions to Women -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- by T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
With a pretty girl by the fire,
I wish he was atop of Dartemoor
A-stugged in the mire."
Devonshire Folk-Rhyme.
A popular folk-rhyme informs us:--
Hull for women, and York for a tit."
Cheam for juicy beef,
Croydon for a pretty girl,
And Mitcham for a thief."
And lies all in a valley;
It has a pretty rng of bells,
Besides a bowling alley;
Wine in liquor in good store,
Pretty maidens plenty,
Can a man desire more?
There ain't such a town in twenty;"
Seated in a valley,
With a church and market cross,
And eke a bowling alley.
All the men are loyal there,
Pretty girls are plenty,
Church and King, and down with the Rump--
There's not such a town in twenty."
Billy Mains, and Billy Hill,
Ashfield and Auchencraw,
Bullerhead and Pefferlaw,
There's bonny lasses in them a'."
Another folk-rhyme tells us:--
Dunstall in the Dale;
Sitenhill for a pretty girl,
And Burton for good ale;"
Wilderley down i' the dale,
Churton for pretty girls,
And Powtherbitch for good ale."
All Suffolk! Nay, all England holds none such;"
On the other hand, we occasionally find a place mentioned as possessing no pretty girls, as in the following:--
And Heptonstall of stone;
In Halifax there's many a pretty girl,
In Heptonstall there's none."
May daunce in an egge shell,
For there are no maydes in that well;"
Cannot daunce in an acre of ground."
Because they wash both in Calder and Aire."
Some places have enjoyed the unenviable notoriety of possessing loose women, if we are to put reliance in folk-rhymes like the subjoined:--
Halesworth for a drunkard, and Bilborough for a whore."
Cogshall for the jeering town, and Kelvedon for the whore."
Epsom for whores, and Ewel for thieves."
The Middle Temple poor;
Lincoln's Inn for law,
And Gray's lnn for a whore."
London wives";
Broadmeadows for swine;
Paxton for drunken wives,
And salmon sae fine."
Ray, also, tells us that, "The Dones were a great family in Cheshire, living it Utkinton, by the forest side. Nurses use there to call their children so, if girls; if boys, Earls of Derby."
It is also commonly said in Cheshire, "Better wed over the mixen than over the moor"--a proverbial adage which Ray thus explains: "That is, hard by, or at home--the mixon being that heap of compost which lies in the yards of good husbandmen--than far off, or from London. The road from Chester leading to London over some part of the moorlands in Staffordshire, the meaning is, that gentry in Cheshire find it more profitable to match within their own county, than to bring a bride out of other shires: (1) Because better acquainted with her birth and breeding. (2) Because though her portion may chance to be less to maintain her, such inter-marriages in this county have been observed both a prolonger of worshipful families and the preserver of amity between them."
We find the same proverb in Scotland, "Better over the midden than over the muir;" and it has also found its way to the Continent, for to a young person about to marry in Germany this advice is given, "Marry over the mixon, and you will know who and what she is;" with which may be compared the Italian admonitlon, "Your wife and your nag get from a neighbour."
A couplet popular in Wem, Shropshire, runs thus:--
Beat Lord Capel, and all his caveliers."
Another Cheshire adage tells us, "When the daughter is stolen, shut Pepper Gate," which Grose thus explains--"Pepper Gate was a postern on the east side of the city of Chester. The mayor ot the city having his daughter stolen away by a young man through that gate, whilst she was playing at ball with the other maidens, his worship, out of revenge, caused it to be closed up."
There are numerous items of folk-lore of a similar character; and the Scotch, when speaking of a changeable woman, remark, "Ye're as fu' o' maggots as the bride of Preston, wha stopt half-way as she gaed to the kirk;" on which adage, Henderson writes: "We have not been able to learn who the bride of Preston really was, but we have frequently heard the saying applied to young women who are capricious and changeable:--
She wadna gang by the west mains to be married."
Green with the dow o' the jauping main."
It is commonly said in Buckinghamshire, in reference to a marriage of unequal age, "An old man who marries a buxom young maiden bids fair to become a freeman of Buckingham," that is, a cuckold. A Shropshire proverb, in which there does not seem to be much point, says, "He that fetches a wife from Shrewsbury must carry her into Staffordshire, or else he shall live in Cumberland," with which may be compared the following old rhyme:--
Brought up in Cumberland,
Lead their lives in Bedfordshire,
Bring their husbands to Buckingham,
And die in Shrewsbury."
