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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16722-h.zip b/16722-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2fd182 --- /dev/null +++ b/16722-h.zip diff --git a/16722-h/16722-h.htm b/16722-h/16722-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71bd31b --- /dev/null +++ b/16722-h/16722-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5088 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> + +<html> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> + <title>The Project Gutenberg e-Book of Ameicans and Others, by Agnes Repplier, Litt.D</title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin:5%; text-align:justify} + blockquote {font-size:13pt} + p {font-size:14pt} + --> + </style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Americans and Others, by Agnes Repplier + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Americans and Others + +Author: Agnes Repplier + +Release Date: September 19, 2005 [EBook #16722] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICANS AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Ron Swanson + + + + + +</pre> + +<h3>By Agnes Repplier</h3> +<blockquote>COUNTER-CURRENTS.<br> +AMERICANS AND OTHERS.<br> +A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY AND OTHER ESSAYS.<br> +IN OUR CONVENT DAYS.<br> +COMPROMISES.<br> +THE FIRESIDE SPHINX. With 4 full-page and 17 text illustrations by Miss E. BONSALL.<br> +BOOKS AND MEN.<br> +POINTS OF VIEW.<br> +ESSAYS IN IDLENESS.<br> +IN THE DOZY HOURS, AND OTHER PAPERS.<br> +ESSAYS IN MINIATURE.<br> +A BOOK OF FAMOUS VERSE. Selected by Agnes Repplier. In Riverside Library for Young People.<br> + THE SAME. <i>Holiday Edition</i>.<br> +VARIA.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><h1>AMERICANS AND OTHERS</h1></center> +<br> +<br> +<center><p>BY</p></center> +<center><h3><big>AGNES REPPLIER, L</big>ITT.<big>D</big>.</h3></center> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><p>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br> +The Riverside Press Cambridge</p></center> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><p>COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY AGNES REPPLIER<br><br> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br><br> +<i>Published October 1912</i></p></center> +<br> +<br> +<center><p>The Riverside Press<br> +CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS<br> +PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</p></center> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><p>Note</p></center> +<p>Five of the essays in this volume appear in print for the first time. +Others have been published in the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, the <i>Century +Magazine</i>, <i>Harper's Bazar</i>, and the <i>Catholic World</i>.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><h3>Contents</h3></center> + +<h4><a href="#Question">A Question of Politeness</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Mission">The Mission of Humour</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Goodness">Goodness and Gayety</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Nervous">The Nervous Strain</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Girl">The Girl Graduate</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Estranging">The Estranging Sea</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Traveller">Travellers' Tales</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Chill">The Chill of Enthusiasm</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Temptation">The Temptation of Eve</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Greatest">"The Greatest of These is Charity"</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Customary">The Customary Correspondent</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Benefactor">The Benefactor</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Condescension">The Condescension of Borrowers</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#Grocer">The Grocer's Cat</a></h4> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><h2>AMERICANS AND OTHERS</h2></center> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Question">A Question of Politeness</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"La politesse de l'esprit consiste à penser des choses honnêtes et +délicates."</blockquote> +<br> +<p>A great deal has been said and written during the past few years on +the subject of American manners, and the consensus of opinion is, +on the whole, unfavourable. We have been told, more in sorrow than +in anger, that we are not a polite people; and our critics have cast +about them for causes which may be held responsible for such a +universal and lamentable result. Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, for example, +is by way of thinking that the fault lies in the sudden expansion +of wealth, in the intrusion into the social world of people who fail +to understand its requirements, and in the universal "spoiling" of +American children. He contrasts the South of his childhood, that +wonderful "South before the war," which looms vaguely, but very +grandly, through a half-century's haze, with the New York of to-day, +which, alas! has nothing to soften its outlines. A more censorious +critic in the "Atlantic Monthly" has also stated explicitly that for +true consideration and courtliness we must hark back to certain old +gentlewomen of ante-bellum days. "None of us born since the Civil +War approach them in respect to some fine, nameless quality that +gives them charm and atmosphere." It would seem, then, that the war, +with its great emotions and its sustained heroism, imbued us with +national life at the expense of our national manners.</p> + +<p>I wonder if this kind of criticism does not err by comparing the many +with the few, the general with the exceptional. I wonder if the +deficiencies of an imperfect civilization can be accounted for along +such obvious lines. The self-absorption of youth which Mrs. Comer +deprecates, the self-absorption of a crowd which offends Mr. Page, +are human, not American. The nature of youth and the nature of crowds +have not changed essentially since the Civil War, nor since the Punic +Wars. Granted that the tired and hungry citizens of New York, +jostling one another in their efforts to board a homeward train, +present an unlovely spectacle; but do they, as Mr. Page affirms, +reveal "such sheer and primal brutality as can be found nowhere else +in the world where men and women are together?" Crowds will jostle, +and have always jostled, since men first clustered in communities. +Read Theocritus. The hurrying Syracusans—third century +B.C.—"rushed like a herd of swine," and rent in twain Praxinoë's +muslin veil. Look at Hogarth. The whole fun of an eighteenth-century +English crowd consisted in snatching off some unfortunate's wig, or +toppling him over into the gutter. The truth is we sin against +civilization when we consent to flatten ourselves against our +neighbours. The experience of the world has shown conclusively that +a few inches more or less of breathing space make all the difference +between a self-respecting citizen and a savage.</p> + +<p>As for youth,—ah, who shall be brave enough, who has ever been brave +enough, to defend the rising generation? Who has ever looked with +content upon the young, save only Plato, and he lived in an age of +symmetry and order which we can hardly hope to reproduce. The +shortcomings of youth are so pitilessly, so glaringly apparent. Not +a rag to cover them from the discerning eye. And what a veil has fallen +between us and the years of <i>our</i> offending. There is no illusion +so permanent as that which enables us to look backward with +complacency; there is no mental process so deceptive as the comparing +of recollections with realities. How loud and shrill the voice of +the girl at our elbow. How soft the voice which from the far past +breathes its gentle echo in our ears. How bouncing the vigorous young +creatures who surround us, treading us under foot in the certainty +of their self-assurance. How sweet and reasonable the pale shadows +who smile—we think appealingly—from some dim corner of our +memories. There is a passage in the diary of Louisa Gurney, a +carefully reared little Quaker girl of good family and estate, which +is dated 1796, and which runs thus:—</p> + +<p>"I was in a very playing mood to-day, and thoroughly enjoyed being +foolish, and tried to be as rude to everybody as I could. We went +on the highroad for the purpose of being rude to the folks that passed. +I do think being rude is most pleasant sometimes."</p> + +<p>Let us hope that the grown-up Louisa Gurney, whenever she felt +disposed to cavil at the imperfections of the rising generation of +1840 or 1850, re-read these illuminating words, and softened her +judgment accordingly.</p> + +<p>New York has been called the most insolent city in the world. To make +or to refute such a statement implies so wide a knowledge of +contrasted civilizations that to most of us the words have no +significance. It is true that certain communities have earned for +themselves in the course of centuries an unenviable reputation for +discourtesy. The Italians say "as rude as a Florentine"; and even +the casual tourist (presuming his standard of manners to have been +set by Italy) is disposed to echo the reproach. The Roman, with the +civilization of the world at his back, is naturally, one might say +inevitably, polite. His is that serious and simple dignity which +befits his high inheritance. But the Venetian and the Sienese have +also a grave courtesy of bearing, compared with which the manners +of the Florentine seem needlessly abrupt. We can no more account for +this than we can account for the churlishness of the Vaudois, who +is always at some pains to be rude, and the gentleness of his +neighbour, the Valaisan, to whom breeding is a birthright, born, it +would seem, of generosity of heart, and a scorn of ignoble things.</p> + +<p>But such generalizations, at all times perilous, become impossible +in the changing currents of American life, which has as yet no quality +of permanence. The delicate old tests fail to adjust themselves to +our needs. Mr. Page is right theoretically when he says that the +treatment of a servant or of a subordinate is an infallible criterion +of manners, and when he rebukes the "arrogance" of wealthy women to +"their hapless sisters of toil." But the truth is that our hapless +sisters of toil have things pretty much their own way in a country +which is still broadly prosperous and democratic, and our treatment +of them is tempered by a selfish consideration for our own comfort +and convenience. If they are toiling as domestic servants,—a field +in which the demand exceeds the supply,—they hold the key to the +situation; it is sheer foolhardiness to be arrogant to a cook. +Dressmakers and milliners are not humbly seeking for patronage; +theirs is the assured position of people who can give the world what +the world asks; and as for saleswomen, a class upon whom much +sentimental sympathy is lavished year by year, their heart-whole +superciliousness to the poor shopper, especially if she chance to +be a housewife striving nervously to make a few dollars cover her +family needs, is wantonly and detestably unkind. It is not with us +as it was in the England of Lamb's day, and the quality of breeding +is shown in a well-practised restraint rather than in a sweet and +somewhat lofty consideration.</p> + +<p>Eliminating all the more obvious features of criticism, as throwing +no light upon the subject, we come to the consideration of three +points,—the domestic, the official, and the social manners of a +nation which has been roundly accused of degenerating from the high +standard of former years, of those gracious and beautiful years which +few of us have the good fortune to remember. On the first count, I +believe that a candid and careful observation will result in a +verdict of acquittal. Foreigners, Englishmen and Englishwomen +especially, who visit our shores, are impressed with the politeness +of Americans in their own households. That fine old Saxon point of +view, "What is the good of a family, if one cannot be disagreeable +in the bosom of it?" has been modified by the simple circumstance +that the family bosom is no longer a fixed and permanent asylum. The +disintegration of the home may be a lamentable feature of modern +life; but since it has dawned upon our minds that adult members of +a family need not necessarily live together if they prefer to live +apart, the strain of domesticity has been reduced to the limits of +endurance. We have gained in serenity what we have lost in +self-discipline by this easy achievement of an independence which, +fifty years ago, would have been deemed pure licence. I can remember +that, when I was a little girl, two of our neighbours, a widowed +mother and a widowed daughter, scandalized all their friends by +living in two large comfortable houses, a stone's throw apart, +instead of under one roof as became their relationship; and the fact +that they loved each other dearly and peacefully in no way lessened +their transgression. Had they shared their home, and bickered day +and night, that would have been considered unfortunate but +"natural."</p> + +<p>If the discipline of family life makes for law and order, for the +subordination of parts to the whole, and for the prompt recognition +of authority; if, in other words, it makes, as in the days of Rome, +for citizenship, the rescue of the individual makes for social +intercourse, for that temperate and reasoned attitude which begets +courtesy. The modern mother may lack influence and authority; but +she speaks more urbanely to her children than her mother spoke to +her. The modern child is seldom respectful, but he is often polite, +with a politeness which owes nothing to intimidation. The harsh and +wearisome habit of contradiction, which used to be esteemed a family +privilege, has been softened to a judicious dissent. In my youth I +knew several old gentlemen who might, on their death-beds, have laid +their hands upon their hearts, and have sworn that never in their +whole lives had they permitted any statement, however insignificant, +to pass uncontradicted in their presence. They were authoritative +old gentlemen, kind husbands after their fashion, and careful +fathers; but conversation at their dinner-tables was not for human +delight.</p> + +<p>The manners of American officials have been discussed with more or +less acrimony, and always from the standpoint of personal experience. +The Custom-House is the centre of attack, and critics for the most +part agree that the men whose business it is to "hold up" returning +citizens perform their ungracious task ungraciously. Theirs is +rather the attitude of the detective dealing with suspected +criminals than the attitude of the public servant impersonally +obeying orders. It is true that even on the New York docks one may +encounter civility and kindness. There are people who assure us that +they have never encountered anything else; but then there are people +who would have us believe that always and under all circumstances +they meet with the most distinguished consideration. They intimate +that there is <i>that</i> in their own demeanour which makes rudeness to +them an impossibility.</p> + +<p>More candid souls find it hard to account for the crudity of our +intercourse, not with officials only, but with the vast world which +lies outside our narrow circle of associates. We have no human +relations where we have no social relations; we are awkward and +constrained in our recognition of the unfamiliar; and this +awkwardness encumbers us in the ordinary routine of life. A policeman +who has been long on one beat, and who has learned to know either +the householders or the business men of his locality, is wont to be +the most friendly of mortals. There is something almost pathetic in +the value he places upon human relationship, even of a very casual +order. A conductor on a local train who has grown familiar with scores +of passengers is no longer a ticket-punching, station-shouting +automaton. He bears himself in friendly fashion towards all +travellers, because he has established with some of them a rational +foothold of communication. But the official who sells tickets to a +hurrying crowd, or who snaps out a few tart words at a bureau of +information, or who guards a gate through which men and women are +pushing with senseless haste, is clad in an armour of incivility. +He is wantonly rude to foreigners, whose helplessness should make +some appeal to his humanity. I have seen a gatekeeper at Jersey City +take by the shoulders a poor German, whose ticket called for another +train, and shove him roughly out of the way, without a word of +explanation. The man, too bewildered for resentment, rejoined his +wife to whom he had said good-bye, and the two anxious, puzzled +creatures stood whispering together as the throng swept callously +past them. It was a painful spectacle, a lapse from the well-ordered +decencies of civilization.</p> + +<p>For to be civilized is to be incapable of giving unnecessary offence, +it is to have some quality of consideration for all who cross our +path. An Englishwoman once said to Mr. Whistler that the politeness +of the French was "all on the surface," to which the artist made +reply: "And a very good place for it to be." It is this sweet surface +politeness, costing so little, counting for so much, which smooths +the roughness out of life. "The classic quality of the French +nation," says Mr. Henry James, "is sociability; a sociability which +operates in France, as it never does in England, from below upward. +Your waiter utters a greeting because, after all, something human +within him prompts him. His instinct bids him say something, and his +taste recommends that it should be agreeable."</p> + +<p>This combination of instinct and taste—which happily is not +confined to the French, nor to waiters—produces some admirable +results, results out of all proportion to the slightness of the means +employed. It often takes but a word, a gesture, to indicate the +delicate process of adjustment. A few summers ago I was drinking tea +with friends in the gardens of the Hotel Faloria, at Cortina. At a +table near us sat two Englishmen, three Englishwomen, and an Austrian, +the wife of a Viennese councillor. They talked with animation and +in engaging accents. After a little while they arose and strolled +back to the hotel. The Englishmen, as they passed our table, stared +hard at two young girls who were of our party, stared as deliberately +and with as much freedom as if the children had been on a London +music-hall stage. The Englishwomen passed us as though we had been +invisible. They had so completely the air of seeing nothing in our +chairs that I felt myself a phantom, a ghost like Banquo's, with no +guilty eye to discern my presence at the table. Lastly came the +Austrian, who had paused to speak to a servant, and, as <i>she</i> passed, +she gave us a fleeting smile and a slight bow, the mere shadow of +a curtsey, acknowledging our presence as human beings, to whom some +measure of recognition was due.</p> + +<p>It was such a little thing, so lightly done, so eloquent of perfect +self-possession, and the impression it made upon six admiring +Americans was a permanent one. We fell to asking ourselves—being +honestly conscious of constraint—how each one of us would have +behaved in the Austrian lady's place, whether or not that act of +simple and sincere politeness would have been just as easy for us. +Then I called to mind one summer morning in New England, when I sat +on a friend's piazza, waiting idly for the arrival of the Sunday +papers. A decent-looking man, with a pretty and over-dressed girl +by his side, drove up the avenue, tossed the packet of papers at our +feet, and drove away again. He had not said even a bare "Good +morning." My kind and courteous host had offered no word of greeting. +The girl had turned her head to stare at me, but had not spoken. Struck +by the ungraciousness of the whole episode, I asked, "Is he a stranger +in these parts?"</p> + +<p>"No," said my friend. "He has brought the Sunday papers all summer. +That is his daughter with him."</p> + +<p>All summer, and no human relations, not enough to prompt a friendly +word, had been established between the man who served and the man +who was served. None of the obvious criticisms passed upon American +manners can explain the crudity of such a situation. It was certainly +not a case of arrogance towards a hapless brother of toil. My friend +probably toiled much harder than the paperman, and was the least +arrogant of mortals. Indeed, all arrogance of bearing lay +conspicuously on the paperman's part. Why, after all, should not his +instinct, like the instinct of the French waiter, have bidden him +say something; why should not his taste have recommended that the +something be agreeable? And then, again, why should not my friend, +in whom social constraint was unpardonable, have placed his finer +instincts at the service of a fellow creature? We must probe to the +depths of our civilization before we can understand and deplore the +limitations which make it difficult for us to approach one another +with mental ease and security. We have yet to learn that the amenities +of life stand for its responsibilities, and translate them into +action. They express externally the fundamental relations which +ought to exist between men. "All the distinctions, so delicate and +sometimes so complicated, which belong to good breeding," says M. +Rondalet in "La Réforme Sociale," "answer to a profound unconscious +analysis of the duties we owe to one another."</p> + +<p>There are people who balk at small civilities on account of their +manifest insincerity. They cannot be brought to believe that the +expressions of unfelt pleasure or regret with which we accept or +decline invitations, the little affectionate phrases which begin and +end our letters, the agreeable formalities which have accumulated +around the simplest actions of life, are beneficent influences upon +character, promoting gentleness of spirit. The Quakers, as we know, +made a mighty stand against verbal insincerities, with one striking +exception,—the use of the word "Friend." They said and believed that +this word represented their attitude towards humanity, their spirit +of universal tolerance and brotherhood. But if to call oneself a +"Friend" is to emphasize one's amicable relations towards one's +neighbour, to call one's neighbour "Friend" is to imply that he +returns this affectionate regard, which is often an unwarranted +assumption. It is better and more logical to accept <i>all</i> the polite +phraseology which facilitates intercourse, and contributes to the +sweetness of life. If we discarded the formal falsehoods which are +the currency of conversation, we should not be one step nearer the +vital things of truth.</p> + +<p>For to be sincere with ourselves is better and harder than to be +painstakingly accurate with others. A man may be cruelly candid to +his associates, and a cowardly hypocrite to himself. He may handle +his friend harshly, and himself with velvet gloves. He may never tell +the fragment of a lie, and never think the whole truth. He may wound +the pride and hurt the feelings of all with whom he comes in contact, +and never give his own soul the benefit of one good knockdown blow. +The connection which has been established between rudeness and +probity on the one hand, and politeness and insincerity on the other, +is based upon an imperfect knowledge of human nature.</p> + +<blockquote>"So rugged was he that we thought him just,<br> + So churlish was he that we deemed him true."</blockquote> + +<p>"It is better to hold back a truth," said Saint Francis de Sales, +"than to speak it ungraciously."</p> + +<p>There are times doubtless when candour goes straight to its goal, +and courtesy misses the mark. Mr. John Stuart Mill was once asked +upon the hustings whether or not he had ever said that the English +working-classes were mostly liars. He answered shortly, "I +did!"—and the unexpected reply was greeted with loud applause. Mr. +Mill was wont to quote this incident as proof of the value which +Englishmen set upon plain speaking. They do prize it, and they prize +the courage which defies their bullying. But then the remark was, +after all, a generalization. We can bear hearing disagreeable truths +spoken to a crowd or to a congregation—causticity has always been +popular in preachers—because there are other heads than our own upon +which to fit the cap.</p> + +<p>The brutalities of candour, the pestilent wit which blights whatever +it touches, are not distinctively American. It is because we are a +humorous rather than a witty people that we laugh for the most part +with, and not at, our fellow creatures. Indeed, judged by the +unpleasant things we might say and do not say, we should be esteemed +polite. English memoirs teem with anecdotes which appear to us +unpardonable. Why should Lady Holland have been permitted to wound +the susceptibilities of all with whom she came in contact? When Moore +tells us that she said to him, "This book of yours" (the "Life of +Sheridan") "will be dull, I fear;" and to Lord Porchester, "I am sorry +to hear you are going to publish a poem. Can't you suppress it?" we +do not find these remarks to be any more clever than considerate. +They belong to the category of the monumentally uncouth.</p> + +<p>Why should Mr. Abraham Hayward have felt it his duty (he put it that +way) to tell Mr. Frederick Locker that the "London Lyrics" were +"overrated"? "I have suspected this," comments the poet, whose least +noticeable characteristic was vanity; "but I was none the less sorry +to hear him say so." Landor's reply to a lady who accused him of +speaking of her with unkindness, "Madame, I have wasted my life in +defending you!" was pardonable as a repartee. It was the exasperated +utterance of self-defence; and there is a distinction to be drawn +between the word which is flung without provocation, and the word +which is the speaker's last resource. When "Bobus" Smith told +Talleyrand that his mother had been a beautiful woman, and Talleyrand +replied, "<i>C'était donc Monsieur votre père qui n'était pas bien</i>," +we hold the witticism to have been cruel because unjustifiable. A +man should be privileged to say his mother was beautiful, without +inviting such a very obvious sarcasm. But when Madame de Staël +pestered Talleyrand to say what he would do if he saw her and Madame +Récamier drowning, the immortal answer, "<i>Madame de Staël sait tant +de choses, que sans doute elle peut nager</i>," seems as kind as the +circumstances warranted. "Corinne's" vanity was of the hungry type, +which, crying perpetually for bread, was often fed with stones.</p> + +<p>It has been well said that the difference between a man's habitual +rudeness and habitual politeness is probably as great a difference +as he will ever be able to make in the sum of human happiness; and +the arithmetic of life consists in adding to, or subtracting from, +the pleasurable moments of mortality. Neither is it worth while to +draw fine distinctions between pleasure and happiness. If we are +indifferent to the pleasures of our fellow creatures, it will not +take us long to be indifferent to their happiness. We do not grow +generous by ceasing to be considerate.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, the perpetual surrender which politeness +dictates cuts down to a reasonable figure the sum total of our +selfishness. To listen when we are bored, to talk when we are listless, +to stand when we are tired, to praise when we are indifferent, to +accept the companionship of a stupid acquaintance when we might, at +the expense of politeness, escape to a clever friend, to endure with +smiling composure the near presence of people who are distasteful +to us,—these things, and many like them, brace the sinews of our +souls. They set a fine and delicate standard for common intercourse. +They discipline us for the good of the community.</p> + +<p>We cannot ring the bells backward, blot out the Civil War, and +exchange the speed of modern life for the slumberous dignity of the +Golden Age,—an age whose gilding brightens as we leave it shimmering +in the distance. But even under conditions which have the +disadvantage of existing, the American is not without gentleness of +speech and spirit. He is not always in a hurry. He is not always +elbowing his way, or quivering with ill-bred impatience. Turn to him +for help in a crowd, and feel the bright sureness of his response. +Watch him under ordinary conditions, and observe his large measure +of forbearance with the social deficiencies of his neighbour. Like +Steele, he deems it humanity to laugh at an indifferent jest, and +he has thereby earned for himself the reputation of being readily +diverted. If he lacks the urbanities which embellish conversation, +he is correspondingly free from the brutalities which degrade it. +If his instinct does not prompt him to say something agreeable, it +saves him from being wantonly unkind. Plain truths may be salutary; +but unworthy truths are those which are destitute of any spiritual +quality, which are not noble in themselves, and which are not nobly +spoken; which may be trusted to offend, and which have never been +known to illuminate. It is not for such asperities that we have +perfected through the ages the priceless gift of language, that we +seek to meet one another in the pleasant comradeship of life.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Mission">The Mission of Humour</a></h2></div> +<blockquote> + "Laughter is my object: 'tis a property<br> + In man, essential to his reason."<br> +<big>T</big>HOMAS RANDOLPH, <i>The Muses' Looking-Glass</i>.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>American humour is the pride of American hearts. It is held to +be our splendid national characteristic, which we flaunt in the faces +of other nations, conceiving them to have been less favoured by +Providence. Just as the most effective way to disparage an author +or an acquaintance—and we have often occasion to disparage both—is +to say that he lacks a sense of humour, so the most effective +criticism we can pass upon a nation is to deny it this valuable +quality. American critics have written the most charming things +about the keenness of American speech, the breadth and insight of +American drollery, the electric current in American veins; and we, +reading these pleasant felicitations, are wont to thank God with +greater fervour than the occasion demands that we are more merry and +wise than our neighbours. Mr. Brander Matthews, for example, has told +us that there are newspaper writers in New York who have cultivated +a wit, "not unlike Voltaire's." He mistrusts this wit because he +finds it "corroding and disintegrating"; but he makes the comparison +with that casual assurance which is a feature of American criticism.</p> + +<p>Indeed, our delight in our own humour has tempted us to overrate both +its literary value and its corrective qualities. We are never so apt +to lose our sense of proportion as when we consider those beloved +writers whom we hold to be humourists because they have made us laugh. +It may be conceded that, as a people, we have an abiding and somewhat +disquieting sense of fun. We are nimble of speech, we are more prone +to levity than to seriousness, we are able to recognize a vital truth +when it is presented to us under the familiar aspect of a jest, and +we habitually allow ourselves certain forms of exaggeration, +accepting, perhaps unconsciously, Hazlitt's verdict: "Lying is a +species of wit, and shows spirit and invention." It is true also that +no adequate provision is made in this country for the defective but +valuable class without humour, which in England is exceedingly well +cared for. American letters, American journalism, and American +speech are so coloured by pleasantries, so accentuated by ridicule, +that the silent and stodgy men, who are apt to represent a nation's +real strength, hardly know where to turn for a little saving dulness. +A deep vein of irony runs through every grade of society, making it +possible for us to laugh at our own bitter discomfiture, and to scoff +with startling distinctness at the evils which we passively permit. +Just as the French monarchy under Louis the Fourteenth was wittily +defined as despotism tempered by epigram, so the United States have +been described as a free republic fettered by jokes, and the taunt +conveys a half-truth which it is worth our while to consider.