Another old proverbial phrase which, at one time or another, has given rise to much discussion is, "As long as Meg of Westminster," which, says Ray, "is applied to persons very tall, especially if they have hopple height wanting breadth proportionately. But that there ever was," he adds, "such a giant woman cannot be proved by any good witness. I pass not for a late lying pamphlet, entitled, 'Story of a monstrous tall Virago called "Long Megg of Westminster,"' the writer of which thinks it might relate to a great gun lying in the Tower, called Long Megg, in troublesome times brought to Westminster, where for some time it continued."
Fuller, writing in 1662, says, "The large gravestone shown on the south side of the cloister in Westminster Abbey, said to cover her body, was placed over a number of monks who died of the plague, and were all buried in one grave."
Turning once more to Scotland, there is a small village named Ecclesmagirdle situated "under the northern slope of the Ochil Hills, and for some considerable part of the year untouched by the solar rays." Hence the following rhyme:--
May very weel be dun;
For frae Michaelmas till Whitsunday,
They never see the sun."
Drilling up their harn yarn;
They hae corn, they hae kye,
They have webs o' claith, for bye."
Hunts in the Gilburn."
Similarly, a dishonest milk-woman at Shrewsbury, who is condemned to wander up and down Lady Studeley's Diche, in the Raven Meadow--now the Smithfield--is said to repeat this couplet:--
Milk and water sold I ever";
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Red Haired Girls -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- by T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
Are shade by the bright hair above those eyes."
PETRARCH.
Whereas the jetty ringlet or flaxen plait has won a thousand admirers, the red-haired girl has found herself persistently passed by. However good and attractive her features, and however graceful her gait may be, she has rarely found her praises acknowledged. Fashion, hitherto, has boycotted in a most unrelenting manner the girl with hair of reddish hue; and, despite the fact that in years gone by many beautiful women possessed tresses of this unaristocratic colour, it still remains unpopular.
It is useless to urge in its favour that Queen Elizabeth considered herself to make the best appearance when wearing a red wig, and that others, counting themselves stars of fashion, have been of the same opinion; for there is a deep-rooted and unaccountable prejudice against this much-abused shade of colour, which it is quite possible some unexpected freak of fashion may one day change. Indeed, from time immemorial, the girl so endowed by Nature has been, in most places, open to sarcasm, and rude unsympathetic passers-by have contemptuously spoken of "carrots" by way of a joke. An old epigram running thus:--
(I note it here in Charity),
Had taste in beauty, and with them
The Graces were all 'Charital.'"
A lady whose lover had an unconquerable antipathy to red hair once applied to a noted quack for help in her emergency, who politely answered:--"This is no business of mine, but my wife's, who'll soon redress your grievances and furnish you with a leaden comb, and my anti-Erythraean unguent, which after two or three applications will make you as fair, or as brown, as you please." According to an American newspaper paragraph, twenty-one men in Cincinnati, who had married red-haired women, were found to be colour blind, thus mistaking red for black.
But, going back to the antecedent history of this strange prejudice, it may be traced to a very early period. The Ancient Egyptians, for instance, seem to have been pre-eminent among all nations for their aversion to red-haired people. According to early authorities they were in the habit of annually performing the ceremony of burning alive an unfortunate individual whose only crime was the colour of his hair. "Fancy," as it has been remarked, "the state of mind into which every possessor of the obnoxious shade must have been thrown at the approach of the dreaded ceremony, each not knowing who might be selected as the victim."
From the epithets "red-haired barbarians" and "red-haired devils," with which the Chinese were formerly in the habit of designating the English, it is evident that with them a similar strong antipathy prevailed to this unfortunate, and ill-omened, colour of the hair.
On the other hand, the Romans, from the days of Nero to the present, have been unstinted in their praise of red hair--with the old Romans the colour more esteemed being a dark red, almost brown. Modern Romans, it is said, inherit "the tastes of their ancestors in this respect; and nowhere else on the face of the earth are so many red-haired women to be found as among the patrician families of Rome and Florence. The same liking exists among modern Greeks, who strive to accentuate the burnished effect of their reddish tresses by the wearing of dull gold ornaments."
The Laura whom Petrarch has immortalised attracted him by the colour of her tresses. He first saw her in church clad in a mantle of green, over which her golden red hair fell, which inspired him to write these lines:--
To which Love bound me fast,"
Are shade by the bright hair above those eyes."
Da trente pas loin le salue,
Avecques trois pierres au poing,
Pour t'en aider a ton besoign."
Where, in the next ward, a most wretched band
Groaned underneath the bitter tyranny
Of a fierce demon. His coarse hair was red,
Pale grey his eyes, and bloodshot, and his face
Wrinkled with such a smile as malice wears
In ecstasy."