</p> + +<p>Now there are many who affirm that the humourist's point of view is, +on the whole, the fairest from which the world can be judged. It is +equally remote from the misleading side-lights of the pessimist and +from the wilful blindness of the optimist. It sees things with +uncompromising clearness, but it judges of them with tolerance and +good temper. Moreover, a sense of the ridiculous is a sound +preservative of social virtues. It places a proper emphasis on the +judgments of our associates, it saves us from pitfalls of vanity and +self-assurance, it lays the basis of that propriety and decorum of +conduct upon which is founded the charm of intercourse among equals. +And what it does for us individually, it does for us collectively. +Our national apprehension of a jest fosters whatever grace of modesty +we have to show. We dare not inflate ourselves as superbly as we +should like to do, because our genial countrymen stand ever ready +to prick us into sudden collapse. "It is the laugh we enjoy at our +own expense which betrays us to the rest of the world."</p> + +<p>Perhaps we laugh too readily. Perhaps we are sometimes amused when +we ought to be angry. Perhaps we jest when it is our plain duty to +reform. Here lies the danger of our national light-mindedness,—for +it is seldom light-heartedness; we are no whit more light-hearted +than our neighbours. A carping English critic has declared that +American humour consists in speaking of hideous things with levity; +and while so harsh a charge is necessarily unjust, it makes clear +one abiding difference between the nations. An Englishman never +laughs—except officially in "Punch"—over any form of political +degradation. He is not in the least amused by jobbery, by bad service, +by broken pledges. The seamy side of civilized life is not to him +a subject for sympathetic mirth. He can pity the stupidity which does +not perceive that it is cheated and betrayed; but penetration allied +to indifference awakens his wondering contempt. "If you think it +amusing to be imposed on," an Englishwoman once said to me, "you need +never be at a loss for a joke."</p> + +<p>In good truth, we know what a man is like by the things he finds +laughable, we gauge both his understanding and his culture by his +sense of the becoming and of the absurd. If the capacity for laughter +be one of the things which separates men from brutes, the quality +of laughter draws a sharp dividing-line between the trained +intelligence and the vacant mind. The humour of a race interprets +the character of a race, and the mental condition of which laughter +is the expression is something which it behooves the student of human +nature and the student of national traits to understand very clearly.</p> + +<p>Now our American humour is, on the whole, good-tempered and decent. +It is scandalously irreverent (reverence is a quality which seems +to have been left out of our composition); but it has neither the +pitilessness of the Latin, nor the grossness of the Teuton jest. As +Mr. Gilbert said of Sir Beerbohm Tree's "Hamlet," it is funny without +being coarse. We have at our best the art of being amusing in an +agreeable, almost an amiable, fashion; but then we have also the rare +good fortune to be very easily amused. Think of the current jokes +provided for our entertainment week by week, and day by day. Think +of the comic supplement of our Sunday newspapers, designed for the +refreshment of the feeble-minded, and calculated to blight the +spirits of any ordinarily intelligent household. Think of the +debilitated jests and stories which a time-honoured custom inserts +at the back of some of our magazines. It seems to be the custom of +happy American parents to report to editors the infantile prattle +of their engaging little children, and the editors print it for the +benefit of those who escape the infliction firsthand. There is a +story, pleasant but piteous, of Voltaire's listening with what +patience he could muster to a comedy which was being interpreted by +its author. At a certain point the dramatist read, "At this the +Chevalier laughed"; whereupon Voltaire murmured enviously, "How +fortunate the Chevalier was!" I think of that story whenever I am +struck afresh by the ease with which we are moved to mirth.</p> + +<p>A painstaking German student, who has traced the history of humour +back to its earliest foundations, is of the opinion that there are +eleven original jokes known to the world, or rather that there are +eleven original and basic situations which have given birth to the +world's jokes; and that all the pleasantries with which we are daily +entertained are variations of these eleven originals, traceable +directly or indirectly to the same sources. There are times when we +are disposed to think eleven too generous a computation, and there +are less weary moments in which the inexhaustible supply of +situations still suggests fresh possibilities of laughter. Granted +that the ever fertile mother-in-law jest and the one about the +talkative barber were venerable in the days of Plutarch; there are +others more securely and more deservedly rooted in public esteem +which are, by comparison, new. Christianity, for example, must be +held responsible for the missionary and cannibal joke, of which we +have grown weary unto death; but which nevertheless possesses +astonishing vitality, and exhibits remarkable breadth of treatment. +Sydney Smith did not disdain to honour it with a joyous and unclerical +quatrain; and the agreeable author of "Rab and his Friends" has told +us the story of his fragile little schoolmate whose mother had +destined him for a missionary, "though goodness knows there wasn't +enough of him to go around among many heathen."</p> + +<p>To Christianity is due also the somewhat ribald mirth which has clung +for centuries about Saint Peter as gatekeeper of Heaven. We can trace +this mirth back to the rude jests of the earliest miracle plays. We +see these jests repeated over and over again in the folklore of Latin +and Germanic nations. And if we open a comic journal to-day, there +is more than a chance that we shall find Saint Peter, key in hand, +uttering his time-honoured witticisms. This well-worn situation +depends, as a rule, upon that common element of fun-making, the +incongruous. Saint Peter invaded by air-ships. Saint Peter +outwitting a squad of banner-flying suffragettes. Saint Peter losing +his saintly temper over the expansive philanthropy of millionaires. +Now and then a bit of true satire, like Mr. Kipling's "Tomlinson," +conveys its deeper lesson to humanity. A recently told French story +describes a lady of good reputation, family, and estate, presenting +herself fearlessly at the gates of Heaven. Saint Peter receives her +politely, and leads her through a street filled with lofty and +beautiful mansions, any one of which she thinks will satisfy her +requirements; but, to her amazement, they pass them by. Next they +come to more modest but still charming houses with which she feels +she could be reasonably content; but again they pass them by. Finally +they reach a small and mean dwelling in a small and mean thoroughfare. +"This," says Saint Peter, "is your habitation." "This!" cries the +indignant lady; "I could not possibly live in any place so shabby +and inadequate." "I am sorry, madame," replies the saint urbanely; +"but we have done the best we could with the materials you furnished +us."</p> + +<p>There are no bounds to the loyalty with which mankind clings to a +well-established jest, there is no limit to the number of times a +tale will bear retelling. Occasionally we give it a fresh setting, +adorn it with fresh accessories, and present it as new-born to the +world; but this is only another indication of our affectionate +tenacity. I have heard that caustic gibe of Queen Elizabeth's anent +the bishop's lady and the bishop's wife (the Tudors had a biting wit +of their own) retold at the expense of an excellent lady, the wife +of a living American bishop; and the story of the girl who, professing +religion, gave her ear-rings to a sister, because she knew they were +taking <i>her</i> to Hell,—a story which dates from the early Wesleyan +revivals in England,—I have heard located in Philadelphia, and +assigned to one of Mr. Torrey's evangelistic services. We still +resort, as in the days of Sheridan, to our memories for our jokes, +and to our imaginations for our facts.</p> + +<p>Moreover, we Americans have jests of our own,—poor things for the +most part, but our own. They are current from the Atlantic to the +Pacific, they appear with commendable regularity in our newspapers +and comic journals, and they have become endeared to us by a lifetime +of intimacy. The salient characteristics of our great cities, the +accepted traditions of our mining-camps, the contrast between East +and West, the still more familiar contrast between the torpor of +Philadelphia and Brooklyn ("In the midst of life," says Mr. Oliver +Herford, "we are—in Brooklyn") and the uneasy speed of New +York,—these things furnish abundant material for everyday American +humour. There is, for example, the encounter between the Boston girl +and the Chicago girl, who, in real life, might often be taken for +each other; but who, in the American joke, are as sharply +differentiated as the Esquimo and the Hottentot. And there is the +little Boston boy who always wears spectacles, who is always named +Waldo, and who makes some innocent remark about "Literary Ethics," +or the "Conduct of Life." We have known this little boy too long to +bear a parting from him. Indeed, the mere suggestion that all +Bostonians are forever immersed in Emerson is one which gives +unfailing delight to the receptive American mind. It is a poor +community which cannot furnish its archaic jest for the diversion +of its neighbours.</p> + +<p>The finest example of our bulldog resoluteness in holding on to a +comic situation, or what we conceive to be a comic situation, may +be seen every year when the twenty-second of February draws near, +and the shops of our great and grateful Republic break out into an +irruption of little hatchets, by which curious insignia we have +chosen to commemorate our first President. These toys, occasionally +combined with sprigs of artificial cherries, are hailed with +unflagging delight, and purchased with what appears to be patriotic +fervour. I have seen letter-carriers and post-office clerks wearing +little hatchets in their button-holes, as though they were party +buttons, or temperance badges. It is our great national joke, which +I presume gains point from the dignified and reticent character of +General Washington, and from the fact that he would have been +sincerely unhappy could he have foreseen the senile character of a +jest, destined, through our love of absurdity, our careful +cultivation of the inappropriate, to be linked forever with his name.</p> + +<p>The easy exaggeration which is a distinctive feature of American +humour, and about which so much has been said and written, has its +counterpart in sober and truth-telling England, though we are always +amazed when we find it there, and fall to wondering, as we never +wonder at home, in what spirit it was received. There are two kinds +of exaggeration; exaggeration of statement, which is a somewhat +primitive form of humour, and exaggeration of phrase, which implies +a dexterous misuse of language, a skilful juggling with words. Sir +John Robinson gives, as an admirable instance of exaggeration of +statement, the remark of an American in London that his dining-room +ceiling was so low that he could not have anything for dinner but +soles. Sir John thought this could have been said only by an American, +only by one accustomed to have a joke swiftly catalogued as a joke, +and suffered to pass. An English jester must always take into account +the mental attitude which finds "Gulliver's Travels" "incredible." +When Mr. Edward FitzGerald said that the church at Woodbridge was +so damp that fungi grew about the communion rail, Woodbridge ladies +offered an indignant denial. When Dr. Thompson, the witty master of +Trinity, observed of an undergraduate that "all the time he could +spare from the neglect of his duties he gave to the adornment of his +person," the sarcasm made its slow way into print; whereupon an +intelligent British reader wrote to the periodical which had printed +it, and explained painstakingly that, inasmuch as it was not possible +to spare time from the neglect of anything, the criticism was +inaccurate.</p> + +<p>Exaggeration of phrase, as well as the studied understatement which +is an even more effective form of ridicule, seem natural products +of American humour. They sound, wherever we hear them, familiar to +our ears. It is hard to believe that an English barrister, and not +a Texas ranch-man, described Boston as a town where respectability +stalked unchecked. Mazarin's plaintive reflection, "Nothing is so +disagreeable as to be obscurely hanged," carries with it an echo of +Wyoming or Arizona. Mr. Gilbert's analysis of Hamlet's mental +disorder,—</p> + +<blockquote>"Hamlet is idiotically sane,<br> + With lucid intervals of lunacy,"—</blockquote> + +<p>has the pure flavour of American wit,—a wit which finds its most +audacious expression in burlesquing bitter things, and which misfits +its words with diabolic ingenuity. To match these alien jests, which +sound so like our own, we have the whispered warning of an American +usher (also quoted by Sir John Robinson) who opened the door to a +late comer at one of Mr. Matthew Arnold's lectures: "Will you please +make as little noise as you can, sir. The audience is asleep"; and +the comprehensive remark of a New England scholar and wit that he +never wanted to do anything in his life, that he did not find it was +expensive, unwholesome, or immoral. This last observation embraces +the wisdom of the centuries. Solomon would have endorsed it, and it +is supremely quotable as expressing a common experience with very +uncommon felicity.</p> + +<p>When we leave the open field of exaggeration, that broad area which +is our chosen territory, and seek for subtler qualities in American +humour, we find here and there a witticism which, while admittedly +our own, has in it an Old-World quality. The epigrammatic remark of +a Boston woman that men get and forget, and women give and forgive, +shows the fine, sharp finish of Sydney Smith or Sheridan. A +Philadelphia woman's observation, that she knew there could be no +marriages in Heaven, because—"Well, women were there no doubt in +plenty, and some men; but not a man whom any woman would have," is +strikingly French. The word of a New York broker, when Mr. Roosevelt +sailed for Africa, "Wall Street expects every lion to do its duty!" +equals in brevity and malice the keen-edged satire of Italy. No +sharper thrust was ever made at prince or potentate.</p> + +<p>The truth is that our love of a jest knows no limit and respects no +law. The incongruities of an unequal civilization (we live in the +land of contrasts) have accustomed us to absurdities, and reconciled +us to ridicule. We rather like being satirized by our own countrymen. +We are very kind and a little cruel to our humourists. We crown them +with praise, we hold them to our hearts, we pay them any price they +ask for their wares; but we insist upon their being funny all the +time. Once a humourist, always a humourist, is our way of thinking; +and we resent even a saving lapse into seriousness on the part of +those who have had the good or the ill fortune to make us laugh.</p> + +<p>England is equally obdurate in this regard. Her love of laughter has +been consecrated by Oxford,—Oxford, the dignified refuge of English +scholarship, which passed by a score of American scholars to bestow +her honours on our great American joker. And because of this love +of laughter, so desperate in a serious nation, English jesters have +enjoyed the uneasy privileges of a court fool. Look at poor Hood. +What he really loved was to wallow in the pathetic,—to write such +harrowing verses as the "Bridge of Sighs," and the "Song of the Shirt" +(which achieved the rare distinction of being printed—like the +"Beggar's Petition"—on cotton handkerchiefs), and the "Lady's +Dream." Every time he broke from his traces, he plunged into these +morasses of melancholy; but he was always pulled out again, and +reharnessed to his jokes. He would have liked to be funny +occasionally and spontaneously, and it was the will of his master, +the public, that he should be funny all the time, or starve. Lord +Chesterfield wisely said that a man should live within his wit as +well as within his income; but if Hood had lived within his wit—which +might then have possessed a vital and lasting quality—he would have +had no income. His rôle in life was like that of a dancing bear, which +is held to commit a solecism every time it settles wearily down on +the four legs nature gave it.</p> + +<p>The same tyrannous demand hounded Mr. Eugene Field along his +joke-strewn path. Chicago, struggling with vast and difficult +problems, felt the need of laughter, and required of Mr. Field that +he should make her laugh. He accepted the responsibility, and, as +a reward, his memory is hallowed in the city he loved and derided. +New York echoes this sentiment (New York echoes more than she +proclaims; she confirms rather than initiates); and when Mr. Francis +Wilson wrote some years ago a charming and enthusiastic paper for +the "Century Magazine," he claimed that Mr. Field was so great a +humourist as to be—what all great humourists are,—a moralist as +well. But he had little to quote which could be received as evidence +in a court of criticism; and many of the paragraphs which he deemed +it worth while to reprint were melancholy instances of that jaded +wit, that exhausted vitality, which in no wise represented Mr. +Field's mirth-loving spirit, but only the things which were ground +out of him when he was not in a mirthful mood.</p> + +<p>The truth is that humour as a lucrative profession is a purely modern +device, and one which is much to be deplored. The older humourists +knew the value of light and shade. Their fun was precious in +proportion to its parsimony. The essence of humour is that it should +be unexpected, that it should embody an element of surprise, that +it should startle us out of that reasonable gravity which, after all, +must be our habitual frame of mind. But the professional humourist +cannot afford to be unexpected. The exigencies of his vocation compel +him to be relentlessly droll from his first page to his last, and +this accumulated drollery weighs like lead. Compared to it, sermons +are as thistle-down, and political economy is gay.</p> + +<p>It is hard to estimate the value of humour as a national trait. Life +has its appropriate levities, its comedy side. We cannot "see it +clearly and see it whole," without recognizing a great many +absurdities which ought to be laughed at, a great deal of nonsense +which is a fair target for ridicule. The heaviest charge brought +against American humour is that it never keeps its target well in +view. We laugh, but we are not purged by laughter of our follies; +we jest, but our jests are apt to have a kitten's sportive +irresponsibility. The lawyer offers a witticism in place of an +argument, the diner-out tells an amusing story in lieu of +conversation. Even the clergyman does not disdain a joke, heedless +of Dr. Johnson's warning which should save him from that pitfall. +Smartness furnishes sufficient excuse for the impertinence of +children, and with purposeless satire the daily papers deride the +highest dignitaries of the land.</p> + +<p>Yet while always to be reckoned with in life and letters, American +humour is not a powerful and consistent factor either for destruction +or for reform. It lacks, for the most part, a logical basis, and the +dignity of a supreme aim. Molière's humour amounted to a philosophy +of life. He was wont to say that it was a difficult task to make +gentlefolk laugh; but he succeeded in making them laugh at that which +was laughable in themselves. He aimed his shafts at the fallacies +and the duplicities which his countrymen ardently cherished, and he +scorned the cheaper wit which contents itself with mocking at idols +already discredited. As a result, he purged society, not of the +follies that consumed it, but of the illusion that these follies were +noble, graceful, and wise. "We do not plough or sow for fools," says +a Russian proverb, "they grow of themselves"; but humour has +accomplished a mighty work if it helps us to see that a fool is a +fool, and not a prophet in the market-place. And if the man in the +market-place chances to be a prophet, his message is safe from +assault. No laughter can silence him, no ridicule weaken his words.</p> + +<p>Carlyle's grim humour was also drilled into efficacy. He used it in +orderly fashion; he gave it force by a stern principle of repression. +He had (what wise man has not?) an honest respect for dulness, knowing +that a strong and free people argues best—as Mr. Bagehot puts +it—"in platoons." He had some measure of mercy for folly. But +against the whole complicated business of pretence, against the +pious, and respectable, and patriotic hypocrisies of a successful +civilization, he hurled his taunts with such true aim that it is not +too much to say there has been less real comfort and safety in lying +ever since.</p> + +<p>These are victories worth recording, and there is a big battlefield +for American humour when it finds itself ready for the fray, when +it leaves off firing squibs, and settles down to a compelling +cannonade, when it aims less at the superficial incongruities of life, +and more at the deep-rooted delusions which rob us of fair fame. It +has done its best work in the field of political satire, where the +"Biglow Papers" hit hard in their day, where Nast's cartoons helped +to overthrow the Tweed dynasty, and where the indolent and luminous +genius of Mr. Dooley has widened our mental horizon. Mr. Dooley is +a philosopher, but his is the philosophy of the looker-on, of that +genuine unconcern which finds Saint George and the dragon to be both +a trifle ridiculous. He is always undisturbed, always illuminating, +and not infrequently amusing; but he anticipates the smiling +indifference with which those who come after us will look back upon +our enthusiasms and absurdities. Humour, as he sees it, is that +thrice blessed quality which enables us to laugh, when otherwise we +should be in danger of weeping. "We are ridiculous animals," observes +Horace Walpole unsympathetically, "and if angels have any fun in +their hearts, how we must divert them."</p> + +<p>It is this clear-sighted, non-combative humour which Americans love +and prize, and the absence of which they reckon a heavy loss. Nor +do they always ask, "a loss to whom?" Charles Lamb said it was no +misfortune for a man to have a sulky temper. It was his friends who +were unfortunate. And so with the man who has no sense of humour. +He gets along very well without it. He is not aware that anything +is lacking. He is not mourning his lot. What loss there is, his +friends and neighbours bear. A man destitute of humour is apt to be +a formidable person, not subject to sudden deviations from his chosen +path, and incapable of frittering away his elementary forces by +pottering over both sides of a question. He is often to be respected, +sometimes to be feared, and always—if possible—to be avoided. His +are the qualities which distance enables us to recognize and value +at their worth. He fills his place in the scheme of creation; but +it is for us to see that his place is not next to ours at table, where +his unresponsiveness narrows the conversational area, and dulls the +contagious ardour of speech. He may add to the wisdom of the ages, +but he lessens the gayety of life.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Goodness">Goodness and Gayety</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"Can surly Virtue hope to find a friend?"—<big>D</big>R. <big>J</big>OHNSON. +</blockquote> +<br> +<p>Sir Leslie Stephen has recorded his conviction that a sense of humour, +being irreconcilable with some of the cardinal virtues, is lacking +in most good men. Father Faber asserted, on the contrary, that a sense +of humour is a great help in the religious life, and emphasized this +somewhat unusual point of view with the decisive statement: "Perhaps +nature does not contribute a greater help to grace than this."</p> + +<p>Here are conflicting verdicts to be well considered. Sir Leslie +Stephen knew more about humour than did Father Faber; Father Faber +knew more about "grace" than did Sir Leslie Stephen; and both +disputants were widely acquainted with their fellow men. Sir Leslie +Stephen had a pretty wit of his own, but it may have lacked the +qualities which make for holiness. There was in it the element of +denial. He seldom entered the shrine where we worship our ideals in +secret. He stood outside, remarks Mr. Birrell cheerily, "with a pail +of cold water." Father Faber also possessed a vein of irony which +was the outcome of a priestly experience with the cherished foibles +of the world. He entered unbidden into the shrine where we worship +our illusions in secret, and chilled us with unwelcome truths. I know +of no harder experience than this. It takes time and trouble to +persuade ourselves that the things we want to do are the things we +ought to do. We balance our spiritual accounts with care. We insert +glib phrases about duty into all our reckonings. There is nothing, +or next to nothing, which cannot, if adroitly catalogued, be +considered a duty; and it is this delicate mental adjustment which +is disturbed by Father Faber's ridicule. "Self-deceit," he +caustically observes, "seems to thrive on prayer, and to grow fat +on contemplation."</p> + +<p>If a sense of humour forces us to be candid with ourselves, then it +can be reconciled, not only with the cardinal virtues—which are but +a chilly quartette—but with the flaming charities which have +consumed the souls of saints. The true humourist, objects Sir Leslie +Stephen, sees the world as a tragi-comedy, a Vanity Fair, in which +enthusiasm is out of place. But if the true humourist also sees +himself presiding, in the sacred name of duty, over a booth in Vanity +Fair, he may yet reach perfection. What Father Faber opposed so +strenuously were, not the vanities of the profane, of the openly and +cheerfully unregenerate; but the vanities of a devout and +fashionable congregation, making especial terms—by virtue of its +exalted station—with Providence. These were the people whom he +regarded all his priestly life with whimsical dismay. "Their +voluntary social arrangements," he wrote in "Spiritual +Conferences," "are the tyranny of circumstance, claiming our +tenderest pity, and to be managed like the work of a Xavier, or a +Vincent of Paul, which hardly left the saints time to pray. Their +sheer worldliness is to be considered as an interior trial, with all +manner of cloudy grand things to be said about it. They must avoid +uneasiness, for such great graces as theirs can grow only in calmness +and tranquillity."</p> + +<p>This is irony rather than humour, but it implies a capacity to see +the tragi-comedy of the world, without necessarily losing the power +of enthusiasm. It also explains why Father Faber regarded an honest +sense of the ridiculous as a help to goodness. The man or woman who +is impervious to the absurd cannot well be stripped of self-delusion. +For him, for her, there is no shaft which wounds. The admirable advice +of Thomas à Kempis to keep away from people whom we desire to please, +and the quiet perfection of his warning to the censorious, "In +judging others, a man toileth in vain; for the most part he is +mistaken, and he easily sinneth; but in judging and scrutinizing +himself, he always laboureth with profit," can make their just appeal +only to the humorous sense. So, too, the counsel of Saint Francis +de Sales to the nuns who wanted to go barefooted, "Keep your shoes +and change your brains"; the cautious query of Pope Gregory the First, +concerning John the Faster, "Does he abstain even from the truth?" +Cardinal Newman's axiom, "It is never worth while to call whity-brown +white, for the sake of avoiding scandal"; and Father Faber's own +felicitous comment on religious "hedgers," "A moderation which +consists in taking immoderate liberties with God is hardly what the +Fathers of the Desert meant when they preached their crusade in +favour of discretion";—are all spoken to those hardy and humorous +souls who can bear to be honest with themselves.</p> + +<p>The ardent reformer, intolerant of the ordinary processes of life, +the ardent philanthropist, intolerant of an imperfect civilization, +the ardent zealot, intolerant of man's unspiritual nature, are +seldom disposed to gayety. A noble impatience of spirit inclines them +to anger or to sadness. John Wesley, reformer, philanthropist, +zealot, and surpassingly great in all three characters, strangled +within his own breast the simple desire to be gay. He was a young +man when he formed the resolution, "to labour after continual +seriousness, not willingly indulging myself in the least levity of +behaviour, or in laughter,—no, not for a moment"; and for more than +fifty years he kept—probably with no great difficulty—this stern +resolve. The mediæval saying, that laughter has sin for a father +and folly for a mother, would have meant to Wesley more than a figure +of speech. Nothing could rob him of a dry and bitter humour ("They +won't let me go to Bedlam," he wrote, "because they say I make the +inmates mad, nor into Newgate, because I make them wicked"); but +there was little in his creed or in the scenes of his labours to +promote cheerfulness of spirit.</p> + +<p>This disciplining of nature, honest, erring human nature, which +could, if permitted, make out a fair case for itself, is not an +essential element of the evangelist's code. In the hands of men less +great than Wesley, it has been known to nullify the work of a lifetime. +The Lincolnshire farmer who, after listening to a sermon on Hell, +said to his wife, "Noä, Sally, it woänt do. Noä constitootion could +stand it," expressed in his own fashion the healthy limit of +endurance. Our spiritual constitutions break under a pitiless strain. +When we read in the diary of Henry Alline, quoted by Dr. William James +in his "Varieties of Religious Experience," "On Wednesday the +twelfth I preached at a wedding, and had the happiness thereby to +be the means of excluding carnal mirth," we are not merely sorry for +the wedding guests, but beset by doubts as to their moral gain.</p> + +<p>Why should Henry Martyn, that fervent young missionary who gave his +life for his cause with the straight-forward simplicity of a soldier, +have regretted so bitterly an occasional lapse into good spirits? +He was inhumanly serious, and he prayed by night and day to be saved +from his "besetting sin" of levity. He was consumed by the flame of +religious zeal, and he bewailed at grievous length, in his diary, +his "light, worldly spirit." He toiled unrestingly, taking no heed +of his own physical weakness, and he asked himself (when he had a +minute to spare) what would become of his soul, should he be struck +dead in a "careless mood." We have Mr. Birrell's word for it that +once, in an old book about India, he came across an after-dinner jest +of Henry Martyn's; but the idea was so incongruous that the startled +essayist was disposed to doubt the evidence of his senses. "There +must have been a mistake somewhere."