The Brahmins were forbidden to marry a red-haired woman; and, as it has been remarked, "the populace of most countries, confounding moral with aesthetic impressions, accuses red-haired people of various shortcomings." Hence, superstition has assigned to hair of a coppery tinge, when it adorns a woman's head, the worst traits; and "all the petty vices, all the lamentable shortcomings to which femininity is heir have been laid to the charge of the reddish crown." Of course this is only prejudice; and as the author of the "Ugly Girl Papers" writes, "I have seen a most obnoxious head of colour so changed by a few years' care that it became the admiration of the owner's friends, and could hardly be recognised as the withered, fiery locks once worn." At the same time there seems some truth in the common opinion that a red-haired girl is invariably self-conscious; for she knows that her hair, although it may not be of a fiery carrot colour, is the subject of daily comment.
Referring to the colour of the hair in folk-lore, we may note that from time immemorial there has been a strong antipathy to red hair, which, according to some antiquarians, originated in a tradition that Judas had hair of this colour. One reason, it has been suggested, why the dislike to it arose was that it was considered ugly and unfashionable, and on this account a person with red hair would soon be regarded with contempt. It has been conjectured, too, that the odiuu took its rise from the aversion to the red-haired Danes.
Yellow hair was, also, in years gone by, regarded with ill-favour, and almost esteemed a deformity, allusions to which prejudice are of constant occurrence; and, it may be added, that hair was often used metaphorically for the colour, complexion, or nature of a thing, as in Beaumont and Fletcher's "The Nice Valour"--
"A lady of my hair cannot want pitying."
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Woman's Secrets -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- by T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
Nor to know things whose knowledge is forbid.:
DENHAM.
But yet a woman, and for secrecy
No lady closer; for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far I will trust thee, gentle Kate;"
Is like a wild bird put into a cage,
Whose door no sooner opens but 'tis out."
Apart from this exception, a secret in the keeping of a woman soon becomes what the Spanish are accustomed to call, "The Secret of Anchuelos," that is, one which is known to every one. The town of that name is situated in a gorge between two steep hills, on one of which a shepherd tended his flock, on the other a shepherdess. This pair kept up all amorous converse by bawling from hill to hill, but always with many mutual strict injunctions of secrecy.
The inability of a woman to keep silent what is told her in confidence--even where her husband be concerned--is exemplified in the once popular "He that tells his wife is but lately married"--her indiscretion in disclosing information entrusted to her only too frequently causing serious mischief; with which be compared the Tamil proverb, "Do not disclose your secret to your wife, nor trust your enemy at any time."
But "A wise woman hath a close mouth," which has its equivalent in the French saying, "Le plus sage se tait." According to another popular adage, "Discreet women have neither eyes nor ears," which also has its French parallel, "La femme de bien n'a ny yeux ny orelles."
A piece of proverbial lore which applies to each sex is this: "Tell your secret to your servant and you make him your master"--a maxim which may be traced to an early period when, says Kelly, "it was the policy of the Greek adventurers in Rome to worm out the secrets of the house, and so make themselves feared." Juvenal has referred to this practice:--
Aught is kept secret that a rich man does?
If servants hold their tongues, the beasts will blab,
The dog, the door-posts, and the marble-slab."
Makes his own man his master."
As might be supposed, folk-lore, at one time or another, has made good use of the value attaching to secrets; and stories of the supernatural in romantic fiction have shown how the fair sex, under the influence of magical influences, have unknowingly revealed the most sacred secrets. But the moral of most of these tales is the same--and may be applied to either sex--the lesson conveyed being not to trust any one; for, as the French say, "the disclosure of a secret is the fault of him who first disclosed it"--a truth, indeed, which is only too constantly verified in daily life by mistaken trust in another.
Women, it is said, forget the important fact that as soon as a secret becomes the property of three persons it is all the world's, which is summed up in a common Spanish adage, "What three knows every creature knows;" whereas according to the French proverb, "The secret of two is God's secret." The same idea also exists in West Africa, where this proverb is current:" Trust not a woman; she will tell thee what she has just told her companion," and "Whatever be thy intimacy, never give thy heart to a woman."
Turning to some of the numerous folk-tales and legendary stories, in which "the secret" plays the important part, there is the famous one of Melusine, which has been told in many ways. Raymond, Count of Lusignan, was one day hunting the boar in the forest of Poitou, when, whilst wandering in the forest at nightfall through his boar having outstripped his train, he saw Melusine with her sisters, dancing by a fountain in the moonlight. Smitten with her beauty, he asked her to marry him, to which proposal she consented on condition that he would allow her to remain secret and unseen every Sunday. They were married, and her secret was kept until one of his friends suggested that she only desired privacy in order to indulge an adulterous passage.