</p> + +<p>To such a man the world is not, and never can be, a tragi-comedy, +and laughter seems forever out of place. When a Madeira negress, a +good Christian after her benighted fashion, asked Martyn if the +English were ever baptized, he did not think the innocent question +funny, he thought it horrible. He found Saint Basil's writings +unsatisfactory, as lacking "evangelical truth"; and, could he have +heard this great doctor of the Church fling back a witticism in the +court of an angry magistrate, he would probably have felt more +doubtful than ever concerning the status of the early Fathers. It +is a relief to turn from the letters of Martyn, with their aloofness +from the cheerful currents of earth, to the letters of Bishop Heber, +who, albeit a missionary and a keen one, had always a laugh for the +absurdities which beset his wandering life. He could even tell with +relish the story of the drunken pedlar whom he met in Wales, and who +confided to him that, having sold all his wares, he was trying to +drink up the proceeds before he got home, lest his wife should take +the money away from him. Heber, using the argument which he felt would +be of most avail, tried to frighten the man into soberness by +picturing his wife's wrath; whereupon the adroit scamp replied that +he knew what <i>that</i> would be, and had taken the precaution to have +his hair cut short, so that she could not get a grip on it. Martyn +could no more have chuckled over this depravity than he could have +chuckled over the fallen angels; but Saint Teresa could have laughed +outright, her wonderful, merry, infectious laugh; and have then +proceeded to plead, to scold, to threaten, to persuade, until a +chastened and repentant pedlar, money in hand, and some dim +promptings to goodness tugging at his heart, would have tramped +bravely and soberly home.</p> + +<p>It is so much the custom to obliterate from religious memoirs all +vigorous human traits, all incidents which do not tend to edification, +and all contemporary criticism which cannot be smoothed into praise, +that what is left seems to the disheartened reader only a pale shadow +of life. It is hard to make any biography illustrate a theme, or prove +an argument; and the process by which such results are obtained is +so artificial as to be open to the charge of untruth. Because General +Havelock was a good Baptist as well as a good soldier, because he +expressed a belief in the efficacy of prayer (like Cromwell's "Trust +in God, and keep your powder dry "), and because he wrote to his wife, +when sent to the relief of Lucknow, "May God give me wisdom and +strength for the work!"—which, after all, was a natural enough thing +for any man to say,—he was made the subject of a memoir determinedly +and depressingly devout, in which his family letters were annotated +as though they were the epistles of Saint Paul. Yet this was the man +who, when Lucknow <i>was</i> relieved, behaved as if nothing out of the +ordinary had happened to besiegers or besieged. "He shook hands with +me," wrote Lady Inglis in her journal, "and observed that he feared +we had suffered a great deal." That was all. He might have said as +much had the little garrison been incommoded by a spell of unusual +heat, or by an epidemic of measles.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, piety is a by no means uncommon attribute of +soldiers, and there was no need on the part of the Reverend Mr. Brock, +who compiled these shadowy pages, to write as though General Havelock +had been a rare species of the genius military. We know that what +the English Puritans especially resented in Prince Rupert was his +insistence on regimental prayers. They could pardon his raids, his +breathless charges, his bewildering habit of appearing where he was +least expected or desired; but that he should usurp their own +especial prerogative of piety was more than they could bear. It is +probable that Rupert's own private petitions resembled the memorable +prayer offered by Sir Jacob Astley (a hardy old Cavalier who was both +devout and humorous) before the battle of Edgehill: "Oh, Lord, Thou +knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou +forget me. March on, boys!"</p> + +<p>If it were not for a few illuminating anecdotes, and the thrice +blessed custom of letter writing, we should never know what manner +of thing human goodness, exalted human goodness, is; and so acquiesce +ignorantly in Sir Leslie Stephen's judgment. The sinners of the world +stand out clear and distinct, full of vitality, and of an engaging +candour. The saints of Heaven shine dimly through a nebulous haze +of hagiology. They are embodiments of inaccessible virtues, as +remote from us and from our neighbours as if they had lived on another +planet. There is no more use in asking us to imitate these +incomprehensible creatures than there would be in asking us to climb +by easy stages to the moon. Without some common denominator, sinner +and saint are as aloof from each other as sinner and archangel. +Without some clue to the saint's spiritual identity, the record of +his labours and hardships, fasts, visions, and miracles, offers +nothing more helpful than bewilderment. We may be edified or we may +be sceptical, according to our temperament and training; but a +profound unconcern devitalizes both scepticism and edification. +What have we mortals in common with these perfected prodigies of +grace?</p> + +<p>It was Cardinal Newman who first entered a protest against "minced" +saints, against the pious and popular custom of chopping up human +records into lessons for the devout. He took exception to the +hagiological licence which assigns lofty motives to trivial actions. +"The saint from humility made no reply." "The saint was silent out +of compassion for the ignorance of the speaker." He invited us to +approach the Fathers of the Church in their unguarded moments, in +their ordinary avocations, in their moods of gayety and depression; +and, when we accepted the invitation, these figures, lofty and remote, +became imbued with life. It is one thing to know that Saint Chrysostom +retired at twenty-three to a monastery near Antioch, and there spent +six years in seclusion and study. It is another and more enlightening +thing to be made aware, through the medium of his own letters, that +he took this step with reasonable doubts and misgivings,—doubts +which extended to the freshness of the monastery bread, misgivings +which concerned themselves with the sweetness of the monastery oil. +And when we read these candid expressions of anxiety, Saint +Chrysostom, by virtue of his healthy young appetite, and his distaste +(which any poor sinner can share) for rancid oil, becomes a man and +a brother. It is yet more consoling to know that when well advanced +in sainthood, when old, austere, exiled, and suffering many +privations for conscience' sake, Chrysostom was still disposed to +be a trifle fastidious about his bread. He writes from Cæsarea to +Theodora that he has at last found clean water to drink, and bread +which can be chewed. "Moreover, I no longer wash myself in broken +crockery, but have contrived some sort of bath; also I have a bed +to which I can confine myself."</p> + +<p>If Saint Chrysostom possessed, according to Newman, a cheerful +temper, and "a sunniness of mind all his own," Saint Gregory of +Nazianzus was a fair humourist, and Saint Basil was a wit. "Pensive +playfulness" is Newman's phrase for Basil, but there was a speed +about his retorts which did not always savour of pensiveness. When +the furious governor of Pontus threatened to tear out his liver, +Basil, a confirmed invalid, replied suavely, "It is a kind intention. +My liver, as at present located, has given me nothing but +uneasiness."</p> + +<p>To Gregory, Basil was not only guide, philosopher, and friend; but +also a cherished target for his jests. It has been wisely said that +we cannot really love anybody at whom we never laugh. Gregory loved +Basil, revered him, and laughed at him. Does Basil complain, not +unnaturally, that Tiberina is cold, damp, and muddy, Gregory writes +to him unsympathetically that he is a "clean-footed, tip-toeing, +capering man." Does Basil promise a visit, Gregory sends word to +Amphilochus that he must have some fine pot-herbs, "lest Basil should +be hungry and cross." Does Gregory visit Basil in his solitude at +Pontus, he expresses in no measured terms his sense of the discomfort +he endures. It would be hard to find, in all the annals of +correspondence, a letter written with a more laudable and +well-defined intention of teasing its recipient, than the one +dispatched to Basil by Gregory after he has made good his escape from +the austerities of his friend's housekeeping.</p> + +<p>"I have remembrance of the bread and of the broth,—so they were +named,—and shall remember them; how my teeth stuck in your hunches, +and lifted and heaved themselves as out of paste. You, indeed, will +set it out in tragic style, taking a sublime tone from your own +sufferings; but for me, unless that true Lady Bountiful, your mother, +had rescued me quickly, showing herself in my need like a haven to +the tempest-tossed, I had been dead long ago, getting myself little +honour, though much pity, from Pontic hospitality."</p> + +<p>This is not precisely the tone in which the lives of the saints (of +any saints of any creeds) are written. Therefore is it better to read +what the saints say for themselves than what has been said about them. +This is not precisely the point of view which is presented unctuously +for our consideration, yet it makes all other points of view +intelligible. It is contrary to human nature to court privations. +We know that the saints did court them, and valued them as avenues +to grace. It is in accord with human nature to meet privations +cheerfully, and with a whimsical sense of discomfiture. When we hear +the echo of a saint's laughter ringing down the centuries, we have +a clue to his identity; not to his whole and heroic self, but to that +portion of him which we can best understand, and with which we claim +some humble brotherhood. We ourselves are not hunting assiduously +for hardships; but which one of us has not summoned up courage enough +to laugh in the face of disaster?</p> + +<p>There is no reading less conducive to good spirits than the recitals +of missionaries, or than such pitiless records as those compiled by +Dr. Thomas William Marshall in his two portly volumes on "Christian +Missions." The heathen, as portrayed by Dr. Marshall, do not in the +least resemble the heathen made familiar to us by the hymns and tracts +of our infancy. So far from calling on us to deliver their land "from +error's chain," they mete out prompt and cruel death to their +deliverers. So far from thirsting for Gospel truths, they thirst for +the blood of the intruders. This is frankly discouraging, and we +could never read so many pages of disagreeable happenings, were it +not for the gayety of the letters which Dr. Marshall quotes, and which +deal less in heroics than in pleasantries. Such men as Bishop Berneux, +the Abbé Rétord, and Father Féron, missionaries in Cochin-China and +Corea, all possessed that protective sense of humour which kept up +their spirits and their enthusiasms. Father Féron, for example, +hidden away in the "Valley of the Pines," six hundred miles from +safety, writes to his sister in the autumn of 1858:—</p> + +<p>"I am lodged in one of the finest houses in the village, that of the +catechist, an opulent man. It is considered to be worth a pound +sterling. Do not laugh; there are some of the value of eightpence. +My room has a sheet of paper for a door, the rain filters through +my grass-covered roof as fast as it falls outside, and two large +kettles barely suffice to receive it. ... The Prophet Elisha, at the +house of the Shunamite, had for furniture a bed, a table, a chair, +and a candlestick,—four pieces in all. No superfluity there. Now +if I search well, I can also find four articles in my room; a wooden +candlestick, a trunk, a pair of shoes, and a pipe. Bed none, chairs +none, table none. Am I, then, richer or poorer than the Prophet? It +is not an easy question to answer, for, granting that his quarters +were more comfortable than mine, yet none of the things belonged to +him; while in my case, although the candlestick is borrowed from the +chapel, and the trunk from Monseigneur Berneux, the shoes (worn only +when I say Mass) and the pipe are my very own."</p> + +<p>Surely if one chanced to be the sister of a missionary in Corea, and +apprehensive, with good cause, of his personal safety, this is the +kind of a letter one would be glad to receive. The comfort of finding +one's brother disinclined to take what Saint Gregory calls "a sublime +tone" would tend—illogically, I own,—to ease the burden of anxiety. +Even the remote reader, sick of discouraging details, experiences +a renewal of confidence, and all because Father Féron's good humour +is of the common kind which we can best understand, and with which +it befits every one of us to meet the vicissitudes of life.</p> + +<p>I have said that the ardent reformer is seldom gay. Small wonder, +when his eyes are turned upon the dark places of earth, and his whole +strength is consumed in combat. Yet Saint Teresa, the most +redoubtable reformer of her day, was gay. No other word expresses +the quality of her gladness. She was not only spiritually serene, +she was humanly gay, and this in the face of acute ill-health, and +many profound discouragements. We have the evidence of all her +contemporaries,—friends, nuns, patrons, and confessors; and we +have the far more enduring testimony of her letters, in proof of this +mirthfulness of spirit, which won its way into hearts, and lightened +the austerities of her rule. "A very cheerful and gentle disposition, +an excellent temper, and absolutely void of melancholy," wrote +Ribera. "So merry that when she laughed, every one laughed with her, +but very grave when she was serious."</p> + +<p>There is a strain of humour, a delicate and somewhat biting wit in +the correspondence of Saint Teresa, and in her admonitions to her +nuns. There is also an inspired common sense which we hardly expect +to find in the writings of a religious and a mystic. But Teresa was +not withdrawn from the world. She travelled incessantly from one end +of Spain to the other, establishing new foundations, visiting her +convents, and dealing with all classes of men, from the soldier to +the priest, from the prince to the peasant. The severity of her +discipline was tempered by a tolerant and half-amused insight into +the pardonable foibles of humanity. She held back her nuns with one +hand from "the frenzy of self-mortification," which is the mainstay +of spiritual vanity, and with the other hand from a too solicitous +regard for their own comfort and convenience. They were not to +consider that the fear of a headache,—a non-existent headache +threatening the future—was sufficient excuse for absenting +themselves from choir; and, if they were too ailing to practise any +other austerities, the rule of silence, she reminded them, could do +the feeblest no harm. "Do not contend wordily over matters of no +consequence," was her counsel of perfection. "Fly a thousand leagues +from such observations as 'You see I was right,' or 'They did me an +injustice.'"</p> + +<p>Small wonder that peace reigned among the discalced Carmelites so +long as Teresa ruled. Practical and fearless (save when a lizard ran +up her sleeve, on which occasion she confesses she nearly "died of +fright,") her much-sought advice was always on the side of reason. +Asceticism she prized; dirt she abhorred. "For the love of Heaven," +she wrote to the Provincial, Gratian, then occupied with his first +foundation of discalced friars, "let your fraternity be careful that +they have clean beds and tablecloths, even though it be more +expensive, for it is a terrible thing not to be cleanly." No +persuasion could induce her to retain a novice whom she believed to +be unfitted for her rule:—"We women are not so easy to know," was +her scornful reply to the Jesuit, Olea, who held his judgment in such +matters to be infallible; but nevertheless her practical soul +yearned over a well-dowered nun. When an "excellent novice" with a +fortune of six thousand ducats presented herself at the gates of the +poverty-stricken convent in Seville, Teresa, then in Avila, was +consumed with anxiety lest such an acquisition should, through some +blunder, be lost. "For the love of God," wrote the wise old saint +to the prioress in Seville, "if she enters, bear with a few defects, +for well does she deserve it."</p> + +<p>This is not the type of anecdote which looms large in the volumes +of "minced saints" prepared for pious readers, and its absence has +accustomed us to dissever humour from sanctity. But a candid soul +is, as a rule, a humorous soul, awake to the tragi-comic aspect of +life, and immaculately free from self-deception. And to such souls, +cast like Teresa's in heroic mould, comes the perception of great +moral truths, together with the sturdy strength which supports +enthusiasm in the face of human disabilities. They are the +lantern-bearers of every age, of every race, of every creed, <i>les +âmes bien nées</i> whom it behooves us to approach fearlessly out of +the darkness, for so only can we hope to understand.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Nervous">The Nervous Strain</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"Which fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this +night."—<big>M</big>RS. <big>G</big>AMP.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>Anna Robeson Burr, in her scholarly analysis of the world's great +autobiographies, has found occasion to compare the sufferings of the +American woman under the average conditions of life with the +endurance of the woman who, three hundred years ago, confronted dire +vicissitudes with something closely akin to insensibility. +"To-day," says Mrs. Burr, "a child's illness, an over-gay season, +the loss of an investment, a family jar,—these are accepted as +sufficient cause for over-strained nerves and temporary retirement +to a sanitarium. <i>Then</i>, war, rapine, fire, sword, prolonged and +mortal peril, were considered as furnishing no excuse to men or women +for altering the habits, or slackening the energies, of their daily +existence."</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Isabella d' Este witnessed the sacking of Rome +without so much as thinking of nervous prostration. This was nearly +four hundred years ago, but it is the high-water mark of feminine +fortitude. To live through such days and nights of horror, and emerge +therefrom with unimpaired vitality, and unquenched love for a +beautiful and dangerous world, is to rob the words "shock" and +"strain" of all dignity and meaning. To resume at once the +interrupted duties and pleasures of life was, for the Marchioness +of Mantua, obligatory; but none the less we marvel that she could +play her rôle so well.</p> + +<p>A hundred and thirty years later, Sir Ralph Verney, an exiled +royalist, sent his young wife back to England to petition Parliament +for the restoration of his sequestrated estates. Lady Verney's path +was beset by difficulties and dangers. She had few friends and many +enemies, little money and cruel cares. She was, it is needless to +state, pregnant when she left France, and paused in her work long +enough to bear her husband "a lusty boy"; after which Sir Ralph writes +that he fears she is neglecting her guitar, and urges her to practise +some new music before she returns to the Continent.</p> + +<p>Such pages of history make tonic reading for comfortable ladies who, +in their comfortable homes, are bidden by their comfortable doctors +to avoid the strain of anything and everything which makes the game +of life worth living. It is our wont to think of our +great-great-great-grandmothers as spending their days in +undisturbed tranquillity. We take imaginary naps in their quiet +rooms, envying the serenity of an existence unvexed by telegrams, +telephones, clubs, lectures, committee-meetings, suffrage +demonstrations, and societies for harrying our neighbours. How sweet +and still those spacious rooms must have been! What was the remote +tinkling of a harp, compared to pianolas, and phonographs, and all +the infernal contrivances of science for producing and perpetuating +noise? What was a fear of ghosts compared to a knowledge of germs? +What was repeated child-bearing, or occasional smallpox, compared +to the "over-pressure" upon "delicate organisms," which is making +the fortunes of doctors to-day?</p> + +<p>So we argue. Yet in good truth our ancestors had their share of +pressure, and more than their share of ill-health. The stomach was +the same ungrateful and rebellious organ then that it is now. Nature +was the same strict accountant then that she is now, and balanced +her debit and credit columns with the same relentless accuracy. The +"liver" of the last century has become, we are told, the "nerves" +of to-day; which transmigration should be a bond of sympathy between +the new woman and that unchangeable article, man. We have warmer +spirits and a higher vitality than our home-keeping +great-grandmothers ever had. We are seldom hysterical, and we never +faint. If we are gay, our gayeties involve less exposure and fatigue. +If we are serious-minded, our attitude towards our own errors is one +of unaffected leniency. That active, lively, all-embracing +assurance of eternal damnation, which was part of John Wesley's +vigorous creed, might have broken down the nervous system of a +mollusk. The modern nurse, jealously guarding her patient from all +but the neutralities of life, may be pleased to know that when Wesley +made his memorable voyage to Savannah, a young woman on board the +ship gave birth to her first child; and Wesley's journal is full of +deep concern, because the other women about her failed to improve +the occasion by exhorting the poor tormented creature "to fear Him +who is able to inflict sharper pains than these."</p> + +<p>As for the industrious idleness which is held to blame for the +wrecking of our nervous systems, it was not unknown to an earlier +generation. Madame Le Brun assures us that, in her youth, +pleasure-loving people would leave Brussels early in the morning, +travel all day to Paris, to hear the opera, and travel all night home. +"That," she observes,—as well she may,—"was considered being fond +of the opera." A paragraph in one of Horace Walpole's letters gives +us the record of a day and a night in the life of an English +lady,—sixteen hours of "strain" which would put New York to the +blush. "I heard the Duchess of Gordon's journal of last Monday," he +writes to Miss Berry in the spring of 1791. "She first went to hear +Handel's music in the Abbey; she then clambered over the benches, +and went to Hastings's trial in the Hall; after dinner, to the play; +then to Lady Lucan's assembly; after that to Ranelagh, and returned +to Mrs. Hobart's faro-table; gave a ball herself in the evening of +that morning, into which she must have got a good way; and set out +for Scotland the next day. Hercules could not have accomplished a +quarter of her labours in the same space of time."</p> + +<p>Human happiness was not to this gay Gordon a "painless languor"; and +if she failed to have nervous prostration—under another name—she +was cheated of her dues. Wear-and-tear plus luxury is said to break +down the human system more rapidly than wear-and-tear plus want; but +perhaps wear-and-tear plus pensive self-consideration is the most +destructive agent of all. "Après tout, c'est un monde passable"; and +the Duchess of Gordon was too busy acquainting herself with this fact +to count the costs, or even pay the penalty.</p> + +<p>One thing is sure,—we cannot live in the world without vexation and +without fatigue. We are bidden to avoid both, just as we are bidden +to avoid an injudicious meal, a restless night, a close and crowded +room, an uncomfortable sensation of any kind,—as if these things +were not the small coin of existence. An American doctor who was +delicately swathing his nervous patient in cotton wool, explained +that, as part of the process, she must be secluded from everything +unpleasant. No disturbing news must be told her. No needless +contradiction must be offered her. No disagreeable word must be +spoken to her. "But doctor," said the lady, who had long before +retired with her nerves from all lively contact with realities, "who +is there that would dream of saying anything disagreeable to me?" +"Madam," retorted the physician, irritated for once into +unprofessional candour, "have you then no family?"</p> + +<p>There <i>is</i> a bracing quality about family criticism, if we are strong +enough to bear its veracities. What makes it so useful is that it +recognizes existing conditions. All the well-meant wisdom of the +"Don't Worry" books is based upon immunity from common sensations +and from everyday experience. We must—unless we are insensate—take +our share of worry along with our share of mishaps. All the kindly +counsellors who, in scientific journals, entreat us to keep on tap +"a vivid hope, a cheerful resolve, an absorbing interest," by way +of nerve-tonic, forget that these remedies do not grow under glass. +They are hardy plants, springing naturally in eager and animated +natures. Artificial remedies might be efficacious in an artificial +world. In a real world, the best we can do is to meet the plagues +of life as Dick Turpin met the hangman's noose, "with manly +resignation, though with considerable disgust." Moreover, +disagreeable things are often very stimulating. A visit to some +beautiful little rural almshouses in England convinced me that what +kept the old inmates alert and in love with life was, not the charm +of their bright-coloured gardens, nor the comfort of their cottage +hearths, but the vital jealousies and animosities which pricked +their sluggish blood to tingling.</p> + +<p>There are prophets who predict the downfall of the human race through +undue mental development, who foresee us (flatteringly, I must say) +winding up the world's history in a kind of intellectual apotheosis. +They write distressing pages about the strain of study in schools, +the strain of examinations, the strain of competition, the strain +of night-work, when children ought to be in bed, the strain of +day-work, when they ought to be at play. An article on "Nerves and +Over-Pressure" in the "Dublin Review" conveys the impression that +little boys and girls are dangerously absorbed in their lessons, and +draws a fearful picture of these poor innocents literally "grinding +from babyhood." It is over-study (an evil from which our remote +ancestors were wholly and happily exempt) which lays, so we are told, +the foundation of all our nervous disorders. It is this wasting +ambition which exhausts the spring of childhood and the vitality of +youth.</p> + +<p>There must be some foundation for fears so often expressed; though +when we look at the blooming boys and girls of our acquaintance, with +their placid ignorance and their love of fun, their glory in +athletics and their transparent contempt for learning, it is hard +to believe that they are breaking down their constitutions by study. +Nor is it possible to acquire even the most modest substitute for +education without some effort. The carefully fostered theory that +school-work can be made easy and enjoyable breaks down as soon as +anything, however trivial, has to be learned.</p> + +<p>Life is a real thing in the school-room and in the nursery; and +children—left to their own devices—accept it with wonderful +courage and sagacity. If we allow to their souls some noble and free +expansion, they may be trusted to divert themselves from that fretful +self-consciousness which the nurse calls naughtiness, and the doctor, +nerves. A little wholesome neglect, a little discipline, plenty of +play, and a fair chance to be glad and sorry as the hours swing +by,—these things are not too much to grant to childhood. That +careful coddling which deprives a child of all delicate and strong +emotions lest it be saddened, or excited, or alarmed, leaves it +dangerously soft of fibre. Coleridge, an unhappy little lad at school, +was lifted out of his own troubles by an acquaintance with the heroic +sorrows of the world. There is no page of history, however dark, there +is no beautiful old tale, however tragic, which does not impart some +strength and some distinction to the awakening mind. It is possible +to overrate the superlative merits of insipidity as a mental and +moral force in the development of youth.</p> + +<p>There are people who surrender themselves without reserve to +needless activities, who have a real affection for telephones, and +district messengers, and the importunities of their daily mail. If +they are women, they put special delivery stamps on letters which +would lose nothing by a month's delay. If they are men, they exult +in the thought that they can be reached by wireless telegraphy on +mid-ocean. We are apt to think of these men and women as painful +products of our own time and of our own land; but they have probably +existed since the building of the Tower of Babel,—a nerve-racking +piece of work which gave peculiar scope to strenuous and impotent +energies.</p> + +<p>A woman whose every action is hurried, whose every hour is open to +disturbance, whose every breath is drawn with superfluous emphasis, +will talk about the nervous strain under which she is living, as +though dining out and paying the cook's wages were the things which +are breaking her down. The remedy proposed for such "strain" is +withdrawal from the healthy buffetings of life,—not for three days, +as Burke withdrew in order that he might read "Evelina," and be rested +and refreshed thereby; but long enough to permit of the notion that +immunity from buffetings is a possible condition of existence,—of +all errors, the most irretrievable.</p> + +<p>It has been many centuries since Marcus Aurelius observed the fretful +disquiet of Rome, which must have been strikingly like our fretful +disquiet to-day, and proffered counsel, unheeded then as now: "Take +pleasure in one thing and rest in it, passing from one social act +to another, thinking of God."</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Girl">The Girl Graduate</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"When I find learning and wisdom united in one person, I do not wait +to consider the sex; I bend in admiration."—<big>L</big>A <big>B</big>RUYÈRE.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>We shall never know, though we shall always wonder, why certain +phrases, carelessly flung to us by poet or by orator, should be +endowed with regrettable vitality. When Tennnyson wrote that mocking +line about "sweet girl graduates in their golden hair," he could +hardly have surmised that it would be quoted exuberantly year after +weary year, or that with each successive June it would reappear as +the inspiration of flowery editorials, and of pictures, monotonously +amorous, in our illustrated journals. Perhaps in view of the serious +statistics which have for some time past girdled the woman student, +statistics dealing exhaustively with her honours, her illnesses, her +somewhat nebulous achievements, and the size of her infant families, +it is as well to realize that the big, unlettered, easy-going world +regards her still from the standpoint of golden hair, and of the +undying charm of immaturity.</p> + +<p>In justice to the girl graduate, it must be said that she takes +herself simply and sanely. It is not her fault that statisticians +note down every breath she draws; and many of their most heartrending +allegations have passed into college jokes, traditional jokes, fated +to descend from senior to freshman for happy years to come. The +student learns in the give-and-take of communal life to laugh at many +things, partly from sheer high spirits, partly from youthful +cynicism, and the habit of sharpening her wit against her neighbour's. +It is commonly believed that she is an unduly serious young person +with an insatiable craving for knowledge; in reality she is often +as healthily unresponsive as is her Yale or Harvard brother. If she +cannot yet weave her modest acquirements into the tissue of her life +as unconcernedly as her brother does, it is not because she has been +educated beyond her mental capacity: it is because social conditions +are not for her as inevitable as they are for him.</p> + +<p>Things were simpler in the old days, when college meant for a woman +the special training needed for a career; when, battling often with +poverty, she made every sacrifice for the education which would give +her work a market value; and when all she asked in return was the +dignity of self-support. Now many girls, unspurred by necessity or +by ambition, enter college because they are keen for personal and +intellectual freedom, because they desire the activities and the +pleasures which college generously gives. They bring with them some +traditions of scholarship, and some knowledge of the world, with a +corresponding elasticity of judgment. They may or may not be good +students, but their influence makes for serenity and balance. Their +four years' course lacks, however, a definite goal. It is a training +for life, as is the four years' course of their Yale or Harvard +brothers, but with this difference,—the college woman's life is +still open to adjustment.