Raymond thereupon burst into her secret chamber and discovered that she was doomed to have the lower part of her body transformed to that of a serpent every Saturday. The secret broken, she was compelled, henceforth, to leave her husband for ever, and to be totally transformed to a serpent. But her spirit continued to haunt the Castle of Lusignan before the death of any of the lords of that race.
Sometimes, on the other hand, the wife is the transgressor. In a North German story a wizard keeps a young girl by force as his wife. One day, accidentally, he lets out the secret that his soul resides in a bird, which is locked up in a church in a desert place, and that, until the bird is killed, he cannot die. The bird is killed by the girl's lover, and the wizard dies--a similar story being found in the "Arabian Nights."
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Love Tests -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- by T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
That drew my heart a-nigh;
Not the fern-root potion,
But the glance in her blue eye."
As a means of inspiring and securing love, amatory potions and love charms of all kinds have been much in request amongst the fair sex; and even, at the present day, cases occur now and again of persons being fined for either selling, or persuading lovesick damsels to purchase, various mysterious compounds for influencing the affections of others. Going back to early times, it is well known that the Roman poet Lucretius took his life in an amorous fit caused by a love potion, and Lucullus lost his reason in the same way. In the Middle Ages love-powders were advertised for sale, the pernicious effects of which became a matter of serious comment.
Shakespeare has represented Othello as winning Desdemona by such means--
By spells of medicines bought of mountebanks."
To town with new-laid eggs, preserved in hay;
I made my market long before 'twas night,
My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.
Straight to the 'pothecary shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday, after prayers,
When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow."
In the preparation of the love-philtre, much importance has been attached to the ingredients used in its composition, certain plants and animals having been supposed to be specially adapted for such a purpose. Italian girls, for instance, still practise the following method: A lizard is caught, drowned in wine, dried in the sun, and reduced to powder, some of which is thrown on the obdurate man, who thenceforth is hers for evermore. A favourite Slavonic device with a lovesick girl, writes Mr. Fizick, in his "Romantic Love and Personal Beauty," "is to cut the finger, let a few drops of her blood run into a glass of beer, and make the adored man drink it unknowingly. The same method is current in Hesse and Oldenburg; and in Bohemia, the girl who is afraid to wound her finger may substitute a few drops of bat's blood."
Another form of this mode of procedure practised by girls on the Continent is this: "Take a holy wafer, but which has not yet been consecrated, write on it certain words from the ring-finger, and then let a priest say five masses over it; divide the wafer into two equal parts, of which keep one, and give the other to the person whose love you desire to gain."
Flowers have been much in request as love-philtres, a favourite one having been the pansy. Oberon tells Puck to place a pansy on the eyes of Titania in order that on awaking she may fall in love with the first object she meets:--
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make a man, or woman, madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees."
Another mystic plant is the basil, which in Moldavia is said to stop the wandering youth on his way, and to make him love the maiden whose hand he happens to accept a sprig. Indeed, rarely does the Italian girl pay a visit to her sweetheart without wearing behind her ear a sprig of this favourite plant. The Mandrake, which is still worn in France as a love-charm, was formerly in demand by English girls for the same purpose, because, writes Gerarde, "It hath been thought that the root hereof serveth to win love." He also speaks of the carrot as "Serving for love matters," and adds that the root of the wild species is more effectual than that of the garden.
The root of the male-fern was, in days gone by, much sought for in the preparation of love-philtres, and hence the following allusion:--
That drew my heart a-night;
Not the fern-rood potion,
But the glance of her blue eye."
Dost point the five unerring shafts; to thee
I dedicate this blossom; let it serve
To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark
Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved."
To visit the bashful maid,
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs
Its soul, like hers, in the shade.
The dream of a future, or happier, hour
That alights on misery's brow,
Springs out of the almond silvery flower,
That blooms on a leafless bough."
Occasionally confidence was reposed in the power of written charms which were administered in drink, or food, to the person whose love it was desired to secure. Thus the story is told how a young man, passionately enamoured of a damsel of Gaza, having failed in the usual amatory charms, repaired to the priests of Aesculapius, at Memphis, from whom he acquired mystic powers. On returning after a year's absence, he introduced certain magical words and figures cut on Cyprian brass beneath the lady's door. The contrivance had the desired effect, for soon she began to rave on his name, "to wander with uncovered head, and dishevelled hair, for she had become distracted through the vehemence of love."