</p> + +<p>Often it adjusts itself along time-honoured lines, and with +time-honoured results. In this happy event, some mystic figures are +recalculated in scientific journals, the graduate's babies are added +to the fractional birth-rate accredited to the college woman, her +family and friends consider that, individually, she has settled the +whole vexed question of education and domesticity, and the world, +enamoured always of the traditional type of femininity, goes on its +way rejoicing. If, however, the graduate evinces no inclination for +social and domestic delights, if she longs to do some definite work, +to breathe the breath of man's activities, and to guide herself, as +a man must do, through the intricate mazes of life, it is the part +of justice and of wisdom to let her try. Nothing steadies the restless +soul like work,—real work which has an economic value, and is +measured by the standards of the world. The college woman has been +trained to independence of thought, and to a wide reasonableness of +outlook. She has also received some equipment in the way of +knowledge; not more, perhaps, than could be easily absorbed in the +ordinary routine of life, but enough to give her a fair start in +whatever field of industry she enters. If she develops into +efficiency, if she makes good her hold upon work, she silences her +critics. If she fails, and can, in Stevenson's noble words, "take +honourable defeat to be a form of victory," she has not wasted her +endeavours.</p> + +<p>It is strange that the advantages of a college course for +girls—advantages solid and reckonable—should be still so sharply +questioned by men and women of the world. It is stranger still that +its earnest advocates should claim for it in a special manner the +few merits it does not possess. When President David Starr Jordan, +of Leland Stanford University, tells us that "it is hardly necessary +among intelligent men and women to argue that a good woman is a better +one for having received a college education; anything short of this +is inadequate for the demands of modern life and modern culture"; +we can only echo the words of the wise cat in Mr. Froude's "Cat's +Pilgrimage," "There may be truth in what you say, but your view is +limited."</p> + +<p>Goodness, indeed, is not a matter easily opened to discussion. Who +can pigeonhole goodness, or assign it a locality? But culture (if +by the word we mean that common understanding of the world's best +traditions which enables us to meet one another with mental ease) +is not the fair fruit of a college education. It is primarily a matter +of inheritance, of lifelong surroundings, of temperament, of +delicacy of taste, of early and vivid impressions. It is often found +in college, but it is not a collegiate product. The steady and +absorbing work demanded of a student who is seeking a degree, +precludes wide wanderings "in the realms of gold." If, in her four +years of study, she has gained some solid knowledge of one or two +subjects, with a power of approach in other directions, she has done +well, and justified the wisdom of the group system, which makes for +intellectual discipline and real attainments.</p> + +<p>In households where there is little education, the college daughter +is reverenced for what she knows,—for her Latin, her mathematics, +her biology. What she does not know, being also unknown to her family, +causes no dismay. In households where the standard of cultivation +is high, the college daughter is made the subject of good-humoured +ridicule, because she lacks the general information of her +sisters,—because she has never heard of Abelard and Héloïse, of +Graham of Claverhouse, of "The Beggars' Opera." Nobody expects the +college son to know these things, or is in the least surprised when +he does not; but the college daughter is supposed to be the repository +of universal erudition. Every now and then somebody rushes into print +with indignant illustrations of her ignorance, as though ignorance +were not the one common possession of mankind. Those of us who are +not undergoing examinations are not driven to reveal it,—a +comfortable circumstance, which need not, however, make us +unreasonably proud.</p> + +<p>Therefore, when we are told of sophomores who place Shakespeare in +the twelfth, and Dickens in the seventeenth century, who are under +the impression that "Don Quixote" flowed from the fertile pen of Mr. +Marion Crawford, and who are not aware that a gentleman named James +Boswell wrote a most entertaining life of another gentleman named +Samuel Johnson, we need not lift up horror-stricken hands to Heaven, +but call to mind how many other things there are in this world to +know. That a girl student should mistake "<i>Launcelot Gobbo</i>" for King +Arthur's knight is not a matter of surprise to one who remembers how +three young men, graduates of the oldest and proudest colleges in +the land, placidly confessed ignorance of "<i>Petruchio</i>." +Shakespeare, after all, belongs to "the realms of gold." The higher +education, as now understood, permits the student to escape him, and +to escape the Bible as well. As a consequence of these exemptions, +a bachelor of arts may be, and often is, unable to meet his +intellectual equals with mental ease. Allusions that have passed +into the common vocabulary of cultivated men and women have no +meaning for him. Does not Mr. Andrew Lang tell us of an Oxford student +who wanted to know what people meant when they said "hankering after +the flesh-pots of Egypt"; and has not the present writer been asked +by a Harvard graduate if she could remember a Joseph, "somewhere" +in the Old Testament, who was "decoyed into Egypt by a coat of many +colours"?</p> + +<p>To measure <i>any</i> form of schooling by its direct results is to narrow +a wide issue to insignificance. The by-products of education are the +things which count. It has been said by an admirable educator that +the direct results obtained from Eton and Rugby are a few copies of +indifferent Latin verse; the by-products are the young men who run +the Indian Empire. We may be startled for a moment by discovering +a student of political economy to be wholly and happily ignorant of +Mr. Lloyd-George's "Budget," the most vivid object-lesson of our +day; but how many Americans who talked about the budget, and had +impassioned views on the subject, knew what it really contained? If +the student's intelligence is so trained that she has some adequate +grasp of economics, if she has been lifted once and forever out of +the Robin Hood school of political economy, which is so dear to a +woman's generous heart, it matters little how early or how late she +becomes acquainted with the history of her own time. "Depend upon +it," said the wise Dr. Johnson, whom undergraduates are sometimes +wont to slight, "no woman was ever the worse for sense and knowledge." +It was his habit to rest a superstructure on foundations.</p> + +<p>The college graduate is far more immature than her characteristic +self-reliance leads us to suppose. By her side, the girl who has left +school at eighteen, and has lived four years in the world, is weighted +with experience. The extension of youth is surely as great a boon +to women as to men. There is time enough ahead of all of us in which +to grow old and circumspect. For four years the student's interests +have been keen and concentrated, the healthy, limited interests of +a community. For four years her pleasures have been simple and sane. +For four years her ambitions, like the ambitions of her college +brother, have been as deeply concerned with athletics as with +text-books. She has had a better chance for physical development than +if she had "come out" at eighteen. Her college life has been +exceptionally happy, because its complications have been few, and +its freedom as wide as wisdom would permit. The system of +self-government, now introduced into the colleges, has justified +itself beyond all questioning. It has promoted a clear understanding +of honour, it has taught the student the value of discipline, it has +lent dignity to the routine of her life.</p> + +<blockquote>Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made,</blockquote> + +<p>is surely the first and best lesson which the citizen of a republic +needs to learn.</p> + +<p>Writers on educational themes have pointed out—with tremors of +apprehension—that while a woman student working among men at a +foreign university is mentally stimulated by her surroundings, +stimulated often to the point of scholarship, her development is not +uniform and normal. She is always in danger of sinking her femininity, +or of overemphasizing it. In the former case, she loses charm and +personality; in the latter, sanity and balance. From both perils the +college woman in the United States is happily exempt. President +Jordan offers as a plea for co-education the healthy sense of +companionship between boy and girl students. "There is less of +silliness and folly," he says, "where man is not a novelty." But, +in truth, this particular form of silliness and folly is at a discount +in every woman's college, simply because the interests and +occupations which crowd the student's day leave little room for its +expansion.</p> + +<p>The three best things about the college life of girls are its attitude +towards money (an attitude which contrasts sharply with that of many +private schools), its attitude towards social disparities, and its +attitude towards men. The atmosphere of the college is reasonably +democratic. Like gravitates towards like, and a similarity of +background and tradition forms a natural basis for companionship; +but there is tolerance for other backgrounds which are not without +dignity, though they may be lacking in distinction. Poverty is +admittedly inconvenient, but carries no reproach. Light hearts and +jesting tongues minimize its discomforts. I well remember when the +coming of Madame Bernhardt to Philadelphia in 1901 fired the students +of Bryn Mawr College with the justifiable ambition to see this great +actress in all her finer rôles. Those who had money spent it royally. +Those who had none offered their possessions,—books, ornaments, +tea-cups, for sale. "Such a chance to buy bargains," observed one +young spendthrift, who had been endeavouring to dispose of all she +needed most; "but unluckily everybody wants to sell. We know now the +importance of the consuming classes, and how useful in their modest +way some idle rich would be."</p> + +<p>That large and influential portion of the community which does not +know its own mind, and which the rest of the world is always +endeavouring to conciliate, is still divided between its honest +desire to educate women, and its fear lest the woman, when educated, +may lose the conservative force which is her most valuable asset. +That small and combative portion of the community which knows its +own mind accurately, and which always demands the impossible, is +determined that the college girl shall betake herself to practical +pursuits, that she shall wedge into her four years of work, courses +in domestic science, the chemistry of food, nursing, dressmaking, +house sanitation, pedagogy, and that blight of the +nursery,—child-study. These are the things, we are often told, +which it behooves a woman to know, and by the mastery of which she +is able, so says a censorious writer in the "Educational Review," +"to repay in some measure her debt to man, who has extended to her +the benefits of a higher education."</p> + +<p>It is to be feared that the girl graduate, the youthful bachelor of +arts who steps smiling through the serried ranks of students, her +heart beating gladly in response to their generous applause, has +little thought of repaying her debt to man. Somebody has made an +address which she was too nervous to hear, and has affirmed, with +that impressiveness which we all lend to our easiest generalizations, +that the purpose of college is to give women a broad and liberal +education, and, at the same time, to preserve and develop the +characteristics of a complete womanhood. Somebody else has followed +up the address with a few fervent remarks, declaring that the only +proof of competence is performance. "The world belongs to those who +have stormed it." This last ringing sentence—delivered with an +almost defiant air of originality—has perhaps caught the graduate's +ear, but its familiar cadence awakened no response. Has she not +already stormed the world by taking her degree, and does not the world +belong to her, in any case, by virtue of her youth and inexperience? +Never, while she lives, will it be so completely hers as on the day +of her graduation. Let her enjoy her possession while she may.</p> + +<p>And her equipment? Well, those of us who call to mind the medley of +unstable facts, untenable theories, and undesirable accomplishments, +which was <i>our</i> substitute for education, deem her solidly informed. +If the wisdom of the college president has rescued her from domestic +science, and her own common sense has steered her clear of art, she +has had a chance, in four years of study, to lay the foundation of +knowledge. Her vocabulary is curiously limited. At her age, her +grandmother, if a gentlewoman, used more words, and used them better. +But then her grandmother had not associated exclusively with +youthful companions. The graduate has serious views of life, which +are not amiss, and a healthy sense of humour to enliven them. She +is resourceful, honourable, and pathetically self-reliant. In her +highest and happiest development, she merits the noble words in which +an old Ferrara chronicler praises the loveliest and the most maligned +woman in all history: "The lady is keen and intellectual, joyous and +human, and possesses good reasoning powers."</p> + +<p>To balance these permanent gains, there are some temporary losses. +The college student, if she does not take up a definite line of work, +is apt, for a time at least, to be unquiet. That quality so lovingly +described by Peacock as "stayathomeativeness" is her least +noticeable characteristic. The smiling discharge of uncongenial +social duties, which disciplines the woman of the world, seems to +her unseeing eyes a waste of time and opportunities. She has read +little, and that little, not for "human delight." Excellence in +literature has been pointed out to her, starred and double-starred, +like Baedeker's cathedrals. She has been taught the value of +standards, and has been spared the groping of the undirected reader, +who builds up her own standards slowly and hesitatingly by an endless +process of comparison. The saving in time is beneficial, and some +defects in taste have been remedied. But human delight does not +respond to authority. It is the hour of rapturous reading and the +power of secret thinking which make for personal distinction. The +shipwreck of education, says Dr. William James, is to be unable, +after years of study, to recognize unticketed eminence. The best +result obtainable from college, with its liberal and honourable +traditions, is that training in the humanities which lifts the raw +boy and girl into the ranks of the understanding; enabling them to +sympathize with men's mistakes, to feel the beauty of lost causes, +the pathos of misguided epochs, "the ceaseless whisper of permanent +ideals."</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Estranging">The Estranging Sea</a></h2></div> +<blockquote> "God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off,<br> + And keeps our Britain whole within itself."</blockquote> +<br> +<p>So speaks "the Tory member's elder son," in "The Princess":—</p> + +<blockquote> "... God bless the narrow seas!<br> + I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad";</blockquote> + +<p>and the transatlantic reader, pausing to digest this conservative +sentiment, wonders what difference a thousand leagues would make. +If the little strip of roughened water which divides Dover from +Calais were twice the ocean's breadth, could the division be any +wider and deeper than it is?</p> + +<p>We Americans cross from continent to continent, and are merged +blissfully into the Old-World life. Inured from infancy to contrasts, +we seldom resent the unfamiliar. Our attitude towards it is, for the +most part, frankly receptive, and full of joyous possibilities. We +take kindly, or at least tolerantly, to foreign creeds and customs. +We fail to be affronted by what we do not understand. We are not +without a shadowy conviction that there may be other points of view +than our own, other beliefs than those we have been taught to cherish. +Mr. Birrell, endeavouring to account for Charlotte Brontë's +hostility to the Belgians,—who had been uncommonly kind to +her,—says that she "had never any patience" with Catholicism. The +remark invites the reply of the Papal chamberlain to Prince Herbert +Bismarck, when that nobleman, being in attendance upon the Emperor, +pushed rudely—and unbidden—into Pope Leo's audience chamber. "I +am Prince Herbert Bismarck," shouted the German. "That," said the +urbane Italian, "explains, but does not excuse your conduct."</p> + +<p>So much has been said and written about England's "splendid +isolation," the phrase has grown so familiar to English eyes and ears, +that the political and social attitude which it represents is a +source of pride to thousands of Englishmen who are intelligent enough +to know what isolation costs. "It is of the utmost importance," says +the "Spectator," "that we should understand that the temper with +which England regards the other states of Europe, and the temper with +which those states regard her, is absolutely different." And then, +with ill-concealed elation, the writer adds: "The English are the +most universally disliked nation on the face of the earth."</p> + +<p>Diplomatically, this may be true, though it is hard to see why. +Socially and individually, it is not true at all. The English possess +too many agreeable traits to permit them to be as much disliked as +they think and hope they are. Even on the Continent, even in that +strange tourist world where hostilities grow apace, where the +courtesies of life are relaxed, and where every nationality presents +its least lovable aspect, the English can never aspire to the prize +of unpopularity. They are too silent, too clean, too handsome, too +fond of fresh air, too schooled in the laws of justice which compel +them to acknowledge—however reluctantly—the rights of other men. +They are certainly uncivil, but that is a matter of no great moment. +We do not demand that our fellow tourists should be urbane, but that +they should evince a sense of propriety in their behaviour, that they +should be decently reluctant to annoy. There is distinction in the +Englishman's quietude, and in his innate respect for order.</p> + +<p>But why should he covet alienation? Why should he dread popularity, +lest it imply that he resembles other men? When the tide of fortune +turned in the South African war, and the news of the relief of +Mafeking drove London mad with joy, there were Englishmen who +expressed grave alarm at the fervid demonstrations of the populace. +England, they said, was wont to take her defeats without despondency, +and her victories without elation. They feared the national +character was changing, and becoming more like the character of +Frenchmen and Americans.</p> + +<p>This apprehension—happily unfounded—was very insular and very +English. National traits are, as a matter of fact, as enduring as +the mountain-tops. They survive all change of policies, all shifting +of boundary lines, all expansion and contraction of dominion. When +Froissart tranquilly observed, "The English are affable to no other +nation than themselves," he spoke for the centuries to come. +Sorbières, who visited England in 1663, who loved the English turf, +hated and feared the English cooking, and deeply admired his +hospitable English hosts, admitted that the nation had "a propensity +to scorn all the rest of the world." The famous verdict, "<i>Les Anglais +sont justes, mais pas bons</i>," crystallizes the judgment of time. +Foreign opinion is necessarily an imperfect diagnosis, but it has +its value to the open mind. He is a wise man who heeds it, and a dull +man who holds it in derision. When an English writer in "Macmillan" +remarks with airy contempt that French criticisms on England have +"all the piquancy of a woman's criticisms on a man," the +American—standing outside the ring—is amused by this superb +simplicity of self-conceit.</p> + +<p>Fear of a French invasion and the carefully nurtured detestation of +the Papacy,—these two controlling influences must be held +responsible for prejudices too deep to be fathomed, too strong to +be overcome. "We do naturally hate the French," observes Mr. Pepys, +with genial candour; and this ordinary, everyday prejudice darkened +into fury when Napoleon's conquests menaced the world. Our school +histories have taught us (it is the happy privilege of a school +history to teach us many things which make no impression on our minds) +that for ten years England apprehended a descent upon her shores; +but we cannot realize what the apprehension meant, how it ate its +way into the hearts of men, until we stumble upon some such paragraph +as this, from a letter of Lord Jeffrey's, written to Francis Horner +in the winter of 1808: "For my honest impression is that Bonaparte +will be in Dublin in about fifteen months, perhaps. And then, if I +survive, I shall try to go to America."</p> + +<p>"If I survive!" What wonder that Jeffrey, who was a clear-headed, +unimaginative man, cherished all his life a cold hostility to France? +What wonder that the painter Haydon, who was highly imaginative and +not in the least clear-headed, felt such hostility to be an essential +part of patriotism? "In <i>my</i> day," he writes in his journal, "boys were +born, nursed, and grew up, hating and to hate the name of Frenchman." +He did hate it with all his heart, but then his earliest +recollection—when he was but four years old—was seeing his mother +lying on her sofa and crying bitterly. He crept up to her, puzzled +and frightened, poor baby, and she sobbed out: "They have cut off +the Queen of France's head, my dear." Such an ineffaceable +recollection colours childhood and sets character. It is an +education for life.</p> + +<p>As for the Papacy,—well, years have softened but not destroyed +England's hereditary detestation of Rome. The easy tolerance of the +American for any religion, or for all religions, or for no religion +at all, is the natural outcome of a mixed nationality, and of a +tolerably serene background. We have shed very little of our blood, +or of our neighbour's blood, for the faith that was in us, or in him; +and, during the past half-century, forbearance has broadened into +unconcern. Even the occasional refusal of a pastor to allow a cleric +of another denomination to preach in his church, can hardly be deemed +a violent form of persecution.</p> + +<p>What American author, for example, can recall such childish memories +as those which Mr. Edmund Gosse describes with illuminating candour +in "Father and Son"? "We welcomed any social disorder in any part +of Italy, as likely to be annoying to the Papacy. If there was a +custom-house officer stabbed in a fracas at Sassari, we gave loud +thanks that liberty and light were breaking in upon Sardinia." What +American scientist, taking a holiday in Italy, ever carried around +with him such uncomfortable sensations as those described by +Professor Huxley in some of his Roman letters? "I must have a strong +strain of Puritan blood in me somewhere," he writes to Sir John +Donnelly, after a morning spent at Saint Peter's, "for I am possessed +with a desire to arise and slay the whole brood of idolaters, whenever +I assist at one of these services."</p> + +<p>Save and except Miss Georgiana Podsnap's faltering fancy for +murdering her partners at a ball, this is the most bloodthirsty +sentiment on record, and suggests but a limited enjoyment of a really +beautiful service. Better the light-hearted unconcern of Mr. John +Richard Green, the historian, who, albeit a clergyman of the Church +of England, preferred going to the Church of Rome when Catholicism +had an organ, and Protestantism, a harmonium. "The difference in +truth between them doesn't seem to me to make up for the difference +in instruments."</p> + +<p>Mr. Lowell speaks somewhere of a "divine provincialism," which +expresses the sturdy sense of a nation, and is but ill replaced by +a cosmopolitanism lacking in virtue and distinction. Perhaps this +is England's gift, and insures for her a solidarity which Americans +lack. Ignoring or misunderstanding the standards of other races, she +sets her own so high we needs must raise our eyes to consider them. +Yet when Mr. Arnold scandalized his fellow countrymen by the frank +confession that he found foreign life "liberating," what did he mean +but that he refused to</p> + +<blockquote>"drag at each remove a lengthening chain"?</blockquote> + +<p>His mind leaped gladly to meet new issues and fresh tides of thought; +he stood ready to accept the reasonableness of usages which differed +materially from his own; and he took delight in the trivial +happenings of every day, precisely because they were un-English and +unfamiliar. Even the names of strange places, of German castles and +French villages, gave him, as they give Mr. Henry James, a curious +satisfaction, a sense of harmony and ordered charm.</p> + +<p>In that caustic volume, "Elizabeth in Rügen," there is an amusing +description of the indignation of the bishop's wife, Mrs. +Harvey-Browne, over what she considers the stupidities of German +speech.</p> + +<p>"What," she asks with asperity, "could be more supremely senseless +than calling the Baltic the Ostsee?"</p> + +<p>"Well, but why shouldn't they, if they want to?" says Elizabeth +densely.</p> + +<p>"But, dear Frau X, it is so foolish. East sea! Of what is it the east? +One is always the east of something, but one doesn't talk about it. +The name has no meaning whatever. Now 'Baltic' exactly describes it."</p> + +<p>This is fiction, but it is fiction easily surpassed by fact,—witness +the English tourist in France who said to Sir Leslie Stephen that +it was "unnatural" for soldiers to dress in blue. Then, remembering +certain British instances, he added hastily: "Except, indeed, for +the Artillery, or the Blue Horse." "The English model," comments Sir +Leslie, "with all its variations, appeared to him to be ordained by +nature."</p> + +<p>The rigid application of one nation's formulas to another nation's +manners has its obvious disadvantages. It is praiseworthy in an +Englishman to carry his conscience—like his bathtub—wherever he +goes, but both articles are sadly in his way. The American who leaves +his conscience and his tub at home, and who trusts to being clean +and good after a foreign fashion, has an easier time, and is not +permanently stained. Being less cock-sure in the start about his +standing with Heaven, he is subject to reasonable doubts as to the +culpability of other people. The joyous outdoor Sundays of France +and Germany please him at least as well as the shut-in Sundays of +England and Scotland. He takes kindly to concerts, enlivened, +without demoralization, by beer, and wonders why he cannot have them +at home. Whatever is distinctive, whatever is national, interests +and delights him; and he seldom feels called upon to decide a moral +issue which is not submitted to his judgment.</p> + +<p>I was once in Valais when a rude play was acted by the peasants of +Vissoye. It set forth the conversion of the Huns to Christianity +through the medium of a miracle vouchsafed to Zachéo, the legendary +apostle of Anniviers. The little stage was erected on a pleasant +hillside, the procession bearing the cross wound down from the +village church, the priests from all the neighbouring towns were +present, and the pious Valaisans—as overjoyed as if the Huns were +a matter of yesterday—sang a solemn <i>Te Deum</i> in thanksgiving for +the conversion of their land. It would be hard to conceive of a drama +less profane; indeed, only religious fervour could have breathed +life into so much controversy; yet I had English friends, intelligent, +cultivated, and deeply interested, who refused to go with me to +Vissoye because it was Sunday afternoon. They stood by their guns, +and attended their own service in the drawing-room of the deserted +little hotel at Zinal; gaining, I trust, the approval of their own +consciences, and losing the experience of a lifetime.</p> + +<p>Disapprobation has ever been a powerful stimulus to the Saxon mind. +The heroic measures which it enforces command our faltering homage, +and might incite us to emulation, were we not temperamentally +disposed to ask ourselves the fatal question, "Is it worth while?" +When we remember that twenty-five thousand people in Great Britain +left off eating sugar, by way of protest against slavery in the West +Indies, we realize how the individual Englishman holds himself +morally responsible for wrongs he is innocent of inflicting, and +powerless to redress. Hood and other light-minded humourists laughed +at him for drinking bitter tea; but he was not to be shaken by ridicule. +Miss Edgeworth voiced the conservative sentiment of her day when she +objected to eating unsweetened custards; but he was not to be chilled +by apathy.</p> + +<p>The same strenuous spirit impelled the English to express their +sympathy for Captain Alfred Dreyfus by staying away from the Paris +fair of 1900. The London press loudly boasted that Englishmen would +not give the sanction of their presence to any undertaking of the +French Government, and called attention again and again to their +absence from the exhibition. I myself was asked a number of times +in England whether this absence were a noticeable thing; but truth +compelled me to admit that it was not. With Paris brimming over like +a cup filled to the lip, with streets and fair-grounds thronged, with +every hotel crowded and every cab engaged, and with twenty thousand +of my own countrymen clamorously enlivening the scene, it was not +possible to miss anybody anywhere. It obviously had not occurred to +Americans to see any connection between the trial of Captain Dreyfus +and their enjoyment of the most beautiful and brilliant thing that +Europe had to give. The pretty adage, "<i>Tout homme a deux pays: le +sien et puis la France</i>," is truer of us than of any other people +in the world. And we may as well pardon a nation her transgressions, +if we cannot keep away from her shores.</p> + +<p>England's public utterances anent the United States are of the +friendliest character. Her newspapers and magazines say flattering +things about us. Her poet-laureate—unlike his great predecessor who +unaffectedly detested us—began his official career by praising us +with such fervour that we felt we ought in common honesty to tell +him that we were nothing like so good as he thought us. An English +text-book, published a few years ago, explains generously to the +school-boys of Great Britain that the United States should not be +looked upon as a foreign nation. "They are peopled by men of our blood +and faith, enjoy in a great measure the same laws that we do, read +the same Bible, and acknowledge, like us, the rule of King +Shakespeare."</p> + +<p>All this is very pleasant, but the fact remains that Englishmen +express surprise and pain at our most innocent idiosyncrasies. They +correct our pronunciation and our misuse of words. They regret our +nomadic habits, our shrill voices, our troublesome children, our +inability to climb mountains or "do a little glacier work" (it sounds +like embroidery, but means scrambling perilously over ice), our +taste for unwholesome—or, in other words, seasoned—food. When I +am reproved by English acquaintances for the "Americanisms" which +disfigure my speech and proclaim my nationality, I cannot well defend +myself by asserting that I read the same Bible as they do,—for maybe, +after all, I don't.</p> + +<p>The tenacity with which English residents on the Continent cling to +the customs and traditions of their own country is pathetic in its +loyalty and in its misconceptions. Their scheme of life does not +permit a single foreign observance, their range of sympathies seldom +includes a single foreign ideal. "An Englishman's happiness," says +M. Taine, "consists in being at home at six in the evening, with a +pleasing, attached wife, four or five children, and respectful +domestics." This is a very good notion of happiness, no fault can +be found with it, and something on the same order, though less perfect +in detail, is highly prized and commended in America. But it does +not embrace every avenue of delight. The Frenchman who seems never +to go home, who seldom has a large family, whose wife is often his +business partner and helpmate, and whose servants are friendly +allies rather than automatic menials, enjoys life also, and with some +degree of intelligence. He may be pardoned for resenting the attitude +of English exiles, who, driven from their own country by the +harshness of the climate, or the cruel cost of living, never cease +to deplore the unaccountable foreignness of foreigners. "Our social +tariff amounts to prohibition," said a witty Englishman in France. +"Exchange of ideas takes place only at the extreme point of +necessity."</p> + +<p>It is not under such conditions that any nation gives its best to +strangers. It is not to the affronted soul that the charm of the +unfamiliar makes its sweet and powerful appeal. Lord Byron was +furious when one of his countrywomen called Chamonix "rural"; yet, +after all, the poor creature was giving the scenery what praise she +understood. The Englishman who complained that he could not look out +of his window in Rome without seeing the sun, had a legitimate +grievance (we all know what it is to sigh for grey skies, and for +the unutterable rest they bring); but if we want Rome, we must take +her sunshine, along with her beggars and her Church. Accepted +sympathetically, they need not mar our infinite content.</p> + +<p>There is a wonderful sentence in Mrs. Humphry Ward's "Marriage of +William Ashe," which subtly and strongly protests against the blight +of mental isolation. Lady Kitty Bristol is reciting Corneille in Lady +Grosville's drawing-room. "Her audience," says Mrs. Ward, "looked +on at first with the embarrassed or hostile air which is the +Englishman's natural protection against the great things of art." +To write a sentence at once so caustic and so flawless is to triumph +over the limitations of language. The reproach seems a strange one +to hurl at a nation which has produced the noblest literature of the +world since the light of Greece waned; but we must remember that +distinction of mind, as Mrs. Ward understands it, and as it was +understood by Mr. Arnold, is necessarily allied with a knowledge of +French arts and letters, and with some insight into the qualities +which clarify French conversation. "Divine provincialism" had no +halo for the man who wrote "Friendship's Garland." He regarded it +with an impatience akin to mistrust, and bordering upon fear. Perhaps +the final word was spoken long ago by a writer whose place in +literature is so high that few aspire to read him. England was +severing her sympathies sharply from much which she had held in +common with the rest of Europe, when Dryden wrote: "They who would +combat general authority with particular opinion must first +establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other +men."</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Traveller">Travellers' Tales</a></h2></div> +<blockquote> "Wenten forth in heore wey with mony wyse tales,<br> + And hedden leve to lyen al heore lyf aftir."<br> + + + + + <i>Piers Plowman</i>.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>I don't know about travellers' "hedden leve" to lie, but that they +"taken leve" no one can doubt who has ever followed their wandering +footsteps. They say the most charming and audacious things, in +blessed indifference to the fact that somebody may possibly believe +them. They start strange hopes and longings in the human heart, and +they pave the way for disappointments and disasters. They record the +impression of a careless hour as though it were the experience of +a lifetime.</p> + +<p>There is a delightful little book on French rivers, written some +years ago by a vivacious and highly imaginative gentleman named +Molloy. It is a rose-tinted volume from the first page to the last, +so full of gay adventures that it would lure a mollusc from his shell. +Every town and every village yields some fresh delight, some humorous +exploit to the four oarsmen who risk their lives to see it; but the +few pages devoted to Amboise are of a dulcet and irresistible +persuasiveness. They fill the reader's soul with a haunting desire +to lay down his well-worn cares and pleasures, to say good-bye to +home and kindred, and to seek that favoured spot. Touraine is full +of beauty, and steeped to the lips in historic crimes. Turn where +we may, her fairness charms the eye, her memories stir the heart. +But Mr. Molloy claims for Amboise something rarer in France than +loveliness or romance, something which no French town has ever yet +been known to possess,—a slumberous and soul-satisfying silence. +"We dropped under the very walls of the Castle," he writes, "without +seeing a soul. It was a strange contrast to Blois in its absolute +stillness. There was no sound but the noise of waters rushing through +the arches of the bridge. It might have been the palace of the +Sleeping Beauty, but was only one of the retrospective cities that +had no concern with the present."</p> + +<p>Quiet brooded over the ivied towers and ancient water front. +Tranquillity, unconcern, a gentle and courteous aloofness +surrounded and soothed the intrepid travellers. When, in the early +morning, the crew pushed off in their frail boat, less than a dozen +citizens assembled to watch the start. Even the peril of the +performance (and there are few things more likely to draw a crowd +than the chance of seeing four fellow mortals drown) failed to awaken +curiosity. Nine men stood silent on the shore when the outrigger shot +into the swirling river, and it is the opinion of the chronicler that +Amboise "did not often witness such a gathering." Nine quiet men were, +for Amboise, something in the nature of a mob.</p> + +<p>It must be remembered that Mr. Molloy's book is not a new one; but +then Touraine is neither new nor mutable. Nothing changes in its +beautiful old towns, the page of whose history has been turned for +centuries. What if motors now whirl in a white dust through the heart +of France? They do not affect the lives of the villages through which +they pass. The simple and primitive desire of the motorist is to be +fed and to move on, to be fed again and to move on again, to sleep +and to start afresh. That unavoidable waiting between trains which +now and then compelled an old-time tourist to look at a cathedral +or a château, by way of diverting an empty hour, no longer retards +progress. The motorist needs never wait. As soon as he has eaten, +he can go,—a privilege of which be gladly avails himself. A month +at Amboise taught us that, at the feeding-hour, motors came flocking +like fowls, and then, like fowls, dispersed. They were disagreeable +while they lasted, but they never lasted long. Replete with a +five-course luncheon, their fagged and grimy occupants sped on to +distant towns and dinner.</p> + +<p>But why should we, who knew well that there is not, and never has +been, a quiet corner in all France, have listened to a traveller's +tale, and believed in a silent Amboise? Is there no limit to human +credulity? Does experience count for nothing in the Bourbon-like +policy of our lives? It is to England we must go if we seek for silence, +that gentle, pervasive silence which wraps us in a mantle of content. +It was in Porlock that Coleridge wrote "Kubla Khan," transported, +Heaven knows whither, by virtue of the hushed repose that consecrates +the sleepiest hamlet in Great Britain. It was at Stoke Pogis that +Gray composed his "Elegy." He could never have written—</p> + +<blockquote> "And all the air a solemn stillness holds,"</blockquote> + +<p>in the vicinity of a French village.</p> + +<p>But Amboise! Who would go to rural England, live on ham and eggs, +and sleep in a bed harder than Pharaoh's heart, if it were possible +that a silent Amboise awaited him? The fair fresh vegetables of +France, her ripe red strawberries and glowing cherries, her crisp +salads and her caressing mattresses lured us no less than the vision +of a bloodstained castle, and the wide sweep of the Loire flashing +through the joyous landscape of Touraine. In the matter of beauty, +Amboise outstrips all praise. In the matter of romance, she leaves +nothing to be desired. Her splendid old Château—half palace and half +fortress—towers over the river which mirrors its glory and +perpetuates its shame. She is a storehouse of historic memories, she +is the loveliest of little towns, she is in the heart of a district +which bears the finest fruit and has the best cooks in France; but +she is not, and never has been, silent, since the days when Louis +the Eleventh was crowned, and she gave wine freely to all who chose +to be drunk and merry at her charge.</p> + +<p>If she does not give her wine to-day, she sells it so cheaply—lying +girt by vine-clad hills—that many of her sons are drunk and merry +still. The sociable habit of setting a table in the open street +prevails at Amboise. Around it labourers take their evening meal, +to the accompaniment of song and sunburnt mirth. It sounds poetic +and it looks picturesque,—like a picture by Teniers or Jan +Steen,—but it is not a habit conducive to repose.</p> + +<p>As far as I can judge,—after a month's experience,—the one thing +no inhabitant of Amboise ever does is to go to bed. At midnight the +river front is alive with cheerful and strident voices. The French +countryman habitually speaks to his neighbour as if he were half a +mile away; and when a score of countrymen are conversing in this key, +the air rings with their clamour. They sing in the same lusty fashion; +not through closed lips, as is the custom of English singers, but +rolling out the notes with volcanic energy from the deep craters of +their throats. When our admirable waiter—who is also our best +friend—frees his soul in song as he is setting the table, the walls +of the dining-room quiver and vibrate. By five o'clock in the morning +every one except ourselves is on foot and out of doors. We might as +well be, for it is custom, not sleep, which keeps us in our beds. +The hay wagons are rolling over the bridge, the farmhands are going +to work, the waiter, in an easy undress, is exchanging voluble +greetings with his many acquaintances, the life of the town has +begun.</p> + +<p>The ordinary week-day life, I mean, for on Sundays the market people +have assembled by four, and there are nights when the noises never +cease. It is no unusual thing to be awakened, an hour or two after +midnight, by a tumult so loud and deep that my first impression is +one of conspiracy or revolution. The sound is not unlike the hoarse +roar of Sir Henry Irving's admirably trained mobs,—the only mobs +I have ever heard,—and I jump out of bed, wondering if the President +has been shot, or the Chamber of Deputies blown up by malcontents. +Can these country people have heard the news, as the shepherds of +Peloponnesus heard of the fall of Syracuse, through the gossiping +of wood devils, and, like the shepherds, have hastened to carry the +intelligence? When I look out of my window, the crowd seems small +for the uproar it is making. Armand, the waiter, who, I am convinced, +merely dozes on a dining-room chair, so as to be in readiness for +any diversion, stands in the middle of the road, gesticulating with +fine dramatic gestures. I cannot hear what is being said, because +everybody is speaking at once; but after a while the excitement dies +away, and the group slowly disperses, shouting final vociferations +from out of the surrounding darkness. The next day when I ask the +cause of the disturbance, Armand looks puzzled at my question. He +does not seem aware that anything out of the way has happened; but +finally explains that "quelques amis" were passing the hotel, and +that Madame must have heard them stop and talk. The incident is +apparently too common an occurrence to linger in his mind.</p> + +<p>As for the Amboise dogs, I do not know whether they really possess +a supernatural strength which enables them to bark twenty-four hours +without intermission, or whether they divide themselves into day and +night pickets, so that, when one band retires to rest, the other takes +up the interrupted duty. The French villager, who values all domestic +pets in proportion to the noise they can make, delights especially +in his dogs, giant black-and-tan terriers for the most part, of +indefatigable perseverance in their one line of activity. Their bark +is high-pitched and querulous rather than deep and defiant, but for +continuity it has no rival upon earth. Our hotel—in all other +respects unexceptionable—possesses two large bulldogs which have +long ago lost their British phlegm, and acquired the agitated yelp +of their Gallic neighbours. They could not be quiet if they wanted +to, for heavy sleigh-bells (unique decorations for a bulldog) hang +about their necks, and jangle merrily at every step. In the courtyard +lives a colony of birds. One virulent parrot which shrieks its +inarticulate wrath from morning until night, but which does—be it +remembered to its credit—go to sleep at sundown; three paroquets; +two cockatoos of ineffable shrillness, and a cageful of canaries and +captive finches. When taken in connection with the dogs, the hotel +cat, the operatic Armand, and the cook who plays "See, O Norma!" on +his flute every afternoon and evening, it will be seen that Amboise +does not so closely resemble the palace of the Sleeping Beauty as +Mr. Molloy has given us to understand.</p> + +<p>All other sounds, however, melt into a harmonious murmur when +compared to the one great speciality of the village,—stone-cutting +in the open streets. Whenever one of the picturesque old houses is +crumbling into utter decay, a pile of stone is dumped before it, and +the easy-going masons of Amboise prepare to patch up its walls. No +particular method is observed, the work progresses after the fashion +of a child's block house, and the principal labour lies in dividing +the lumps of stone. This is done with a rusty old saw pulled slowly +backward and forward by two men, the sound produced resembling a +succession of agonized shrieks. It goes on for hours and hours, with +no apparent result except the noise; while a handsome boy, in a +striped blouse and broad blue sash, completes the discord by currying +the stone with an iron currycomb,—a process I have never witnessed +before, and ardently hope never to witness again. If one could +imagine fifty school-children all squeaking their slate pencils down +their slates together,—who does not remember that blood-curdling +music of his youth?—one might gain some feeble notion of the acute +agony induced by such an instrument of torture. Agony to the nervous +visitor alone; for the inhabitants of Amboise love their shrieking +saws and currycombs, just as they love their shrieking parrots and +cockatoos. They gather in happy crowds to watch the blue-sashed boy, +and drink in the noise he makes. We drink it in, too, as he is +immediately beneath our windows. Then we look at the castle walls +glowing in the splendour of the sunset, and at the Loire sweeping +in magnificent curves between the grey-green poplar trees; at the +noble width of the horizon, and at the deepening tints of the sky; +and we realize that a silent Amboise would be an earthly Paradise, +too fair for this sinful world.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Chill">The Chill of Enthusiasm</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"Surtout, pas de zèle."—<big>T</big>ALLEYRAND.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>There is no aloofness so forlorn as our aloofness from an +uncontagious enthusiasm, and there is no hostility so sharp as that +aroused by a fervour which fails of response. Charles Lamb's "D—n +him at a hazard," was the expression of a natural and reasonable frame +of mind with which we are all familiar, and which, though admittedly +unlovely, is in the nature of a safeguard. If we had no spiritual +asbestos to protect our souls, we should be consumed to no purpose +by every wanton flame. If our sincere and restful indifference to +things which concern us not were shaken by every blast, we should +have no available force for things which concern us deeply. If +eloquence did not sometimes make us yawn, we should be besotted by +oratory. And if we did not approach new acquaintances, new authors, +and new points of view with life-saving reluctance, we should never +feel that vital regard which, being strong enough to break down our +barriers, is strong enough to hold us for life.</p> + +<p>The worth of admiration is, after all, in proportion to the value +of the thing admired,—a circumstance overlooked by the people who +talk much pleasant nonsense about sympathy, and the courage of our +emotions, and the open and generous mind. We know how Mr. Arnold felt +when an American lady wrote to him, in praise of American authors, +and said that it rejoiced her heart to think of such excellence as +being "common and abundant." Mr. Arnold, who considered that +excellence of any kind was very uncommon and beyond measure rare, +expressed his views on this occasion with more fervour and publicity +than the circumstances demanded; but his words are as balm to the +irritation which some of us suffer and conceal when drained of our +reluctant applause.</p> + +<p>It is perhaps because women have been trained to a receptive attitude +of mind, because for centuries they have been valued for their +sympathy and appreciation rather than for their judgment, that they +are so perilously prone to enthusiasm. It has come to all of us of +late to hear much feminine eloquence, and to marvel at the nimbleness +of woman's wit, at the speed with which she thinks, and the facility +with which she expresses her thoughts. A woman who, until five years +ago, never addressed a larger audience than that afforded by a +reading-club or a dinner-party, will now thrust and parry on a +platform, wholly unembarrassed by timidity or by ignorance. +Sentiment and satire are hers to command; and while neither is +convincing, both are tremendously effective with people already +convinced, with the partisans who throng unwearyingly to hear the +voicing of their own opinions. The ease with which such a speaker +brings forward the great central fact of the universe, maternity, +as an argument for or against the casting of a ballot (it works just +as well either way); the glow with which she associates Jeanne d'Arc +with federated clubs and social service; and the gay defiance she +hurls at customs and prejudices so profoundly obsolete that the +lantern of Diogenes could not find them lurking in a village +street,—these things may chill the unemotional listener into apathy, +but they never fail to awaken the sensibilities of an audience. The +simple process, so highly commended by debaters, of ignoring all that +cannot be denied, makes demonstration easy. "A crowd," said Mr. +Ruskin, "thinks by infection." To be immune from infection is to +stand outside the sacred circle of enthusiasts.</p> + +<p>Yet if the experience of mankind teaches anything, it is that vital +convictions are not at the mercy of eloquence. The "oratory of +conviction," to borrow a phrase of Mr. Bagehot's, is so rare as to +be hardly worth taking into account. Fox used to say that if a speech +read well, it was "a damned bad speech," which is the final word of +cynicism, spoken by one who knew. It was the saving sense of England, +that solid, prosaic, dependable common sense, the bulwark of every +great nation, which, after Sheridan's famous speech, demanding the +impeachment of Warren Hastings, made the House adjourn "to collect +its reason,"—obviously because its reason had been lost. Sir +William Dolden, who moved the adjournment, frankly confessed that +it was impossible to give a "determinate opinion" while under the +spell of oratory. So the lawmakers, who had been fired to white heat, +retired to cool down again; and when Sheridan—always as deep in +difficulties as Micawber—was offered a thousand pounds for the +manuscript of the speech, he remembered Fox's verdict, and refused +to risk his unballasted eloquence in print.</p> + +<p>Enthusiasm is praised because it implies an unselfish concern for +something outside our personal interest and advancement. It is +reverenced because the great and wise amendments, which from time +to time straighten the roads we walk, may always be traced back to +somebody's zeal for reform. It is rich in prophetic attributes, +banking largely on the unknown, and making up in nobility of design +what it lacks in excellence of attainment. Like simplicity, and +candour, and other much-commended qualities, enthusiasm is charming +until we meet it face to face, and cannot escape from its charm. It +is then that we begin to understand the attitude of Goethe, and +Talleyrand, and Pitt, and Sir Robert Peel, who saved themselves from +being consumed by resolutely refusing to ignite. "It is folly," +observed Goethe, "to expect that other men will consent to believe +as we do"; and, having reconciled himself to this elemental obstinacy +of the human heart, it no longer troubled him that those whom he felt +to be wrong should refuse to acknowledge their errors.</p> + +<p>There are men and women—not many—who have the happy art of making +their most fervent convictions endurable. Their hobbies do not +spread desolation over the social world, their prejudices do not +insult our intelligence. They may be so "abreast with the times" that +we cannot keep track of them, or they may be basking serenely in some +Early Victorian close. They may believe buoyantly in the Baconian +cipher, or in thought transference, or in the serious purposes of +Mr. George Bernard Shaw, or in anything else which invites credulity. +They may even express their views, and still be loved and cherished +by their friends.</p> + +<p>How illuminating is the contrast which Hazlitt unconsciously draws +between the enthusiasms of Lamb which everybody was able to bear, +and the enthusiasms of Coleridge which nobody was able to bear. Lamb +would parade his admiration for some favourite author, Donne, for +example, whom the rest of the company probably abhorred. He would +select the most crabbed passages to quote and defend; he would +stammer out his piquant and masterful half sentences, his scalding +jests, his controvertible assertions; he would skilfully hint at the +defects which no one else was permitted to see; and if he made no +converts (wanting none), he woke no weary wrath. But we all have a +sneaking sympathy for Holcroft, who, when Coleridge was expatiating +rapturously and oppressively upon the glories of German +transcendental philosophy, and upon his own supreme command of the +field, cried out suddenly and with exceeding bitterness: "Mr. +Coleridge, you are the most eloquent man I ever met, and the most +unbearable in your eloquence."</p> + +<p>I am not without a lurking suspicion that George Borrow must have +been at times unbearable in his eloquence. "We cannot refuse to meet +a man on the ground that he is an enthusiast," observes Mr. George +Street, obviously lamenting this circumstance; "but we should at +least like to make sure that his enthusiasms are under control." +Borrow's enthusiasms were never under control. He stood ready at a +moment's notice to prove the superiority of the Welsh bards over the +paltry poets of England, or to relate the marvellous Welsh prophecies, +so vague as to be always safe. He was capable of inflicting Armenian +verbs upon Isopel Berners when they sat at night over their gipsy +kettle in the dingle (let us hope she fell asleep as sweetly as does +Milton's Eve when Adam grows too garrulous); and he met the +complaints of a poor farmer on the hardness of the times with jubilant +praises of evangelicalism. "Better pay three pounds an acre, and live +on crusts and water in the present enlightened days," he told the +disheartened husbandman, "than pay two shillings an acre, and sit +down to beef and ale three times a day in the old superstitious ages." +This is <i>not</i> the oratory of conviction. There are unreasoning +prejudices in favour of one's own stomach which eloquence cannot +gainsay. "I defy the utmost power of language to disgust me wi' a +gude denner," observes the Ettrick Shepherd; thus putting on record +the attitude of the bucolic mind, impassive, immutable, since +earth's first harvests were gleaned.</p> + +<p>The artificial emotions which expand under provocation, and collapse +when the provocation is withdrawn, must be held responsible for much +mental confusion. Election oratory is an old and cherished +institution. It is designed to make candidates show their paces, and +to give innocent amusement to the crowd. Properly reinforced by brass +bands and bunting, graced by some sufficiently august presence, and +enlivened by plenty of cheering and hat-flourishing, it presents a +strong appeal. A political party is, moreover, a solid and +self-sustaining affair. All sound and alliterative generalities +about virile and vigorous manhood, honest and honourable labour, +great and glorious causes, are understood, in this country at least, +to refer to the virile and vigorous manhood of Republicans or +Democrats, as the case may be; and to uphold the honest and honourable, +great and glorious Republican or Democratic principles, upon which, +it is also understood, depends the welfare of the nation.</p> + +<p>Yet even this sense of security cannot always save us from the chill +of collapsed enthusiasm. I was once at a great mass meeting, held +in the interests of municipal reform, and at which the principal +speaker was a candidate for office. He was delayed for a full hour +after the meeting had been opened, and this hour was filled with good +platform oratory. Speechmaker after speechmaker, all adepts in their +art, laid bare before our eyes the evils which consumed us, and called +upon us passionately to support the candidate who would lift us from +our shame. The fervour of the house rose higher and higher. Martial +music stirred our blood, and made us feel that reform and patriotism +were one. The atmosphere grew tense with expectancy, when suddenly +there came a great shout, and the sound of cheering from the crowd +in the streets, the crowd which could not force its way into the huge +and closely packed opera house. Now there are few things more +profoundly affecting than cheers heard from a distance, or muffled +by intervening walls. They have a fine dramatic quality, unknown to +the cheers which rend the air about us. When the chairman of the +meeting announced that the candidate was outside the doors, speaking +to the mob, the excitement reached fever heat. When some one cried, +"He is here!" and the orchestra struck the first bars of "Hail +Columbia," we rose to our feet, waving multitudinous flags, and +shouting out the rapture of our hearts.</p> + +<p>And then,—and then there stepped upon the stage a plain, tired, +bewildered man, betraying nervous exhaustion in every line. He spoke, +and his voice was not the assured voice of a leader. His words were +not the happy words which instantly command attention. It was evident +to the discerning eye that he had been driven for days, perhaps for +weeks, beyond his strength and endurance; that he had resorted to +stimulants to help him in this emergency, and that they had failed; +that he was striving with feeble desperation to do the impossible +which was expected of him. I wondered even then if a few common words +of explanation, a few sober words of promise, would not have +satisfied the crowd, already sated with eloquence. I wondered if the +unfortunate man could feel the chill settling down upon the house +as he spoke his random and undignified sentences, whether he could +see the first stragglers slipping down the aisles. What did his +decent record, his honest purpose, avail him in an hour like this? +He tried to lash himself to vigour, but it was spurring a +broken-winded horse. The stragglers increased into a flying squadron, +the house was emptying fast, when the chairman in sheer desperation +made a sign to the leader of the orchestra, who waved his baton, and +"The Star-Spangled Banner" drowned the candidate's last words, and +brought what was left of the audience to its feet. I turned to a friend +beside me, the wife of a local politician who had been the most fiery +speaker of the evening. "Will it make any difference?" I asked, and +she answered disconsolately; "The city is lost, but we may save the +state."</p> + +<p>Then we went out into the quiet streets, and I bethought me of +Voltaire's driving in a blue coach powdered with gilt stars to see +the first production of "Irène," and of his leaving the theatre to +find that enthusiasts had cut the traces of his horses, so that the +shouting mob might drag him home in triumph. But the mob, having done +its shouting, melted away after the irresponsible fashion of mobs, +leaving the blue coach stranded in front of the Tuileries, with +Voltaire shivering inside of it, until the horses could be brought +back, the traces patched up, and the driver recalled to his duty.</p> + +<p>That "popular enthusiasm is but a fire of straw" has been amply +demonstrated by all who have tried to keep it going. It can be lighted +to some purpose, as when money is extracted from the enthusiasts +before they have had time to cool; but even this process—so +skilfully conducted by the initiated—seems unworthy of great and +noble charities, or of great and noble causes. It is true also that +the agitator—no matter what he may be agitating—is always sure of +his market; a circumstance which made that most conservative of +chancellors, Lord Eldon, swear with bitter oaths that, if he were +to begin life over again, he would begin it as an agitator. Tom Moore +tells a pleasant story (one of the many pleasant stories embalmed +in his vast sarcophagus of a diary) about a street orator whom he +heard address a crowd in Dublin. The man's eloquence was so stirring +that Moore was ravished by it, and he expressed to Sheil his +admiration for the speaker. "Ah," said Sheil carelessly, "that was +a brewer's patriot. Most of the great brewers have in their employ +a regular patriot who goes about among the publicans, talking violent +politics, which helps to sell the beer."</p> + +<p>Honest enthusiasm, we are often told, is the power which moves the +world. Therefore it is perhaps that honest enthusiasts seem to think +that if they stopped pushing, the world would stop moving,—as though +it were a new world which didn't know its way. This belief inclines +them to intolerance. The more keen they are, the more contemptuous +they become. What Wordsworth admirably called "the self-applauding +sincerity of a heated mind" leaves them no loophole for doubt, and +no understanding of the doubter. In their volcanic progress they bowl +over the non-partisan—a man and a brother—with splendid unconcern. +He, poor soul, stunned but not convinced, clings desperately to some +pettifogging convictions which he calls truth, and refuses a clearer +vision. His habit of remembering what he believed yesterday clogs +his mind, and makes it hard for him to believe something entirely +new to-day. Much has been said about the inconvenience of keeping +opinions, but much might be said about the serenity of the process. +Old opinions are like old friends,—we cease to question their worth +because, after years of intimacy and the loss of some valuable +illusions, we have grown to place our slow reliance on them. We know +at least where we stand, and whither we are tending, and we refuse +to bustle feverishly about the circumference of life, because, as +Amiel warns us, we cannot reach its core.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Temptation">The Temptation of Eve</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"My Love in her attire doth shew her wit."