But cases of this kind were not always attended with the same success. We are told, for instance, how a Norwegian peasant, whose suit had been rejected, sought to inspire the lady he loved with corresponding affection by mystical means. So he carved Runic characters on pieces of wood; but not being sufficiently skilful in this mode of talismanic science, instead of furthering his purpose he threw the damsel into a dangerous illness. Fortunately, a Northern Chief witnessing his sufferings, and, hearing that Runic characters had been carved, sculptured those that he considered more appropriate, which, being placed beneath her pillow, soon restored her again to convalescence.
It is clear that there have been no lack of expedients either for inspiring or dispelling love, many an amusing instance being given in our old romances and folk-tales. It is a Basque superstition that yellow hair in a man is irresistible with a woman; hence every woman who set eyes on Ezkabi Fidel, the golden-haired, fell in love with him. We may compare a curious Irish piece of folk-lore which has long been practised. If a lover will run a hair of the object he loved through the fleshy part of a dead man's leg, the person from whom the hair is taken will go mad with love.
Such a practice may seem ludicrous, but it cannot be forgotten how great a hold it has on the female mind. How far this was originally due to the stories circulated is a matter of uncertainty; but it is generally admitted that tales dealing with the mystic powers of love, and handed down with every semblance of truth, have, in times past, largely helped to propagate a piece of folly which has been productive of so many mischievous effects.
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Woman's Hate -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
The rage of tyrants when defiance stings 'em!
The pride of priests, so bloodless when in power,
Are half so dreadful as a woman's vengeance."
SAVAGE.
But, as it has been observed, "The anger of a woman is the greatest evil with which one can threaten enemies, especially as proverbial experience tells us that "A woman is more constant in hate than in love" a maxim which has additional warning when it is remembered that "No woman is too silly not to have a genius for spite"--added to which may be quoted this piece of German proverb lore: "A woman's vengeance knows no bounds;" and, again: "A woman, when inflamed by love or hatred, will do anything." To the same effect is the French saying: "Women's counsels are ever cruel," the warning being added that "you should believe only one word in forty that a woman speaks," a fact which is said to be specially true when she is anxious to emphasise her expressions of hatred against her unfortunate victim.
And we are reminded that the hate of a woman is all the more to be dreaded, for even when at her best we are told that "Women like good wine are a secret poison," and that "whereas women's love is dangerous, their hate is fatal."
This view, too, is the same everywhere, and a well-known Hindustani maxim tells us that "the rage of a woman, a player, and a bull is something dreadful" but it consoles us by adding that "A woman's threats and goblin's stones break no bones."
And, as in love, so in hate, a woman is mentally proverbially blind, seeing nothing but what is thoroughly bad in the object of her hatred; and hence the popular proverb, of which there are many versions: "Hatred is blind as well as love."
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Woman's Love -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
"There is no paradise on earth equal to the union of love and innocence."--ROUSSEAU.
ACCORDING to Lord Byron, "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'tis woman's whole existence;" and under a thousand images the poets of all ages have depicted her as a mysterious mixture of joy and sadness, of agony and delight. But the truth of the well-known apothegm cannot be denied, "'Tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round," for:--
"Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love." It is only natural that much should have been written on woman's love--that inexhaustible theme which will continue to hold its sway till the end of time; for, as it was long ago said, "A woman will dare anything when she loves or hates." And yet, strange to say, it must be acknowledged the love of woman has always been more or less enigmatical in the eyes of man, on account of its only too often eccentric and contradictory nature. Thus Middleton speaks of love's strange antics:--
"Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying,
Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;
Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing:
Love, indeed, is anything; yet, indeed, is nothing." Southwell describes a woman's loving looks as "murdering darts," and elsewhere he says:--
"She offereth joy, but bringeth grier,
A kiss--where she doth kill." The hesitancy with which a woman furtively, and oftentimes playfully, tries to conceal her love by a slight cough, has from an early period been humorously recognised in proverbial love, as in the old adage, "Love and a cough cannot be hid," the Latin equivalent of which is, "Amor tussis que non celantur," versions of which are to be met with in French and Italian proverbs. Similarly we may compare the proverb:--
"When a musician hath forgot his note,
He makes as though a crumb stuck in his throat." Thackeray has described "the delights and tortures, the jealousy and wakefulness, the longing and raptures, the frantic despair and elation, attendant upon the passion of love;" and, indeed, volumes might be written illustrative of the mysterious workings of woman's love, although Alphonse Karr went so far as to affirm: "Women for the most part do not love us. They do not choose a man because they love him, but because it pleases them to be loved by him." But, whatever may have been written descriptive of love, its influence is indisputable, and as the Scotch say, "Love is as warm amang cottars as courtiers;" and, as it has been truly said:--
"The rose blooms gay on shairney brae,
As weel's in briken shaw;
And love will lowe in cottage low,
As weel's in lofty ha';" with which may be compared the English equivalent, "Love lives in cottages as well as in courts."