</blockquote> +<br> +<p>It is an old and honoured jest that Eve—type of eternal +womanhood—sacrificed the peace of Eden for the pleasures of dress. +We see this jest reflected in the satire of the Middle Ages, in the +bitter gibes of mummer and buffoon. We can hear its echoes in the +invectives of the reformer,—"I doubt," said a good +fifteenth-century bishop to the ladies of England in their horned +caps,—"I doubt the Devil sit not between those horns." We find it +illustrated with admirable naïveté in the tapestries which hang in +the entrance corridor of the Belle Arti in Florence.</p> + +<p>These tapestries tell the downfall of our first parents. In one we +see the newly created and lovely Eve standing by the side of the +sleeping Adam, and regarding him with pleasurable anticipation. +Another shows us the animals marching in line to be inspected and +named. The snail heads the procession and sets the pace. The lion +and the tiger stroll gossiping together. The unicorn walks alone, +very stiff and proud. Two rats and two mice are closely followed by +two sleek cats, who keep them well covered, and plainly await the +time when Eve's amiable indiscretion shall assign them their natural +prey. In the third tapestry the deed has been done, the apple had +been eaten. The beasts are ravening in the background. Adam, already +clad, is engaged in fastening a picturesque girdle of leaves around +the unrepentant Eve,—for all the world like a modern husband +fastening his wife's gown,—while she for the first time gathers up +her long fair hair. Her attitude is full of innocent yet +indescribable coquetry. The passion for self-adornment had already +taken possession of her soul. Before her lies a future of many cares +and some compensations. She is going to work and she is going to weep, +but she is also going to dress. The price was hers to pay.</p> + +<p>In the hearts of Eve's daughters lies an unspoken convincement that +the price was not too dear. As far as feminity is known, or can ever +be known, one dominant impulse has never wavered or weakened. In +every period of the world's history, in every quarter of the globe, +in every stage of savagery or civilization, this elementary instinct +has held, and still holds good. The history of the world is largely +the history of dress. It is the most illuminating of records, and +tells its tale with a candour and completeness which no chronicle +can surpass. We all agree in saying that people who reached a high +stage of artistic development, like the Greeks and the Italians of +the Renaissance, expressed this sense of perfection in their attire; +but what we do not acknowledge so frankly is that these same nations +encouraged the beauty of dress, even at a ruthless cost, because they +felt that in doing so they coöperated with a great natural law,—the +law which makes the "wanton lapwing" get himself another crest. They +played into nature's hands.</p> + +<p>The nations which sought to bully nature, like the Spartans and the +Spaniards, passed the severest sumptuary laws; and for proving the +power of fundamental forces over the unprofitable wisdom of +reformers, there is nothing like a sumptuary law. In 1563 Spanish +women of good repute were forbidden to wear jewels or +embroideries,—the result being that many preferred to be thought +reputationless, rather than abandon their finery. Some years later +it was ordained that only women of loose life should be permitted +to bare their shoulders; and all dressmakers who furnished the +interdicted gowns to others than courtesans were condemned to four +years' penal servitude. These were stern measures,—"root and +branch" was ever the Spaniard's cry; but he found it easier to stamp +out heresy than to eradicate from a woman's heart something which +is called vanity, but which is, in truth, an overmastering impulse +which she is too wise to endeavour to resist.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact it was a sumptuary law which incited the women +of Rome to make their first great public demonstration, and to +besiege the Forum as belligerently as the women of England have, in +late years, besieged Parliament. The Senate had thought fit to save +money for the second Punic War by curtailing all extravagance in +dress; and, when the war was over, showed no disposition to repeal +a statute which—to the simple masculine mind—seemed productive of +nothing but good. Therefore the women gathered in the streets of Rome, +demanding the restitution of their ornaments, and deeply +scandalizing poor Cato, who could hardly wedge his way through the +crowd. His views on this occasion were expressed with the bewildered +bitterness of a modern British conservative. He sighed for the good +old days when women were under the strict control of their fathers +and husbands, and he very plainly told the Senators that if they had +maintained their proper authority at home, their wives and daughters +would not then be misbehaving themselves in public. "It was not +without painful emotions of shame," said this outraged Roman +gentleman, "that I just now made my way to the Forum through a herd +of women. Our ancestors thought it improper that women should +transact any private business without a director. We, it seems, +suffer them to interfere in the management of state affairs, and to +intrude into the general assemblies. Had I not been restrained by +the modesty and dignity of some among them, had I not been unwilling +that they should be rebuked by a Consul, I should have said to them: +'What sort of practice is this of running into the streets, and +addressing other women's husbands? Could you not have petitioned at +home? Are your blandishments more seductive in public than in private, +and with other husbands than your own?'"</p> + +<p>How natural it all sounds, how modern, how familiar! And with what +knowledge of the immutable laws of nature, as opposed to the +capricious laws of man, did Lucius Valerius defend the rebellious +women of Rome! "Elegance of apparel," he pleaded before the Senate, +"and jewels, and ornaments,—these are a woman's badges of +distinction; in these she glories and delights; these our ancestors +called the woman's world. What else does she lay aside in mourning +save her purple and gold? What else does she resume when the mourning +is over? How does she manifest her sympathy on occasions of public +rejoicing, but by adding to the splendour of her dress?"[1]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 1: Livy.]</p> + +<p>Of course the statute was repealed. The only sumptuary laws which +defied resistance were those which draped the Venetian gondolas and +the Milanese priests in black, and with such restrictions women had +no concern.</p> + +<p>The symbolism of dress is a subject which has never received its due +share of attention, yet it stands for attributes in the human race +which otherwise defy analysis. It is interwoven with all our carnal +and with all our spiritual instincts. It represents a cunning triumph +over hard conditions, a turning of needs into victories. It voices +desires and dignities without number, it subjects the importance of +the thing done to the importance of the manner of doing it. "Man wears +a special dress to kill, to govern, to judge, to preach, to mourn, +to play. In every age the fashion in which he retains or discards +some portion of this dress denotes a subtle change in his feelings." +All visible things are emblematic of invisible forces. Man fixed the +association of colours with grief and gladness, he made ornaments +the insignia of office, he ordained that fabric should grace the +majesty of power.</p> + +<p>Yet though we know this well, it is our careless custom to talk about +dress, and to write about dress, as if it had no meaning at all; as +if the breaking waves of fashion which carry with them the record +of pride and gentleness, of distinction and folly, of the rising and +shattering of ideals,—"the cut which betokens intellect and talent, +the colour which betokens temper and heart,"—were guided by no other +law than chance, were a mere purposeless tyranny. Historians dwell +upon the mad excesses of ruff and farthingale, of pointed shoe and +swelling skirt, as if these things stood for nothing in a society +forever alternating between rigid formalism and the irrepressible +spirit of democracy.</p> + +<p>Is it possible to look at a single costume painted by Velasquez +without realizing that the Spanish court under Philip the Fourth had +lost the mobility which has characterized it in the days of Ferdinand +and Isabella, and had hardened into a formalism, replete with dignity, +but lacking intelligence, and out of touch with the great social +issues of the day? French chroniclers have written page after page +of description—aimless and tiresome description, for the most +part—of those amazing head-dresses which, at the court of Marie +Antoinette, rose to such heights that the ladies looked as if their +heads were in the middle of their bodies. They stood seven feet high +when their hair was dressed, and a trifle over five when it wasn't. +The Duchesse de Lauzun wore upon one memorable occasion a head-dress +presenting a landscape in high relief on the shore of a stormy lake, +ducks swimming on the lake, a sportsman shooting at the ducks, a mill +which rose from the crown of her head, a miller's wife courted by +an abbé, and a miller placidly driving his donkey down the steep +incline over the lady's left ear.</p> + +<p>It sounds like a Christmas pantomime; but when we remember that the +French court, that model of patrician pride, was playing with +democracy, with republicanism, with the simple life, as presented +by Rousseau to its consideration, we see plainly enough how the real +self-sufficiency of caste and the purely artificial sentiment of the +day found expression in absurdities of costume. Women dared to wear +such things, because, being aristocrats, they felt sure of +themselves: and they professed to admire them, because, being +engulfed in sentiment, they had lost all sense of proportion. A +miller and his donkey were rustic (Marie Antoinette adored +rusticity); an abbé flirting with a miller's wife was as obviously +artificial as Watteau. It would have been hard to find a happier or +more expressive combination. And when Rousseau and republicanism had +won the race, we find the ladies of the Directoire illustrating the +national illusions with clinging and diaphanous draperies; and +asserting their affinity with the high ideals of ancient Greece by +wearing sandals instead of shoes, and rings on their bare white toes. +The reaction from the magnificent formalism of court dress to this +abrupt nudity is in itself a record as graphic and as illuminating +as anything that historians have to tell. The same great principle +was at work in England when the Early Victorian virtues asserted +their supremacy, when the fashionable world, becoming for a spell +domestic and demure, expressed these qualities in smoothly banded +hair, and draperies of decorous amplitude. There is, in fact, no +phase of national life or national sentiment which has not betrayed +itself to the world in dress.</p> + +<p>And not national life only, but individual life as well. Clothes are +more than historical, they are autobiographical. They tell their +story in broad outlines and in minute detail. Was it for nothing that +Charles the First devised that rich and sombre costume of black and +white from which he never sought relief? Was it for nothing that +Garibaldi wore a red shirt, and Napoleon an old grey coat? In proof +that these things stood for character and destiny, we have but to +look at the resolute but futile attempt which Charles the Second made +to follow his father's lead, to express something beyond a +fluctuating fashion in his dress. In 1666 he announced to his +Council—which was, we trust, gratified by the intelligence—that +he intended to wear one unaltered costume for the rest of his days. +A month later he donned this costume, the distinguishing features +of which were a long, close-fitting, black waistcoat, pinked with +white, a loose embroidered surtout, and buskins. The court followed +his example, and Charles not unnaturally complained that so many +black and white waistcoats made him feel as though he were surrounded +by magpies. So the white pinking was discarded, and plain black +velvet waistcoats substituted. These were neither very gay, nor very +becoming to a swarthy monarch; and the never-to-be-altered costume +lasted less than two years, to the great relief of the courtiers, +especially of those who had risked betting with the king himself on +its speedy disappearance. Expressing nothing but a caprice, it had +the futility and the impermanence of all caprices.</p> + +<p>Within the last century, men have gradually, and it would seem +permanently, abandoned the effort to reveal their personality in +dress. They have allowed themselves to be committed for life to a +costume of ruthless utilitarianism, which takes no count of physical +beauty, or of its just display. Comfort, convenience, and sanitation +have conspired to establish a rigidity of rule never seen before, +to which men yield a docile and lamblike obedience. Robert Burton's +axiom, "Nothing sooner dejects a man than clothes out of fashion," +is as true now as it was three hundred years ago. Fashion sways the +shape of a collar, and the infinitesimal gradations of a hat-brim; +but the sense of fitness, and the power of interpreting life, which +ennobled fashion in Burton's day, have disappeared in an enforced +monotony.</p> + +<p>Men take a strange perverted pride in this mournful sameness of +attire,—delight in wearing a hat like every other man's hat, are +content that it should be a perfected miracle of ugliness, that it +should be hot, that it should be heavy, that it should be disfiguring, +if only they can make sure of seeing fifty, or a hundred and fifty, +other hats exactly like it on their way downtown. So absolute is this +uniformity that the late Marquess of Ailesbury bore all his life a +reputation for eccentricity, which seems to have had no other +foundation than the fact of his wearing hats, or rather a hat, of +distinctive shape, chosen with reference to his own head rather than +to the heads of some odd millions of fellow citizens. The story is +told of his standing bare-headed in a hatter's shop, awaiting the +return of a salesman who had carried off his own beloved head-gear, +when a shortsighted bishop entered, and, not recognizing the peer, +took him for an assistant, and handed him <i>his</i> hat, asking him if +he had any exactly like it. Lord Ailesbury turned the bishop's hat +over and over, examined it carefully inside and out, and gave it back +again. "No," he said, "I haven't, and I'll be damned if I'd wear it, +if I had."</p> + +<p>Even before the establishment of the invincible despotism which +clothes the gentlemen of Christendom in a livery, we find the +masculine mind disposed to severity in the ruling of fashions. Steele, +for example, tells us the shocking story of an English gentleman who +would persist in wearing a broad belt with a hanger, instead of the +light sword then carried by men of rank, although in other respects +he was a "perfectly well-bred person." Steele naturally regarded +this acquaintance with deep suspicion, which was justified when, +twenty-two years afterwards, the innovator married his cook-maid. +"Others were amazed at this," writes the essayist, "but I must +confess that I was not. I had always known that his deviation from +the costume of a gentleman indicated an ill-balanced mind."</p> + +<p>Now the adoption of a rigorous and monotonous utilitarianism in +masculine attire has had two unlovely results. In the first place, +men, since they ceased to covet beautiful clothes for themselves, +have wasted much valuable time in counselling and censuring women; +and, in the second place, there has come, with the loss of their fine +trappings, a corresponding loss of illusions on the part of the women +who look at them. Black broadcloth and derby hats are calculated to +destroy the most robust illusions in Christendom; and men—from +motives hard to fathom—have refused to retain in their wardrobes +a single article which can amend an imperfect ideal. This does not +imply that women fail to value friends in black broadcloth, nor that +they refuse their affections to lovers and husbands in derby hats. +Nature is not to be balked by such impediments. But as long as men +wore costumes which interpreted their strength, enhanced their +persuasiveness, and concealed their shortcomings, women accepted +their dominance without demur. They made no idle claim to equality +with creatures, not only bigger and stronger, not only more capable +and more resolute, not only wiser and more experienced, but more +noble and distinguished in appearance than they were themselves. +What if the assertive attitude of the modern woman, her easy +arrogance, and the confidence she places in her own untried powers, +may be accounted for by the dispiriting clothes which men have +determined to wear, and the wearing of which may have cost them no +small portion of their authority?</p> + +<p>The whole attitude of women in this regard is fraught with +significance. Men have rashly discarded those details of costume +which enhanced their comeliness and charm (we have but to look at +Van Dyck's portraits to see how much rare distinction is traceable +to subdued elegance of dress); but women have never through the long +centuries laid aside the pleasant duty of self-adornment. They dare +not if they would,—too much is at stake; and they experience the +just delight which comes from coöperation with a natural law. The +flexibility of their dress gives them every opportunity to modify, +to enhance, to reveal, and to conceal. It is in the highest degree +interpretative, and through it they express their aspirations and +ideals, their thirst for combat and their realization of defeat, +their fluctuating sentiments and their permanent predispositions.</p> + +<blockquote>"A winning wave, deserving note,<br> + In the tempestuous petticoat;<br> + A careless shoe-string, in whose tie<br> + I see a wild civility."</blockquote> + +<p>Naturally, in a matter so vital, they are not disposed to listen to +reason, and they cannot be argued out of a great fundamental instinct. +Women are constitutionally incapable of being influenced by +argument,—a limitation which is in the nature of a safeguard. The +cunning words in which M. Marcel Provost urges them to follow the +example of men, sounds, to their ears, a little like the words in +which the fox which had lost its tail counsels its fellow foxes to +rid themselves of so despicable an appendage. "Before the +Revolution," writes M. Provost, in his "Lettres à François," "the +clothes worn by men of quality were more costly than those worn by +women. To-day all men dress with such uniformity that a Huron, +transported to Paris or to London, could not distinguish master from +valet. This will assuredly be the fate of feminine toilets in a future +more or less near. The time must come when the varying costumes now +seen at balls, at the races, at the theatre, will all be swept away; +and in their place women will wear, as men do, a species of uniform. +There will be a 'woman's suit,' costing sixty francs at Batignolles, +and five hundred francs in the rue de la Paix; and, this reform once +accomplished, it will never be possible to return to old conditions. +Reason will have triumphed."</p> + +<p>Perhaps! But reason has been routed so often from the field that one +no longer feels confident of her success. M. Baudrillart had a world +of reason on his side when, before the Chamber of Deputies, he urged +reform in dress, and the legal suppression of jewels and costly +fabrics. M. de Lavaleye, the Belgian statist, was fortified by reason +when he proposed his grey serge uniform for women of all classes. +If we turn back a page or two of history, and look at the failure +of the sumptuary laws in England, we find the wives of London +tradesmen, who were not permitted to wear velvet in public, lining +their grogram gowns with this costly fabric, for the mere pleasure +of possession, for the meaningless—and most unreasonable—joy of +expenditure. And when Queen Elizabeth, who considered extravagance +in dress to be a royal prerogative, attempted to coerce the ladies +of her court into simplicity, the Countess of Shrewsbury comments +with ill-concealed irony on the result of such reasonable endeavours. +"How often hath her majestie, with the grave advice of her honourable +Councell, sette down the limits of apparell of every degree; and how +soon again hath the pride of our harts overflown the chanell."</p> + +<p>There are two classes of critics who still waste their vital forces +in a futile attempt to reform feminine dress. The first class cherish +artistic sensibilities which are grievously wounded by the caprices +of fashion. They anathematize a civilization which tolerates +ear-rings, or feathered hats, or artificial flowers. They appear to +suffer vicarious torments from high-heeled shoes, spotted veils, and +stays. They have occasional doubts as to the moral influence of +ball-dresses. An unusually sanguine writer of this order has assured +us, in the pages of the "Contemporary Review," that when women once +assume their civic responsibilities, they will dress as austerely +as men. The first fruits of the suffrage will be seen in sober and +virtue-compelling gowns at the opera.</p> + +<p>The second class of critics is made up of economists, who believe +that too much of the world's earnings is spent upon clothes, and that +this universal spirit of extravagance retards marriage, and blocks +the progress of the race. It is in an ignoble effort to pacify these +last censors that women writers undertake to tell their women readers, +in the pages of women's periodicals, how to dress on sums of +incredible insufficiency. Such misleading guides would be harmless, +and even in their way amusing, if nobody believed them; but unhappily +somebody always does believe them, and that somebody is too often +a married man. There is no measure to the credulity of the average +semi-educated man when confronted by a printed page (print carries +such authority in his eyes), and with rows of figures, all showing +conclusively that two and two make three, and that with economy and +good management they can be reduced to one and a half. He has never +mastered, and apparently never will master, the exact shade of +difference between a statement and a fact.</p> + +<p>Women are, under most circumstances, even more readily deceived; but, +in the matter of dress, they have walked the thorny paths of +experience. They know the cruel cost of everything they wear,—a cost +which in this country is artificially maintained by a high protective +tariff,—and they are not to be cajoled by that delusive word +"simplicity," being too well aware that it is, when synonymous with +good taste, the consummate success of artists, and the crowning +achievement of wealth. Some years ago there appeared in one of the +English magazines an article entitled, "How to Dress on Thirty Pounds +a Year. As a Lady. By a Lady." Whereupon "Punch" offered the following +light-minded amendment: "How to Dress on Nothing a Year. As a Kaffir. +By a Kaffir." At least a practical proposition.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry James has written some charming paragraphs on the symbolic +value of clothes, as illustrated by the costumes worn by the French +actresses of the Comédie,—women to whose unerring taste dress +affords an expression of fine dramatic quality. He describes with +enthusiasm the appearance of Madame Nathalie, when playing the part +of an elderly provincial bourgeoise in a curtain-lifter called "Le +Village."</p> + +<p>"It was the quiet felicity of the old lady's dress that used to charm +me. She wore a large black silk mantilla of a peculiar cut, which +looked as if she had just taken it tenderly out of some old wardrobe +where it lay folded in lavender, and a large dark bonnet, adorned +with handsome black silk loops and bows. The extreme suggestiveness, +and yet the taste and temperateness of this costume, seemed to me +inimitable. The bonnet alone, with its handsome, decent, virtuous +bows, was worth coming to see."</p> + +<p>If we compare this "quiet felicity" of the artist with the absurd +travesties worn on our American stage, we can better understand the +pleasure which filled Mr. James's heart. What, for example, would +Madame Nathalie have thought of the modish gowns which Mrs. Fiske +introduces into the middle-class Norwegian life of Ibsen's dramas? +No plays can less well bear such inaccuracies, because they depend +on their stage-setting to bring before our eyes their alien aspect, +to make us feel an atmosphere with which we are wholly unfamiliar. +The accessories are few, but of supreme importance; and it is +inconceivable that a keenly intelligent actress like Mrs. Fiske +should sacrifice <i>vraisemblance</i> to a meaningless refinement. In the +second act of "Rosmersholm," to take a single instance, the text +calls for a morning wrapper, a thing so manifestly careless and +informal that the school-master, Kroll, is scandalized at seeing +Rebecca in it, and says so plainly. But as Mrs. Fiske plays the scene +in a tea-gown of elaborate elegance, in which she might with +propriety have received the Archbishop of Canterbury, Kroll's +studied apologies for intruding upon her before she has had time to +dress, and the whole suggestion of undue intimacy between Rebecca +and Rosmer, which Ibsen meant to convey, is irrevocably lost. And +to weaken a situation for the sake of being prettily dressed would +be impossible to a French actress, trained in the delicacies of her +art.</p> + +<p>If the feeling for clothes, the sense of their correspondence with +time and place, with public enthusiasms and with private +sensibilities, has always belonged to France, it was a no less +dominant note in Italy during the two hundred years in which she +eclipsed and bewildered the rest of Christendom; and it bore fruit +in those great historic wardrobes which the Italian chroniclers +describe with loving minuteness. We know all about Isabella d' Este's +gowns, as if she had worn them yesterday. We know all about the jewels +which were the assertion of her husband's pride in times of peace, +and his security with the Lombard bankers in times of war. We know +what costumes the young Beatrice d' Este carried with her on her +mission to Venice, and how favourably they impressed the grave +Venetian Senate. We can count the shifts in Lucretia Borgia's +trousseau, when that much-slandered woman became Duchess of Ferrara, +and we can reckon the cost of the gold fringe which hung from her +linen sleeves. We are told which of her robes was wrought with fish +scales, and which with interlacing leaves, and which with a hem of +pure and flame-like gold. Ambassadors described in state papers her +green velvet cap with its golden ornaments, and the emerald she wore +on her forehead, and the black ribbon which tied her beautiful fair +hair.</p> + +<p>These vanities harmonized with character and circumstance. The joy +of living was then expressing itself in an overwhelming sense of +beauty, and in material splendour which, unlike the material +splendour of to-day, never overstepped the standard set by the +intellect. Taste had become a triumphant principle, and as women grew +in dignity and importance, they set a higher and higher value on the +compelling power of dress. They had no more doubt on this score than +had wise Homer when he hung the necklaces around Aphrodite's tender +neck before she was well out of the sea, winding them row after row +in as many circles as there are stars clustering about the moon. No +more doubt than had the fair and virtuous Countess of Salisbury, who, +so Froissart tells us, chilled the lawless passion of Edward the +Third by the simple expedient of wearing unbefitting clothes. Saint +Lucy, under somewhat similar circumstances, felt it necessary to put +out her beautiful eyes; but Katharine of Salisbury knew men better +than the saint knew them. She shamed her loveliness by going to +Edward's banquet looking like a rustic, and found herself in +consequence very comfortably free from royal attentions.</p> + +<p>In the wise old days when men outshone their consorts, we find their +hearts set discerningly on one supreme extravagance. Lace, the most +artistic fabric that taste and ingenuity have devised, "the fine web +which feeds the pride of the world," was for centuries the delight +of every well-dressed gentleman. We know not by what marital cajolery +Mr. Pepys persuaded Mrs. Pepys to give him the lace from her best +petticoat, "that she had when I married her"; but we do know that +he used it to trim a new coat; and that he subsequently noted down +in his diary one simple, serious, and heartfelt resolution, which +we feel sure was faithfully kept: "Henceforth I am determined my +chief expense shall be in lace bands." Charles the Second paid +fifteen pounds apiece for his lace-trimmed night-caps; William the +Third, five hundred pounds for a set of lace-trimmed night-shirts; +and Cinq-Mars, the favourite of Louis the Thirteenth, who was +beheaded when he was barely twenty-two, found time in his short life +to acquire three hundred sets of lace ruffles. The lace collars of +Van Dyck's portraits, the lace cravats which Grahame of Claverhouse +and Montrose wear over their armour, are subtly suggestive of the +strength that lies in delicacy. The fighting qualities of +Claverhouse were not less effective because of those soft folds of +lace and linen. The death of Montrose was no less noble because he +went to the scaffold in scarlet and fine linen, with "stockings of +incarnate silk, and roses on his shoon." Once Carlyle was disparaging +Montrose, as (being in a denunciatory mood) he would have disparaged +the Archangel Michael; and, finding his hearers disposed to disagree +with him, asked bitterly: "What did Montrose do anyway?" Whereupon +Irving retorted: "He put on a clean shirt to be hanged in, and that +is more than you, Carlyle, would ever have done in his place."</p> + +<p>It was the association of the scaffold with an ignoble victim which +banished black satin from the London world. Because a foul-hearted +murderess[2] elected to be hanged in this material, Englishwomen +refused for years to wear it, and many bales of black satin languished +on the drapers' shelves,—a memorable instance of the significance +which attaches itself to dress. The caprices of fashion do more than +illustrate a woman's capacity or incapacity for selection. They +mirror her inward refinements, and symbolize those feminine virtues +and vanities which are so closely akin as to be occasionally +undistinguishable.</p> + +<p>[Footnote 2: Mrs. Manning.]</p> + +<blockquote>"A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn,"</blockquote> + +<p>mocked Pope; and woman smiles at the satire, knowing more about the +matter than Pope could ever have known, and seeing a little sparkle +of truth glimmering beneath the gibe. Fashion fluctuates from one +charming absurdity to another, and each in turn is welcomed and +dismissed; through each in turn woman endeavours to reveal her own +elusive personality. Poets no longer praise With Herrick the brave +vibrations of her petticoats. Ambassadors no longer describe her +caps and ribbons in their official documents. Novelists no longer +devote twenty pages, as did the admirable Richardson, to the wedding +finery of their heroines. Men have ceased to be vitally interested +in dress, but none the less are they sensitive to its influence and +enslaved by its results; while women, preserving through the +centuries the great traditions of their sex, still rate at its utmost +value the prize for which Eve sold her freehold in the Garden of +Paradise.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Greatest">"The Greatest of These is Charity"</a></h2></div> +<br> +<p><i>Mrs. James Gordon Harrington Balderston to Mrs. Lapham Shepherd</i></p> + +<p><big>M</big>Y <big>D</big>EAR <big>M</big>RS. <big>S</big>HEPHERD,</p> + +<p>Will you pardon me for this base encroachment on your time? Busy women +are the only ones who ever <i>have</i> any time, so the rest of the world +is forced to steal from them. And then all that you organize is so +successful that every one turns naturally to you for advice and +assistance, as I am turning now. A really charming woman, a Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay, who has lived for years in Italy, is anxious to +give a series of lectures on Dante. I am sure they will be interesting, +for she can put so much local colour into them, and I understand she +is a fluent Italian scholar. Her uncle was the English Consul in +Florence or Naples, I don't remember which, so she has had unusual +opportunities for study; and her grandfather was Dr. Alexander +Ramsay, who wrote a history of the Hebrides. Unfortunately her voice +is not very strong, so she would be heard to the best advantage in +a drawing-room. I am wondering whether you would consent to lend +yours, which is so beautiful, or whether you could put Miss Ramsay +in touch with the Century Club, or the Spalding School. You will find +her attractive, I am sure. The Penhursts knew her well in Munich, +and have given her a letter to me.</p> + +<p>Pray allow me to congratulate you on your new honours as a grandmother. +I trust that both your daughter and the baby are well.</p> + +<p> +Very sincerely yours,<br> + + <big>I</big>RENE <big>B</big>ALDERSTON.</p> + +<p>I forgot to tell you that Miss Ramsay's lectures are on</p> + +<p> Dante, the Lover.<br> + Dante, the Poet.<br> + Dante, the Patriot.<br> + Dante, the Reformer.</p> + +<p>There was a fifth on Dante, the Prophet, but I persuaded her to leave +it out of the course.</p> +<div align="right">I. B.</div> +<br> +<p><i>Mrs. Lapham Shepherd to Mrs. Wilfred Ward Hamilton</i></p> + +<p><big>D</big>EAR <big>M</big>RS. <big>H</big>AMILTON,—</p> + +<p>Mrs. James Balderston has asked me to do what I can for a Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay (granddaughter of the historian), who wants to +give four lectures on Dante in Philadelphia. She has chopped him up +into poet, prophet, lover, etc. I cannot have any lectures or +readings in my house this winter. Jane is still far from strong, and +we shall probably go South after Christmas. Please don't let me put +any burden on your shoulders; but if Dr. Hamilton could persuade +those nice Quakers at Swarthmore that there is nothing so educational +as a course of Dante, it would be the best possible opening for Miss +Ramsay. Mrs. Balderston seems to think her voice would not carry in +a large room, but as students never listen to anybody, this would +make very little difference. The Century Club has been suggested, +but I fancy the classes there have been arranged for the season. There +are preparatory schools, aren't there, at Swarthmore, which need to +know about Dante? Or would there be any chance at all at Miss +Irington's?</p> + +<p>Miss Ramsay has been to see me, and I feel sorry for the girl. Her +uncle was the English Consul at Milan, and the poor thing loved Italy +(who doesn't!), and hated to leave it. I wish she could establish +herself as a lecturer, though there is nothing I detest more ardently +than lectures.</p> + +<p>I missed you sorely at the meeting of the Aubrey Home house-committee +yesterday. Harriet Maline and Mrs. Percy Brown had a battle royal +over the laying of the new water-pipes, and over <i>my</i> prostrate body, +which still aches from the contest. I wish Harriet would resign. She +is the only creature I have ever known, except the Bate's parrot and +my present cook, who is perpetually out of temper. If she were not +my husband's stepmother's niece, I am sure I could stand up to her +better.</p> + +<p> + Cordially yours,<br> + + +<big>A</big>LICE <big>L</big>EIGH <big>S</big>HEPHERD.</p> +<br> +<p><i>Mrs. Wilfred Ward Hamilton to Miss Violet Wray</i></p> + +<p><big>D</big>EAR <big>V</big>IOLET,—</p> + +<p>You know Margaret Irington better than I do. Do you think she would +like to have a course of Dante in her school this winter? A very clever +and charming woman, a Miss Alexandrina Ramsay, has four lectures on +the poet which she is anxious to give before schools, or clubs, or—if +she can—in private houses. I have promised Mrs. Shepherd to do +anything in my power to help her. It occurred to me that the +Contemporary Club might like to have one of the lectures, and you +are on the committee. That would be the making of Miss Ramsay, if +only she could be heard in that huge Clover Room. I understand she +has a pleasant cultivated voice, but is not accustomed to public +speaking. There must be plenty of smaller clubs at Bryn Mawr, or +Haverford, or Chestnut Hill, for which she would be just the thing. +Her grandfather wrote a history of England, and I have a vague +impression that I studied it at school. I should write to the Drexel +Institute, but don't know anybody connected with it. Do you? It would +be a real kindness to give Miss Ramsay a start, and I know you do +not begrudge trouble in a good cause. You did such wonders for +Fräulein Breitenbach last winter.</p> + +<p> +Love to your mother,<br> + + +Affectionately yours,<br> + + + +<big>H</big>ANNAH <big>G</big>ALE <big>H</big>AMILTON.</p> +<br> +<p><i>Miss Violet Wray to Mrs. J. Lockwood Smith</i></p> + +<p><big>D</big>EAR <big>A</big>NN,—</p> + +<p>I have been requested by Hannah Hamilton—may Heaven forgive +her!—to find lecture engagements for a Miss Ramsay, Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay, who wants to tell the American public what she +knows about Dante. Why a Scotchwoman should be turned loose in the +Inferno, I cannot say; but it seems her father or her grandfather +wrote school-books, and she is carrying on the educational traditions +of the family. Hannah made the unholy suggestion that she should +speak at the Contemporary Club, and offered as an inducement the fact +that she couldn't be heard in so large a room. But we are supposed +to discuss topics of the day, and Dante happened some little while +ago. He has no bearing upon aviation, or National Insurance Bills +(that is our subject next Monday night); but he is brimming over with +ethics, and it is the duty of your precious Ethical Society to grapple +with him exhaustively. I always wondered what took you to that +strange substitute for church; but now I see in it the hand of +Providence pointing the way to Miss Ramsay's lecture field. Please +persuade your fellow Ethicals that four lectures—or even one +lecture—on Dante will be what Alice Hunt calls an "uplift." I feel +that I must try and find an opening for Hannah's protégée, because +she helped me with Fräulein Breitenbach's concert last winter,—a +circumstance she does not lightly permit me to forget. Did I say, +"May Heaven forgive her" for saddling me with this Scotch +schoolmaster's daughter? Well, I take back that devout supplication. +May jackals sit on her grandmother's grave! Meantime here is Miss +Ramsay to be provided for. If your Ethicals (disregarding their duty) +will have none of her, please think up somebody with a taste for +serious study, and point out that Dante, elucidated by a Scotchwoman, +will probably be as serious as anything that has visited Philadelphia +since the yellow fever.</p> + +<p>If you want one of Grisette's kittens, there are still two left. The +handsomest of all has gone to live in regal splendour at the Bruntons, +and I have promised another to our waitress who was married last month. +Such are the vicissitudes of life.</p> + +<p> +Ever yours,<br> + + +<big>V</big>IOLET <big>W</big>RAY.</p> +<br> +<p><i>Mrs. J. Lockwood Smith to Mrs. James Gordon Harrington Balderston</i></p> + +<p><big>D</big>EAR <big>M</big>RS. <big>B</big>ALDERSTON,—</p> + +<p>I want to enlist your interest in a clever young Scotchwoman, a Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay, who hopes to give four lectures on Dante in +Philadelphia this winter. Her father was an eminent teacher in his +day, and I understand she is thoroughly equipped for her work. Heaven +knows I wish fewer lecturers would cross the sea to enlighten our +ignorance, and so will you when you get this letter; but I remember +with what enthusiasm you talked about Italy and Dante at Brown's +Mills last spring, and I trust that your ardour has not waned. The +Century Club seems to me the best possible field for Miss Ramsay. +Do you know any one on the entertainment committee, and do you think +it is not too late in the season to apply? Of course there are always +the schools. Dear Mrs. Balderston, I should feel more shame in +troubling you, did I not know how capable you are, and how much weight +your word carries. Violet Wray and Mrs. Wilfred Hamilton are +tremendously interested in Miss Ramsay. May I tell Violet to send +her to you, so that you can see for yourself what she is like, and +what chances she has of success? Please be quite frank in saying yes +or no, and believe me always,</p> + +<p> +Yours very cordially,<br> + + +<big>A</big>NN <big>H</big>AZELTON <big>S</big>MITH.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Customary">The Customary Correspondent</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"Letters warmly sealed and coldly opened."—<big>R</big>ICHTER.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>Why do so many ingenious theorists give fresh reasons every year for +the decline of letter writing, and why do they assume, in derision +of suffering humanity, that it has declined? They lament the lack +of leisure, the lack of sentiment,—Mr. Lucas adds the lack of +stamps,—which chill the ardour of the correspondent; and they fail +to ascertain how chilled he is, or how far he sets at naught these +justly restraining influences. They talk of telegrams, and +telephones, and postal cards, as if any discovery of science, any +device of civilization, could eradicate from the human heart that +passion for self-expression which is the impelling force of letters. +They also fail to note that, side by side with telephones and +telegrams, comes the baleful reduction of postage rates, which +lowers our last barrier of defence. Two cents an ounce leaves us naked +at the mercy of the world.</p> + +<p>It is on record that a Liverpool tradesman once wrote to Dickens, +to express the pleasure he had derived from that great Englishman's +immortal novels, and enclosed, by way of testimony, a cheque for five +hundred pounds. This is a phenomenon which ought to be more widely +known than it is, for there is no natural law to prevent its +recurrence; and while the world will never hold another Dickens, +there are many deserving novelists who may like to recall the +incident when they open their morning's mail. It would be pleasant +to associate our morning's mail with such fair illusions; and though +writing to strangers is but a parlous pastime, the Liverpool +gentleman threw a new and radiant light upon its possibilities. "The +gratuitous contributor is, <i>ex vi termini</i>, an ass," said +Christopher North sourly; but then he never knew, nor ever deserved +to know, this particular kind of contribution.</p> + +<p>Generally speaking, the unknown correspondent does not write to +praise. His guiding principle is the diffusion of useless knowledge, +and he demands or imparts it according to the exigencies of the hour. +It is strange that a burning thirst for information should be +combined with such reluctance to acquire it through ordinary +channels. A man who wishes to write a paper on the botanical value +of Shakespeare's plays does not dream of consulting a concordance +and a botany, and then going to work. The bald simplicity of such +a process offends his sense of magnitude. He writes to a +distinguished scholar, asking a number of burdensome questions, and +is apparently under the impression that the resources of the +scholar's mind, the fruits of boundless industry, should be +cheerfully placed at his disposal. A woman who meditates a "literary +essay" upon domestic pets is not content to track her quarry through +the long library shelves. She writes to some painstaking worker, +enquiring what English poets have "sung the praises of the cat," and +if Cowper was the only author who ever domesticated hares? One of +Huxley's most amusing letters is written in reply to a gentleman who +wished to compile an article on "Home Pets of Celebrities," and who +unhesitatingly applied for particulars concerning the Hodeslea cat.</p> + +<p>These are, of course, labour-saving devices, but economy of effort +is not always the ambition of the correspondent. It would seem easier, +on the whole, to open a dictionary of quotations than to compose an +elaborately polite letter, requesting to know who said—</p> + +<blockquote>"Fate cannot harm me; I have dined to-day."</blockquote> + +<p>It is certainly easier, and far more agreeable, to read Charles +Lamb's essays than to ask a stranger in which one of them he +discovered the author's heterodox views on encyclopædias. It +involves no great fatigue to look up a poem of Herrick's, or a letter +of Shelley's, or a novel of Peacock's (these things are accessible +and repay enquiry), and it would be a rational and self-respecting +thing to do, instead of endeavouring to extort information (like an +intellectual footpad) from writers who are in no way called upon to +furnish it.</p> + +<p>One thing is sure. As long as there are people in this world whose +guiding principle is the use of other people's brains, there can be +no decline and fall of letter-writing. The correspondence which +plagued our great-grandfathers a hundred years ago, plagues their +descendants to-day. Readers of Lockhart's "Scott" will remember how +an Edinburgh minister named Brunton, who wished to compile a hymnal, +wrote to the poet Crabbe for a list of hymns; and how Crabbe (who, +albeit a clergyman, knew probably as little about hymns as any man +in England) wrote in turn to Scott, to please help him to help +Brunton; and how Scott replied in desperation that he envied the +hermit of Prague who never saw pen nor ink. How many of us have in +our day thought longingly of that blessed anchorite! Surely Mr. +Herbert Spencer must, consciously or unconsciously, have shared +Scott's sentiments, when he wrote a letter to the public press, +explaining with patient courtesy that, being old, and busy, and very +tired, it was no longer possible for him to answer all the unknown +correspondents who demanded information upon every variety of +subject. He had tried to do this for many years, but the tax was too +heavy for his strength, and he was compelled to take refuge in +silence.</p> + +<p>Ingenious authors and editors who ask for free copy form a class apart. +They are not pursuing knowledge for their own needs, but offering +themselves as channels through which we may gratuitously enlighten +the world. Their questions, though intimate to the verge of +indiscretion, are put in the name of humanity; and we are bidden to +confide to the public how far we indulge in the use of stimulants, +what is the nature of our belief in immortality, if—being women—we +should prefer to be men, and what incident of our lives has most +profoundly affected our careers. Reticence on our part is met by the +assurance that eminent people all over the country are hastening to +answer these queries, and that the "unique nature" of the discussion +will make it of permanent value to mankind. We are also told in +soothing accents that our replies need not exceed a few hundred words, +as the editor is nobly resolved not to infringe upon our valuable +time.</p> + +<p>Less commercial, but quite as importunate, are the correspondents +who belong to literary societies, and who have undertaken to read, +before these select circles, papers upon every conceivable subject, +from the Bride of the Canticle to the divorce laws of France. They +regret their own ignorance—as well they may—and blandly ask for +aid. There is no limit to demands of this character. The young +Englishwoman who wrote to Tennyson, requesting some verses which she +might read as her own at a picnic, was not more intrepid than the +American school-girl who recently asked a man of letters to permit +her to see an unpublished address, as she had heard that it dealt +with the subject of her graduation paper, and hoped it might give +her some points. It is hard to believe that the timidity natural to +youth—or which we used to think natural to youth—could be so easily +overcome; or that the routine of school work, which makes for honest +if inefficient acquirements, could leave a student still begging or +borrowing her way.</p> + +<p>We must in justice admit, however, that the unknown correspondent +is as ready to volunteer assistance as to demand it. He is ingenious +in criticism, and fertile in suggestions. He has inspirations in the +way of plots and topics,—like that amiable baronet, Sir John +Sinclair, who wanted Scott to write a poem on the adventures and +intrigues of a Caithness mermaiden, and who proffered him, by way +of inducement, "all the information I possess." The correspondent's +tone, when writing to humbler drudges in the field, is kind and +patronizing. He admits that he likes your books, or at least—here +is a veiled reproach—that he "has liked the earlier ones"; he +assumes, unwarrantably, that you are familiar with his favourite +authors; and he believes that it would be for you "an interesting +and congenial task" to trace the "curious connection" between +American fiction and the stock exchange. Sometimes, with thinly +veiled sarcasm, he demands that you should "enlighten his dulness," +and say <i>why</i> you gave your book its title. If he cannot find a French +word you have used in his "excellent dictionary," he thinks it worth +while to write and tell you so. He fears you do not "wholly understand +or appreciate the minor poets of your native land"; and he protests, +more in sorrow than in anger, against certain innocent phrases with +which you have disfigured "your otherwise graceful pages."</p> + +<p>Now it must be an impulse not easily resisted which prompts people +to this gratuitous expression of their opinions. They take a world +of trouble which they could so easily escape; they deem it their +privilege to break down the barriers which civilization has taught +us to respect; and if they ever find themselves repaid, it is +assuredly by something remote from the gratitude of their +correspondents. Take, for example, the case of Mr. Peter Bayne, +journalist, and biographer of Martin Luther, who wrote to +Tennyson,—with whom he was unacquainted,—protesting earnestly +against a line in "Lady Clare":—</p> + +<blockquote>"'If I'm a beggar born,' she said."</blockquote> + +<p>It was Mr. Bayne's opinion that such an expression was not only +exaggerated, inasmuch as the nurse was not, and never had been, a +beggar; but, coming from a child to her mother, was harsh and unfilial. +"The criticism of my heart," he wrote, "tells me that Lady Clare could +never have said that."</p> + +<p>Tennyson was perhaps the last man in Christendom to have accepted +the testimony of Mr. Bayne's heart-throbs. He intimated with some +asperity that he knew better than anyone else what Lady Clare <i>did</i> +say, and he pointed out that she had just cause for resentment against +a mother who had placed her in such an embarrassing position. The +controversy is one of the drollest in literature; but what is hard +to understand is the mental attitude of a man—and a reasonably busy +man—who could attach so much importance to Lady Clare's remarks, +and who could feel himself justified in correcting them.</p> + +<p>Begging letters form a class apart. They represent a great and +growing industry, and they are too purposeful to illustrate the +abstract passion for correspondence. Yet marvellous things have been +done in this field. There is an ingenuity, a freshness and fertility +of device about the begging letter which lifts it often to the realms +of genius. Experienced though we all are, it has surprises in store +for every one of us. Seasoned though we are, we cannot read without +appreciation of its more daring and fantastic flights. There was, +for instance, a very imperative person who wrote to Dickens for a +donkey, and who said he would call for it the next day, as though +Dickens kept a herd of donkeys in Tavistock Square, and could always +spare one for an emergency. There was a French gentleman who wrote +to Moore, demanding a lock of Byron's hair for a young lady, who +would—so he said—die if she did not get it. This was a very +lamentable letter, and Moore was conjured, in the name of the young +lady's distracted family, to send the lock, and save her from the +grave. And there was a misanthrope who wrote to Peel that he was weary +of the ways of men (as so, no doubt, was Peel), and who requested +a hermitage in some nobleman's park, where he might live secluded +from the world. The best begging-letter writers depend upon the +element of surprise as a valuable means to their end. I knew a +benevolent old lady who, in 1885, was asked to subscribe to a fund +for the purchase of "moderate luxuries" for the French soldiers in +Madagascar. "What did you do?" I asked, when informed of the incident. +"I sent the money," was the placid reply. "I thought I might never +again have an opportunity to send money to Madagascar."</p> + +<p>It would be idle to deny that a word of praise, a word of thanks, +sometimes a word of criticism, have been powerful factors in the +lives of men of genius. We know how profoundly Lord Byron was affected +by the letter of a consumptive girl, written simply and soberly, +signed with initials only, seeking no notice and giving no address; +but saying in a few candid words that the writer wished before she +died to thank the poet for the rapture his poems had given her. "I +look upon such a letter," wrote Byron to Moore, "as better than a +diploma from Göttingen." We know, too, what a splendid impetus to +Carlyle was that first letter from Goethe, a letter which he +confessed seemed too wonderful to be real, and more "like a message +from fairyland." It was but a brief note after all, tepid, sensible, +and egotistical; but the magic sentence, "It may be I shall yet hear +much of you," became for years an impelling force, the kind of +prophecy which insured its own fulfilment.</p> + +<p>Carlyle was susceptible to praise, though few readers had the +temerity to offer it. We find him, after the publication of the +"French Revolution," writing urbanely to a young and unknown +admirer; "I do not blame your enthusiasm." But when a less +happily-minded youth sent him some suggestions for the reformation +of society, Carlyle, who could do all his own grumbling, returned +his disciple's complaints with this laconic denial: "A pack of damned +nonsense, you unfortunate fool." It sounds unkind; but we must +remember that there were six posts a day in London, that "each post +brought its batch of letters," and that nine tenths of these +letters—so Carlyle says—were from strangers, demanding autographs, +and seeking or proffering advice. One man wrote that he was +distressingly ugly, and asked what should he do about it. "So +profitable have my epistolary fellow creatures grown to me in these +years," notes the historian in his journal, "that when the postman +leaves nothing, it may well be felt as an escape."</p> + +<p>The most patient correspondent known to fame was Sir Walter Scott, +though Lord Byron surprises us at times by the fine quality of his +good nature. His letters are often petulant,—especially when Murray +has sent him tragedies instead of tooth-powder; but he is perhaps +the only man on record who received with perfect equanimity the +verses of an aspiring young poet, wrote him the cheerfullest of +letters, and actually invited him to breakfast. The letter is still +extant; but the verses were so little the precursor of fame that the +youth's subsequent history is to this day unknown. It was with truth +that Byron said of himself: "I am really a civil and polite person, +and do hate pain when it can be avoided."</p> + +<p>Scott was also civil and polite, and his heart beat kindly for every +species of bore. As a consequence, the world bestowed its tediousness +upon him, to the detriment of his happiness and health. Ingenious +jokers translated his verses into Latin, and then wrote to accuse +him of plagiarizing from Vida. Proprietors of patent medicines +offered him fabulous sums to link his fame with theirs. Modest ladies +proposed that he should publish their effusions as his own, and share +the profits. Poets demanded that he should find publishers for their +epics, and dramatists that he should find managers for their plays. +Critics pointed out to him his anachronisms, and well-intentioned +readers set him right on points of morality and law. When he was old, +and ill, and ruined, there was yet no respite from the curse of +correspondents. A year before his death he wrote dejectedly in his +journal:—"A fleece of letters which must be answered, I suppose; +all from persons—my zealous admirers, of course—who expect me to +make up whatever losses have been their lot, raise them to a desirable +rank, and stand their protector and patron. I must, they take it for +granted, be astonished at having an address from a stranger. On the +contrary, I should be astonished if one of these extravagant epistles +came from anybody who had the least title to enter into +correspondence."</p> + +<p>And there are people who believe, or who pretend to believe, that +fallen human nature can be purged and amended by half-rate telegrams, +and a telephone ringing in the hall. Rather let us abandon illusions, +and echo Carlyle's weary cry, when he heard the postman knocking at +his door: "Just Heavens! Does literature lead to this!"</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Benefactor">The Benefactor</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"He is a good man who can receive a gift well."—<big>E</big>MERSON.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>There is a sacredness of humility in such an admission which wins +pardon for all the unlovely things which Emerson has crowded into +a few pages upon "Gifts." Recognizing that his own goodness stopped +short of this exalted point, he pauses for a moment in his able and +bitter self-defence to pay tribute to a generosity he is too honest +to claim. After all, who but Charles Lamb ever <i>did</i> receive gifts +well? Scott tried, to be sure. No man ever sinned less than he against +the law of kindness. But Lamb did not need to try. He had it in his +heart of gold to feel pleasure in the presents which his friends took +pleasure in giving him. The character and quality of the gifts were +not determining factors. We cannot analyze this disposition. We can +only admire it from afar.</p> + +<p>"I look upon it as a point of morality to be obliged to those who +endeavour to oblige me," says Sterne; and the sentiment, like most +of Sterne's sentiments, is remarkably graceful. It has all the +freshness of a principle never fagged out by practice. The rugged +fashion in which Emerson lived up to his burdensome ideals prompted +him to less engaging utterances. "It is not the office of a man to +receive gifts," he writes viciously. "How dare you give them? We wish +to be self-sustained. We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that +feeds us is in some danger of being bitten."</p> + +<p>Carlyle is almost as disquieting. He searches for, and consequently +finds, unworthy feelings both in the man who gives, and holds himself +to be a benefactor, and in the man who receives, and burdens himself +with a sense of obligation. He professes a stern dislike for presents, +fearing lest they should undermine his moral stability; but a man +so up in morals must have been well aware that he ran no great risk +of parting with his stock in trade. He probably hated getting what +he did not want, and finding himself expected to be grateful for it. +This is a sentiment common to lesser men than Carlyle, and as old +as the oldest gift-bearer. It has furnished food for fables, +inspiration for satirists, and cruel stories at which the +light-hearted laugh. Mr. James Payn used to tell the tale of an +advocate who unwisely saved a client from the gallows which he should +have graced; and the man, inspired by the best of motives, sent his +benefactor from the West Indies a case of pineapples in which a colony +of centipedes had bred so generously that they routed every servant +from the unfortunate lawyer's house, and dwelt hideously and +permanently in his kitchen. "A purchase is cheaper than a gift," says +a wily old Italian proverb, steeped in the wisdom of the centuries.</p> + +<p>The principle which prompts the selection of gifts—since selected +they all are by some one—is for the most part a mystery. I never +but once heard any reasonable solution, and that was volunteered by +an old lady who had been listening in silence to a conversation on +the engrossing subject of Christmas presents. It was a conversation +at once animated and depressing. The time was at hand when none of +us could hope to escape these tokens of regard, and the elaborate +and ingenious character of their unfitness was frankly and fairly +discussed. What baffled us was the theory of choice. Suddenly the +old lady flooded this dark problem with light by observing that she +always purchased her presents at bazaars. She said she knew they were +useless, and that nobody wanted them, but that she considered it her +duty to help the bazaars. She had the air of one conscious of +well-doing, and sure of her reward. It did not seem to occur to her +that the reward should, in justice, be passed on with the purchases. +The necessities of charitable organizations called for a sacrifice, +and, rising to the emergency, she sacrificed her friends.</p> + +<p>A good many years have passed over our heads since Thackeray launched +his invectives at the Christmas tributes he held in heartiest +hatred,—the books which every season brought in its train, and which +were never meant to be read. Their mission was fulfilled when they +were sent by aunt to niece, by uncle to nephew, by friend to hapless +friend. They were "gift-books" in the exclusive sense of the word. +Thackeray was wont to declare that these vapid, brightly bound +volumes played havoc with the happy homes of England, just as the +New Year bonbons played havoc with the homes of France. Perhaps, of +the two countries, France suffered less. The candy soon disappeared, +leaving only impaired digestions in its wake. The books remained to +encumber shelves, and bore humanity afresh.</p> + +<blockquote><i>"Mol, je dis que les bonbons<br> +Valent mieux que la raison";</i></blockquote> + +<p>and they are at least less permanently oppressive. "When thou makest +presents," said old John Fuller, "let them be of such things as will +last long; to the end that they may be in some sort immortal, and +may frequently refresh the memory of the receiver." But this +excellent advice—excellent for the simple and spacious age in which +it was written—presupposes the "immortal" presents to wear well. +Theologians teach us that immortality is not necessarily a blessing.</p> + +<p>A vast deal of ingenuity is wasted every year in evoking the +undesirable, in the careful construction of objects which burden +life. Frankenstein was a large rather than an isolated example. The +civilized world so teems with elaborate and unlovely inutilities, +with things which seem foreign to any reasonable conditions of +existence, that we are sometimes disposed to envy the savage who +wears all his simple wardrobe without being covered, and who sees +all his simple possessions in a corner of his empty hut. What pleasant +spaces meet the savage eye! What admirable vacancies soothe the +savage soul! No embroidered bag is needed to hold his sponge or his +slippers. No painted box is destined for his postal cards. No +decorated tablet waits for his laundry list. No ornate wall-pocket +yawns for his unpaid bills. He smokes without cigarette-cases. He +dances without cotillion favours. He enjoys all rational diversions, +unfretted by the superfluities with which we have weighted them. Life, +notwithstanding its pleasures, remains endurable to him.</p> + +<p>Above all, he does not undermine his own moral integrity by vicarious +benevolence, by helping the needy at his friend's expense. The great +principle of giving away what one does not want to keep is probably +as familiar to the savage as to his civilized, or semi-civilized +brother. That vivacious traveller, Père Huc, tells us he has seen +a Tartar chief at dinner gravely hand over to an underling a piece +of gristle he found himself unable to masticate, and that the gift +was received with every semblance of gratitude and delight. But there +is a simple straightforwardness about an act like this which commends +it to our understanding. The Tartar did not assume the gristle to +be palatable. He did not veil his motives for parting with it. He +did not expand with the emotions of a philanthropist. And he did not +expect the Heavens to smile upon his deed.