Proverbial literature naturally has much to say on the power of a woman's love, and, according to a popular French adage, "Love subdues all but the ruffian's heart;" and history abounds in illustrations of this maxim, which under a variety of forms is found all over the world, one of the best-known versions being, "Love rules his kingdom without a sword."
And yet it is agreed that woman's love is only too frequently far from kind, for, as it was proverbially said by our forefathers, "Love is a sweet tyranny, because the lover endureth his torments willingly." The French have a proverb to the same effect: "He who has love in his heart has spurs in his sides," the chief reason for this being the anxiety of the fair sex to show their mastery over man; for, like St. Augustine, they have always been of opinion that "he that is not jealous is not in love." Hence a woman is fond of testing her lover's faith by kindling his jealousy, adhering to the time-honoured proverb, "There is no love without jealousy." On the other hand, we are told that "Love expels jealousy," and, according to an Italian belief, "It is better to have a husband without love than with jealousy," which calls to mind Iago's words ("Othello," act iii. sc. 3):--
"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy,
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on." But jealousy is not confined to either sex, for--
"The venom clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth." But it is generally agreed that there is nothing worse than a jealous woman, and a piece of African proverbial wisdom tells us that "a jealous woman has no flesh upon her breast; for, however much she may feed upon jealousy, she will never have enough."
And yet, although French romance is full of the tortures which lovers have experienced from the fair sex, it is said:--
"Amour, tous les autres plaisirs
Ne valent pas tes peines," Which has been translated thus: "O Love, thy pains are worth more than all other pleasures"--a statement which is much open to doubt.
Again, woman's love when it "comes apace" is to be avoided as untrustworthy and likely as suddenly to wane; on which account it is commonly said, "Hasty love is iron hot and iron cold." In "Ralph Roister Doister," written about the year 1550, Christian Custance says: "Gay love, God save it! So soon hot, so soon cold." But the love which lasts is that recommended in one of Heywood's proverbs, "Love me little, love me long," which Hazlitt mentions as the title of an old ballad licensed to W. Griffith in 1569-1570.
Woman's love has ever been open to reproach as being fickle and unstable, and Southey, quoting the popular sentiment, says:--
"There are three things a wise man will not trust,
The wind, the sunshine of an April day,
And woman's plighted faith;" further instances of which trait of character will be found elsewhere, where we have dealt with the fickleness of the fair sex. But the swain who is disheartened by his lady-love's coquetry, and is afraid of losing her through excessive wooing, folk-lore admonishes him thus:--
"Follow love and it will flee;
Flee love, and it will follow thee." Indeed satirists have long since told us, in most countries, the folly of believing in a woman's expression of love, as "the last suitor wins the maid"--an adage which has also been expressed in this proverbial couplet:--
"The love of a woman and a bottle of wine,
Are sweet for a season and last for a time." and it has been suggested that it was owing to woman's fickleness that the saying originated, "Happy is the wooing that is not long in doing"--the prudent man thereby not giving her the opportunity of changing her mind.
But fickle and unstable as a woman's love probably may be, there is no gainsaying its power, and in China it is said of a woman who captivates a man, "With one smile she overthrows a city; with another a kingdom." According to the popular tradition this proverb originated in the following circumstance:--A certain lady named Hsi-Shih, the concubine of Fu Cha, King of the ancient State of Wu. She was eminently beautiful, and her beauty so captivated her lord that for her sake he neglected the affairs of his kingdom, which in consequence fell into disorder and ruin.
Whatever the value either of a woman's love or beauty, the folk-tales of most countries agree in one respect--the exacting conditions demanded of the suitor, as a price for gaining his heart's desire, although, under a variety of forms, the subjoined couplet is no doubt founded on the experience of womanhood:--
"Lads' love is lassies' delight,
And if lads don't love, lasses will flite [scold]." And yet, according to a common piece of West African wisdom, "If thou givest thy heart to a woman she will kill thee." Wanting in chivalry, as many such proverbs are, there is one current in China, the truth and wisdom of which most persons will endorse: "Where true love exists between husbands and wives, they're happily joined to the end of their lives."
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ACCORDING to Lord Byron, "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'tis woman's whole existence;" and under a thousand images the poets of all ages have depicted her as a mysterious mixture of joy and sadness, of agony and delight. But the truth of the well-known apothegm cannot be denied, "'Tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round," for:--
And men below and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love."
Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;
Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing:
Love, indeed, is anything; yet, indeed, is nothing."
A kiss--where she doth kill."
He makes as though a crumb stuck in his throat."
As weel's in briken shaw;
And love will lowe in cottage low,
As weel's in lofty ha';"
Proverbial literature naturally has much to say on the power of a woman's love, and, according to a popular French adage, "Love subdues all but the ruffian's heart;" and history abounds in illustrations of this maxim, which under a variety of forms is found all over the world, one of the best-known versions being, "Love rules his kingdom without a sword."
And yet it is agreed that woman's love is only too frequently far from kind, for, as it was proverbially said by our forefathers, "Love is a sweet tyranny, because the lover endureth his torments willingly." The French have a proverb to the same effect: "He who has love in his heart has spurs in his sides," the chief reason for this being the anxiety of the fair sex to show their mastery over man; for, like St. Augustine, they have always been of opinion that "he that is not jealous is not in love." Hence a woman is fond of testing her lover's faith by kindling his jealousy, adhering to the time-honoured proverb, "There is no love without jealousy." On the other hand, we are told that "Love expels jealousy," and, according to an Italian belief, "It is better to have a husband without love than with jealousy," which calls to mind Iago's words ("Othello," act iii. sc. 3):--
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on."
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth."
And yet, although French romance is full of the tortures which lovers have experienced from the fair sex, it is said:--
Ne valent pas tes peines,"
Again, woman's love when it "comes apace" is to be avoided as untrustworthy and likely as suddenly to wane; on which account it is commonly said, "Hasty love is iron hot and iron cold." In "Ralph Roister Doister," written about the year 1550, Christian Custance says: "Gay love, God save it! So soon hot, so soon cold." But the love which lasts is that recommended in one of Heywood's proverbs, "Love me little, love me long," which Hazlitt mentions as the title of an old ballad licensed to W. Griffith in 1569-1570.
Woman's love has ever been open to reproach as being fickle and unstable, and Southey, quoting the popular sentiment, says:--
The wind, the sunshine of an April day,
And woman's plighted faith;"
Flee love, and it will follow thee."
Are sweet for a season and last for a time."
But fickle and unstable as a woman's love probably may be, there is no gainsaying its power, and in China it is said of a woman who captivates a man, "With one smile she overthrows a city; with another a kingdom." According to the popular tradition this proverb originated in the following circumstance:--A certain lady named Hsi-Shih, the concubine of Fu Cha, King of the ancient State of Wu. She was eminently beautiful, and her beauty so captivated her lord that for her sake he neglected the affairs of his kingdom, which in consequence fell into disorder and ruin.
Whatever the value either of a woman's love or beauty, the folk-tales of most countries agree in one respect--the exacting conditions demanded of the suitor, as a price for gaining his heart's desire, although, under a variety of forms, the subjoined couplet is no doubt founded on the experience of womanhood:--
And if lads don't love, lasses will flite [scold]."
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Bad Women -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
As false things are! but so fair,
She takes the breath of man away
Who gaze upon her unaware."
E. B. BROWNING,
Bianca among the Nightingales.
Is three-halfpence worse than the devil,"
Teach them new wiles and arts? As well you may
Instruct a snake to bite or wolf to prey;"
In the "Hitopadesa,"--one of the choice treasure-houses of Sanskrit wisdom, it is declared that, "Infidelity, violence, deceit, envy, extreme avariciousness, a total want of qualities, with impurity, are the innate faults of womankind;" with which may be compared Goethe's views, "When we speed to the devil's house woman takes the lead by a thousand steps;" and there is a Sinhalese adage, "If you want to go to the gallows without the aid of a ladder, you can go by the aid of a woman."
There is a proverbial saying in Leicestershire, "Shay's as nasty as a devil unknobbed," i.e., a devil who has either never had any knobs fastened on his horns, or else has succeeded in getting rid of them; the phrase illustrating the bovine character of the popular devil; all of which statements recall the passage in Beaumont and Fletcher's comedy of Monsieur Thomas (act iii. sc. 1):--
Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil!
What an inviting hell invented."
Knows no stopping place in sin."
That is so all the world over, replied Ameni."
Again, it is said, "Women are saints in the church, angels in the street, devils in the kitchen, and apes in bed," a saying which, says Hazlitt, "is rather elaborately illustrated in Jacques Olivier's work entitled 'L'Alphabet de l'Imperfection des Femmes,' which was first published about the year 1617;" and which reminds us of the adage, "Women are demons who make us enter hell through the gates of Paradise." There are many proverbs to the same purport, some of which are couched in stronger language than others. Thus one much used, in days gone by, amongst the peasantry throughout the country says:--
As well live in hell as with a wit that is curst."
Of such a book of follies in a man,
That it would need the tears of all the angels,
To blot the record out!"
Amongst some of the bad qualities condemned in women, and against which man is warned in our proverbial literature, may be mentioned intemperance, and loose morals. According to one folk-rhyme--
Make the wealth small, and the wants great"--
An old man a lecher, loveless;
A poor man a waster, good-less;
A rich man a thief, needless;
A woman a ribald, shameless:
These five shall never thrive blameless."
An old man a lecher nothing more to be hated;
A woman unshamefast, a child unchastised,
Is worse than gall, where poison is undesired."
While they laugh, they make men pine;"
Is oft compared to a foul dunghill."
Has her smock full of lice."
Than to be weary of a wanton woman."
But, whether we regard women as good or bad, it is generally agreed they surpass man in either case, for, as the French say, "Women, ever in extremes, are always either better or worse than men," with which may be compared the following lines in Lord Tennyson's "Idylls," "Merlin and Vivien":--
But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell."
There will be a woman;
And where there is a woman,
There will be mischief"--
It has long been admitted, even by those who disparage women's virtues, that her memory is excellent when she is anxious to keep anything in mind, and hence it is said that "if a woman has any malicious mischief to do her memory is immortal." Proverbial wisdom, again, tells how worthless and unprincipled women often amuse themselves by dissimulation, even going so far as to feign love: an apt illustration of such sham love from Hindustani proverb runs thus, "I'll love him and I'll caress him and I'll put fire under him; if it burn him what can I do?" and there is a well-known Arabic adage which warns us that, " omen's immorality and monks' wiles are to be dreaded."
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Woman's Goodness -- The Folk-Lore of Women -- by T.F. Thistelton-Dyer
A woman, so's she's good what does it signify!"
BYRON, Don Juan.
But it must be remembered that, in formulating maxims of this kind, individual prejudice has in only too many cases been responsible for originating them, and, despite their having in the course of years passed into proverbs, they must not always be regarded as expressive of the consensus of opinion of the country to which they belong. Thus, going back to an early period, Ovid was of opinion that "it is easy for a woman to be good when all that hinders her from being so is removed;" and, although an old English proverb says, "All women are good," it qualifies this assertion by cautiously adding, "good for something, or good for nothing;" but the Hindu proverb declares that "oil and the pure woman will both rise."
With all due deference to the fair sex, it must unfortunately be acknowledged that much of the proverbial lore under this heading relating to them is far from being of a complimentary nature, as who, for instance, has not heard of the familiar adage:--
A peascod would make her a gown and a hood;"
Yet one good woman is not to be found;"
It is so seldom heard that, when it speaks,
It ravishes all senses."
The scarcity of good women is often illustrated by such adages as the following:--
The fairest crown that's made of pure gold"
And I'll show you a maid without a blot."
The more they're beaten the better they be,"
A nut, an ass, a woman:
The cudgel from their back remove,
And they'll be good for no man."
Do you think that she's like a walnut tree?
Must she be cudgell'd ere she bear good fruit?"
Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch,
Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward."
For the crab of the sea;
But the wood of the crab is sauce for a drab
That will not her huband obey."
As a sick man to eat up a load of greenwood."
The Scotch would appear to be more gallant in their opinion of the fair sex, if we can place reliance on the following adage:--
Even the good woman is warned against the contaminating influence of her own sex, for, as an Eastern piece of proverbial lore tells us, "A good woman, beset by evil women, is like the chaste mimosa surrounded by poisonous herbs"--Illustrations of which maxim under a variety of forms are to be met with in most countries; a popular Oriental adage warning us that "bad company is friendship with a snake fencing with a sword." But it has been generally held that "as the woman, so her friends," an Osmandi proverb reminding us that "the life of a good woman is shown by her companions."
Equivocal as many of the proverbial sayings are when speaking of woman's goodness, it may be noted that the reverse is invariably the case in the folk-tales and legends which have immortalised in a hundred and one ways their deeds of bravery and self-denial. At Lilliard's Edge, for instance, in Roxburghshire, was fought, in 1545, the battle of Ancrum Moor, in which, according to tradition, a female warrior named Lilliard, when covered with wounds, continued to fight on the Scotch side, in the name of Squire Witherington. Buried on the field of victory, a stone was raised to her good memory, on which were written these words:--
Little was her stature, but great was her fame;
Upon the English loons she laid mony thumps,
And when her legs were cuttit off, she fought upon her stumps."
The maidens undertook the task, but on their brother's liberation at the completion of the church one of them died immediately "either from the effects of past fatigue, or overpowering joy."
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