</p> + +<p>One word must be said in behalf of the punctilious giver, of the man +who repays a gift as scrupulously as he returns a blow. He wants to +please, but he is baffled by not knowing, and by not being sympathetic +enough to divine, what his inarticulate friend desires. And if he +does know, he may still vacillate between his friend's sense of the +becoming and his own. The "Spectator," in a mood of unwonted subtlety, +tells us that there is a "mild treachery" in giving what we feel to +be bad, because we are aware that the recipient will think it very +good. If, for example, we hold garnets to be ugly and vulgar, we must +not send them to a friend who considers them rich and splendid. "A +gift should represent common ground."</p> + +<p>This is so well said that it sounds like the easy thing it isn't. +Which of us has not nobly striven, and ignobly failed, to preserve +our honest purpose without challenging the taste of our friends? It +is hard to tell what people really prize. Heine begged for a button +from George Sand's trousers, and who shall say whether enthusiasm +or malice prompted the request? Mr. Oscar Browning, who as Master +at Eton must have known whereof he spoke, insisted that it was a +mistake to give a boy a well-bound book if you expected him to read +it. Yet binding plays a conspicuous part in the selection of +Christmas and birthday presents. Dr. Johnson went a step farther, +and said that nobody wanted to read <i>any</i> book which was given to +him;—the mere fact that it was given, instead of being bought, +borrowed, or ravished from a friend's shelves, militated against its +readable qualities. Perhaps the Doctor was thinking of authors' +copies. Otherwise the remark is the most discouraging one on record.</p> + +<p>Yet when all the ungracious things have been said and forgotten, when +the hard old proverbs have exhausted their unwelcome wisdom, and we +have smiled wearily over the deeper cynicisms of Richelieu and +Talleyrand, where shall we turn for relief but to Emerson, who has +atoned in his own fashion for the harshness of his own words. It is +not only that he recognizes the goodness of the man who receives a +gift well; but he sees, and sees clearly, that there can be no +question between friends of giving or receiving, no possible room +for generosity or gratitude. "The gift to be true must be the flowing +of the giver unto me, correspondent to my flowing unto him. When the +waters are at a level, then my goods pass to him, and his to me. All +his are mine, all mine, his."</p> + +<p>Critics have been disposed to think that this is an elevation too +lofty for plain human beings to climb, an air too rarified for them +to breathe; and that it ill befitted a man who churlishly resented +the simple, stupid kindnesses of life, to take so sublime a tone, +to claim so fine a virtue. We cannot hope to scale great moral heights +by ignoring petty obligations.</p> + +<p>Yet Emerson does not go a step beyond Plato in his conception of the +"level waters" of friendship. He states his position lucidly, and +with a rational understanding of all that it involves. His vision +is wide enough to embrace its everlasting truth. Plato says the same +thing in simpler language. He offers his truth as self-evident, and +in no need of demonstration. When Lysis and Menexenus greet Socrates +at the gymnasia, the philosopher asks which of the two youths is the +elder.</p> + +<p>"'That,' said Menexenus, 'is a matter of dispute between us.'</p> + +<p>"'And which is the nobler? Is that also a matter of dispute?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, certainly.'</p> + +<p>"'And another disputed point is which is the fairer?'</p> + +<p>"The two boys laughed.</p> + +<p>"'I shall not ask which is the richer, for you are friends, are you +not?'</p> + +<p>"'We are friends.'</p> + +<p>"'And friends have all things in common, so that one of you can be +no richer than the other, if you say truly that you are friends.'</p> + +<p>"They assented, and at that moment Menexenus was called away by some +one who came and said that the master of the gymnasia wanted him."[1]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 1: Lysis. Translated by Jowett.]</p> + +<p>This is all. To Plato's way of thinking, the situation explained +itself. The two boys could not share their beauty nor their strength, +but money was a thing to pass from hand to hand. It was not, and it +never could be, a matter for competition. The last lesson taught an +Athenian youth was the duty of outstripping his neighbour in the hard +race for wealth.</p> + +<p>And where shall we turn for a practical illustration of friendship, +as conceived by Emerson and Plato? Where shall we see the level waters, +the "mine is thine" which we think too exalted for plain living? No +need to search far, and no need to search amid the good and great. +It is a pleasure to find what we seek in the annals of the flagrantly +sinful, of that notorious Duke of Queensberry, "Old Q," who has been +so liberally and justly censured by Wordsworth and Burns, by Leigh +Hunt and Sir George Trevelyan, and who was, in truth, gamester, +roué,—and friend. In the last capacity he was called upon to listen +to the woes of George Selwyn, who, having lost at Newmarket more money +than he could possibly hope to pay, saw ruin staring him in the face. +There is in Selwyn's letter a note of eloquent misery. He was, save +when lulled to sleep in Parliament, a man of many words. There is +in the letter of Lord March (he had not yet succeeded to the +Queensberry title and estates) nothing but a quiet exposition of +Plato's theory of friendship. Selwyn's debts and his friend's money +are intercommunicable. The amount required has been placed that +morning at the banker's. "I depend more," writes Lord March, "upon +the continuance of our friendship than upon anything else in the +world, because I have so many reasons to know you, and I am sure I +know myself. <i>There will be no bankruptcy without we are bankrupt +together.</i>"</p> + +<p>Here are the waters flowing on a level, flowing between two men of +the world; one of them great enough to give, without deeming himself +a benefactor, and the other good enough to receive a gift well.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Condescension">The Condescension of Borrowers</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"Il n'est si riche qui quelquefois ne doibve. Il n'est si pauvre de +qui quelquefois on ne puisse emprunter."—<i>Pantagruel</i>.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>"I lent my umbrella," said my friend, "to my cousin, Maria. I was +compelled to lend it to her because she could not, or would not, leave +my house in the rain without it. I had need of that umbrella, and +I tried to make it as plain as the amenities of language permitted +that I expected to have it returned. Maria said superciliously that +she hated to see other people's umbrellas littering the house, which +gave me a gleam of hope. Two months later I found my property in the +hands of her ten-year-old son, who was being marshalled with his +brothers and sisters to dancing-school. In the first joyful flash +of recognition I cried, 'Oswald, that is my umbrella you are +carrying!' whereupon Maria said still more superciliously than +before, 'Oh, yes, don't you remember?' (as if reproaching me for my +forgetfulness)—'you gave it to me that Saturday I lunched with you, +and it rained so heavily. The boys carry it to school. Where there +are children, you can't have too many old umbrellas at hand. They +lose them so fast.' She spoke," continued my friend impressively, +"as if she were harbouring my umbrella from pure kindness, and +because she did not like to wound my feelings by sending it back to +me. She made a virtue of giving it shelter."</p> + +<p>This is the arrogance which places the borrower, as Charles Lamb +discovered long ago, among the great ones of the earth, among those +whom their brethren serve. Lamb loved to contrast the "instinctive +sovereignty," the frank and open bearing of the man who borrows with +the "lean and suspicious" aspect of the man who lends. He stood lost +in admiration before the great borrowers of the world,—Alcibiades, +Falstaff, Steele, and Sheridan; an incomparable quartette, to which +might be added the shining names of William Godwin and Leigh Hunt. +All the characteristic qualities of the class were united, indeed, +in Leigh Hunt, as in no other single representative. Sheridan was +an unrivalled companion,—could talk seven hours without making even +Byron yawn. Steele was the most lovable of spendthrifts. Lending to +these men was but a form of investment. They paid in a coinage of +their own. But Leigh Hunt combined in the happiest manner a readiness +to extract favours with a confirmed habit of never acknowledging the +smallest obligation for them. He is a perfect example of the +condescending borrower, of the man who permits his friends, as a +pleasure to themselves, to relieve his necessities, and who knows +nothing of gratitude or loyalty.</p> + +<p>It would be interesting to calculate the amount of money which Hunt's +friends and acquaintances contributed to his support in life. +Shelley gave him at one time fourteen hundred pounds, an amount which +the poet could ill spare; and, when he had no more to give, wrote +in misery of spirit to Byron, begging a loan for his friend, and +promising to repay it, as he feels tolerably sure that Hunt never +will. Byron, generous at first, wearied after a time of his position +in Hunt's commissariat (it was like pulling a man out of a river, +he wrote to Moore, only to see him jump in again), and coldly withdrew. +His withdrawal occasioned inconvenience, and has been sharply +criticised. Hunt, says Sir Leslie Stephen, loved a cheerful giver, +and Byron's obvious reluctance struck him as being in bad taste. His +biographers, one and all, have sympathized with this point of view. +Even Mr. Frederick Locker, from whom one would have expected a +different verdict, has recorded his conviction that Hunt had +probably been "sorely tried" by Byron.</p> + +<p>It is characteristic of the preordained borrower, of the man who +simply fulfils his destiny in life, that not his obligations only, +but his anxieties and mortifications are shouldered by other men. +Hunt was care-free and light-hearted; but there is a note akin to +anguish in Shelley's petition to Byron, and in his shamefaced +admission that he is himself too poor to relieve his friend's +necessities. The correspondence of William Godwin's eminent +contemporaries teem with projects to alleviate Godwin's needs. His +debts were everybody's affair but his own. Sir James Mackintosh wrote +to Rogers in the autumn of 1815, suggesting that Byron might be the +proper person to pay them. Rogers, enchanted with the idea, wrote +to Byron, proposing that the purchase money of "The Siege of Corinth" +be devoted to this good purpose. Byron, with less enthusiasm, but +resigned, wrote to Murray, directing him to forward the six hundred +pounds to Godwin; and Murray, having always the courage of his +convictions, wrote back, flatly refusing to do anything of the kind. +In the end, Byron used the money to pay his own debts, thereby +disgusting everybody but his creditors.</p> + +<p>Six years later, however, we find him contributing to a fund which +tireless philanthropists were raising for Godwin's relief. On this +occasion all men of letters, poor as well as rich, were pressed into +active service. Even Lamb, who had nothing of his own, wrote to the +painter, Haydon, who had not a penny in the world, and begged him +to beg Mrs. Coutts to pay Godwin's rent. He also confessed that he +had sent "a very respectful letter"—on behalf of the rent—to Sir +Walter Scott; and he explained naïvely that Godwin did not concern +himself personally in the matter, because he "left all to his +Committee,"—a peaceful thing to do.</p> + +<p>But how did Godwin come to have a "committee" to raise money for him, +when other poor devils had to raise it for themselves, or do without? +He was not well-beloved. On the contrary, he bored all whom he did +not affront. He was not grateful. On the contrary, he held gratitude +to be a vice, as tending to make men "grossly partial" to those who +have befriended them. His condescension kept pace with his demands. +After his daughter's flight with Shelley, he expressed his just +resentment by refusing to accept Shelley's cheque for a thousand +pounds unless it were made payable to a third party, unless he could +have the money without the formality of an acceptance. Like the great +lords of Picardy, who had the "right of credit" from their loyal +subjects, Godwin claimed his dues from every chance acquaintance. +Crabb Robinson introduced him one evening to a gentleman named Rough. +The next day both Godwin and Rough called upon their host, each man +expressing his regard for the other, and each asking Robinson if he +thought the other would be a likely person to lend him fifty pounds.</p> + +<p>There are critics who hold that Haydon excelled all other borrowers +known to fame; but his is not a career upon which an admirer of the +art can look with pleasure. Haydon's debts hunted him like hounds, +and if he pursued borrowing as a means of livelihood,—more lucrative +than painting pictures which nobody would buy,—it was only because +no third avocation presented itself as a possibility. He is not to +be compared for a moment with a true expert like Sheridan, who +borrowed for borrowing's sake, and without any sordid motive +connected with rents or butchers' bills. Haydon would, indeed, part +with his money as readily as if it belonged to him. He would hear +an "inward voice" in church, urging him to give his last sovereign; +and, having obeyed this voice "with as pure a feeling as ever animated +a human heart," he had no resource but immediately to borrow another. +It would have been well for him if he could have followed on such +occasions the memorable example of Lady Cook, who was so impressed +by a begging sermon that she borrowed a sovereign from Sydney Smith +to put into the offertory; and—the gold once between her +fingers—found herself equally unable to give it or to return it, +so went home, a pound richer for her charitable impulse.</p> + +<p>Haydon, too, would rob Peter to pay Paul, and rob Paul without paying +Peter; but it was all after an intricate and troubled fashion of his +own. On one occasion he borrowed ten pounds from Webb. Seven pounds +he used to satisfy another creditor, from whom, on the strength of +this payment, he borrowed ten pounds more to meet an impending bill. +It sounds like a particularly confusing game; but it was a game played +in dead earnest, and without the humorous touch which makes the charm +of Lady Cook's, or of Sheridan's methods. Haydon would have been +deeply grateful to his benefactors, had he not always stood in need +of favours to come. Sheridan might perchance have been grateful, +could he have remembered who his benefactors were. He laid the world +under tribute; and because he had an aversion to opening his +mail,—an aversion with which it is impossible not to +sympathize,—he frequently made no use of the tribute when it was +paid. Moore tells us that James Wesley once saw among a pile of papers +on Sheridan's desk an unopened letter of his own, containing a +ten-pound note, which he had lent Sheridan some weeks before. Wesley +quietly took possession of the letter and the money, thereby raising +a delicate, and as yet unsettled, question of morality. Had he a right +to those ten pounds because they had once been his, or were they not +rather Sheridan's property, destined in the natural and proper order +of things never to be returned.</p> + +<p>Yet men, even men of letters, have been known to pay their debts, +and to restore borrowed property. Moore paid Lord Lansdowne every +penny of the generous sum advanced by that nobleman after the +defalcation of Moore's deputy in Bermuda. Dr. Johnson paid back ten +pounds after a lapse of twenty years,—a pleasant shock to the +lender,—and on his death-bed (having fewer sins than most of us to +recall) begged Sir Joshua Reynolds to forgive him a trifling loan. +It was the too honest return of a pair of borrowed sheets (unwashed) +which first chilled Pope's friendship for Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. +That excellent gossip, Miss Letitia Matilda Hawkins, who stands +responsible for this anecdote, lamented all her life that her father, +Sir John Hawkins, could never remember which of the friends borrowed +and which lent the offending sheets; but it is a point easily settled +in our minds. Pope was probably the last man in Christendom to have +been guilty of such a misdemeanour, and Lady Mary was certainly the +last woman in Christendom to have been affronted by it. Like Dr. +Johnson, she had "no passion for clean linen."</p> + +<p>Coleridge, though he went through life leaning his inert weight on +other men's shoulders, did remember in some mysterious fashion to +return the books he borrowed, enriched often, as Lamb proudly records, +with marginal notes which tripled their value. His conduct in this +regard was all the more praiseworthy inasmuch as the cobweb statutes +which define books as personal property have never met with literal +acceptance. Lamb's theory that books belong with the highest +propriety to those who understand them best (a theory often advanced +in defence of depredations which Lamb would have scorned to commit), +was popular before the lamentable invention of printing. The library +of Lucullus was, we are told, "open to all," and it would be +interesting to know how many precious manuscripts remained +ultimately in the great patrician's villa.</p> + +<p>Richard Heber, that most princely of collectors, so well understood +the perils of his position that he met them bravely by buying three +copies of every book,—one for show, one for use, and one for the +service of his friends. The position of the show-book seems rather +melancholy, but perhaps, in time, it replaced the borrowed volume. +Heber's generosity has been nobly praised by Scott, who contrasts +the hard-heartedness of other bibliophiles, those "gripple +niggards" who preferred holding on to their treasures, with his +friend's careless liberality.</p> + +<blockquote>"Thy volumes, open as thy heart,<br> + Delight, amusement, science, art,<br> + To every ear and eye impart.<br> + Yet who, of all who thus employ them,<br> + Can, like the owner's self, enjoy them?"</blockquote> + +<p>The "gripple niggards" might have pleaded feebly in their own behalf +that they could not all afford to spend, like Heber, a hundred +thousand pounds in the purchase of books; and that an occasional +reluctance to part with some hard-earned, hard-won volume might be +pardonable in one who could not hope to replace it. Lamb's books were +the shabbiest in Christendom; yet how keen was his pang when Charles +Kemble carried off the letters of "that princely woman, the thrice +noble Margaret Newcastle," an "illustrious folio" which he well knew +Kemble would never read. How bitterly he bewailed his rashness in +extolling the beauties of Sir Thomas Browne's "Urn Burial" to a guest +who was so moved by this eloquence that he promptly borrowed the +volume. "But so," sighed Lamb, "have I known a foolish lover to praise +his mistress in the presence of a rival more qualified to carry her +off than himself."</p> + +<p>Johnson cherished a dim conviction that because he read, and Garrick +did not, the proper place for Garrick's books was on +his—Johnson's—bookshelves; a point which could never be settled +between the two friends, and which came near to wrecking their +friendship. Garrick loved books with the chilly yet imperative love +of the collector. Johnson loved them as he loved his soul. Garrick +took pride in their sumptuousness, in their immaculate, virginal +splendour. Johnson gathered them to his heart with scant regard for +outward magnificence, for the glories of calf and vellum. Garrick +bought books. Johnson borrowed them. Each considered that he had a +prior right to the objects of his legitimate affection. We, looking +back with softened hearts, are fain to think that we should have held +our volumes doubly dear if they had lain for a time by Johnson's +humble hearth, if he had pored over them at three o'clock in the +morning, and had left sundry tokens—grease-spots and spatterings +of snuff—upon many a spotless page. But it is hardly fair to censure +Garrick for not dilating with these emotions.</p> + +<p>Johnson's habit of flinging the volumes which displeased him into +remote and dusty corners of the room was ill calculated to inspire +confidence, and his powers of procrastination were never more marked +than in the matter of restoring borrowed books. We know from +Cradock's "Memoirs" how that gentleman, having induced Lord +Harborough to lend him a superb volume of manuscripts, containing +the poems of James the First, proceeded to re-lend this priceless +treasure to Johnson. When it was not returned—as of course it was +not—he wrote an urgent letter, and heard to his dismay that Johnson +was not only unable to find the book, but that he could not remember +having ever received it. The despairing Cradock applied to all his +friends for help; and George Steevens, who had a useful habit of +looking about him, suggested that a sealed packet, which he had +several times observed lying under Johnson's ponderous inkstand, +might possibly contain the lost manuscript. Even with this ray of +hope for guidance, it never seemed to occur to any one to storm +Johnson's fortress, and rescue the imprisoned volume; but after the +Doctor's death, two years later, Cradock made a formal application +to the executors; and Lord Harborough's property was discovered +under the inkstand, unopened, unread, and consequently, as by a happy +miracle, uninjured.</p> + +<p>Such an incident must needs win pardon for Garrick's churlishness +in defending his possessions. "The history of book-collecting," says +a caustic critic, "is a history relieved but rarely by acts of pure +and undiluted unselfishness." This is true, but are there not virtues +so heroic that plain human nature can ill aspire to compass them?</p> + +<p>There is something piteous in the futile efforts of reluctant lenders +to save their property from depredation. They place their reliance +upon artless devices which never yet were known to stay the +marauder's hand. They have their names and addresses engraved on +foolish little plates, which, riveted to their umbrellas, will, they +think, suffice to insure the safety of these useful articles. As well +might the border farmer have engraved his name and address on the +collars of his grazing herds, in the hope that the riever would +respect this symbol of authority. The history of book-plates is +largely the history of borrower versus lender. The orderly mind is +wont to believe that a distinctive mark, irrevocably attached to +every volume, will insure permanent possession. Mr. Gosse, for +example, has expressed a touching faith in the efficacy of the +book-plate. He has but to explain that he "makes it a rule" never +to lend a volume thus decorated, and the would-be borrower bows to +this rule as to a decree of fate. "To have a book-plate," he joyfully +observes, "gives a collector great serenity and confidence."</p> + +<p>Is it possible that the world has grown virtuous without our +observing it? Can it be that the old stalwart race of book-borrowers, +those "spoilers of the symmetry of shelves," are foiled by so +childish an expedient? Imagine Dr. Johnson daunted by a scrap of +pasted paper! Or Coleridge, who seldom went through the formality +of asking leave, but borrowed armfuls of books in the absence of their +legitimate owners! How are we to account for the presence of +book-plates—quite a pretty collection at times—on the shelves of +men who possess no such toys of their own? When I was a girl I had +access to a small and well-chosen library (not greatly exceeding +Montaigne's fourscore volumes), each book enriched with an +appropriate device of scaly dragon guarding the apples of Hesperides. +Beneath the dragon was the motto (Johnsonian in form if not in +substance), "Honour and Obligation demand the prompt return of +borrowed Books." These words ate into my innocent soul, and lent a +pang to the sweetness of possession. Doubts as to the exact nature +of "prompt return" made me painfully uncertain as to whether a month, +a week, or a day were the limit which Honour and Obligation had set +for me. But other and older borrowers were less sensitive, and I have +reason to believe that—books being a rarity in that little Southern +town—most of the volumes were eventually absorbed by the gaping +shelves of neighbours. Perhaps even now (their generous owner long +since dead) these worn copies of Boswell, of Elia, of Herrick, and +Moore, may still stand forgotten in dark and dusty corners, like gems +that magpies hide.</p> + +<p>It is vain to struggle with fate, with the elements, and with the +borrower; it is folly to claim immunity from a fundamental law, to +boast of our brief exemption from the common lot. "Lend therefore +cheerfully, O man ordained to lend. When thou seest the proper +authority coming, meet it smilingly, as it were halfway." Resistance +to an appointed force is but a futile waste of strength.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div align="center"><h2><a name="Grocer">The Grocer's Cat</a></h2></div> +<blockquote>"Of all animals, the cat alone attains to the Contemplative +Life."—<big>A</big>NDREW <big>L</big>ANG.</blockquote> +<br> +<p>The grocer's window is not one of those gay and glittering enclosures +which display only the luxuries of the table, and which give us the +impression that there are favoured classes subsisting exclusively +upon Malaga raisins, Russian chocolates, and Nuremberg gingerbread. +It is an unassuming window, filled with canned goods and breakfast +foods, wrinkled prunes devoid of succulence, and boxes of starch and +candles. Its only ornament is the cat, and his beauty is more apparent +to the artist than to the fancier. His splendid stripes, black and +grey and tawny, are too wide for noble lineage. He has a broad +benignant brow, like Benjamin Franklin's; but his brooding eyes, +golden, unfathomable, deny benignancy. He is large and sleek,—the +grocery mice must be many, and of an appetizing fatness,—and I +presume he devotes his nights to the pleasures of the chase. His days +are spent in contemplation, in a serene and wonderful stillness, +which isolates him from the bustling vulgarities of the street.</p> + +<p>Past the window streams the fretful crowd; in and out of the shop +step loud-voiced customers. The cat is as remote as if he were +drowsing by the waters of the Nile. Pedestrians pause to admire him, +and many of them endeavour, with well-meant but futile familiarity, +to win some notice in return. They tap on the window pane, and say, +"Halloo, Pussy!" He does not turn his head, nor lift his lustrous +eyes. They tap harder, and with more ostentatious friendliness. The +stone cat of Thebes could not pay less attention. It is difficult +for human beings to believe that their regard can be otherwise than +flattering to an animal; but I did see one man intelligent enough +to receive this impression. He was a decent and a good-tempered young +person, and he had beaten a prolonged tattoo on the glass with the +handle of his umbrella, murmuring at the same time vague words of +cajolery. Then, as the cat remained motionless, absorbed in revery, +and seemingly unconscious of his unwarranted attentions, he turned +to me, a new light dawning in his eyes. "Thinks itself some," he said, +and I nodded acquiescence. As well try to patronize the Sphinx as +to patronize a grocer's cat.</p> + +<p>Now, surely this attitude on the part of a small and helpless beast, +dependent upon our bounty for food and shelter, and upon our sense +of equity for the right to live, is worthy of note, and, to the +generous mind, is worthy of respect. Yet there are people who most +ungenerously resent it. They say the cat is treacherous and +ungrateful, by which they mean that she does not relish unsolicited +fondling, and that, like Mr. Chesterton, she will not recognize +imaginary obligations. If we keep a cat because there are mice in +our kitchen or rats in our cellar, what claim have we to gratitude? +If we keep a cat for the sake of her beauty, and because our hearth +is but a poor affair without her, she repays her debt with interest +when she dozes by our fire. She is the most decorative creature the +domestic world can show. She harmonizes with the kitchen's homely +comfort, and with the austere seclusion of the library. She gratifies +our sense of fitness and our sense of distinction, if we chance to +possess these qualities. Did not Isabella d' Este, Marchioness of +Mantua, and the finest exponent of distinction in her lordly age, +send far and wide for cats to grace her palace? Did she not instruct +her agents to make especial search through the Venetian convents, +where might be found the deep-furred pussies of Syria and Thibet? +Alas for the poor nuns, whose cherished pets were snatched away to +gratify the caprice of a great and grasping lady, who habitually +coveted all that was beautiful in the world.</p> + +<p>The cat seldom invites affection, and still more seldom responds to +it. A well-bred tolerance is her nearest approach to demonstration. +The dog strives with pathetic insistence to break down the barriers +between his intelligence and his master's, to understand and to be +understood. The wise cat cherishes her isolation, and permits us to +play but a secondary part in her solitary and meditative life. Her +intelligence, less facile than the dog's, and far less highly +differentiated, owes little to our tutelage; her character has not +been moulded by our hands. The changing centuries have left no mark +upon her; and, from a past inconceivably remote, she has come down +to us, a creature self-absorbed and self-communing, undisturbed by +our feverish activity, a dreamer of dreams, a lover of the mysteries +of night.</p> + +<p>And yet a friend. No one who knows anything about the cat will deny +her capacity for friendship. Rationally, without enthusiasm, +without illusions, she offers us companionship on terms of equality. +She will not come when she is summoned,—unless the summons be for +dinner,—but she will come of her own sweet will, and bear us company +for hours, sleeping contentedly in her armchair, or watching with +half-shut eyes the quiet progress of our work. A lover of routine, +she expects to find us in the same place at the same hour every day; +and when her expectations are fulfilled (cats have some secret method +of their own for telling time), she purrs approval of our punctuality. +What she detests are noise, confusion, people who bustle in and out +of rooms, and the unpardonable intrusions of the housemaid. On those +unhappy days when I am driven from my desk by the iron determination +of this maid to "clean up," my cat is as comfortless as I am. +Companions in exile, we wander aimlessly to and fro, lamenting our +lost hours. I cannot explain to Lux that the fault is none of mine, +and I am sure that she holds me to blame.</p> + +<p>There is something indescribably sweet in the quiet, self-respecting +friendliness of my cat, in her marked predilection for my society. +The absence of exuberance on her part, and the restraint I put upon +myself, lend an element of dignity to our intercourse. Assured that +I will not presume too far on her good nature, that I will not indulge +in any of those gross familiarities, those boisterous gambols which +delight the heart of a dog, Lux yields herself more and more passively +to my persuasions. She will permit an occasional caress, and +acknowledge it with a perfunctory purr. She will manifest a +patronizing interest in my work, stepping sedately among my papers, +and now and then putting her paw with infinite deliberation on the +page I am writing, as though the smear thus contributed spelt, "Lux, +her mark," and was a reward of merit. But she never curls herself +upon my desk, never usurps the place sacred to the memory of a far +dearer cat. Some invisible influence restrains her. When her tour +of inspection is ended, she returns to her chair by my side, +stretching herself luxuriously on her cushions, and watching with +steady, sombre stare the inhibited spot, and the little grey phantom +which haunts my lonely hours by right of my inalienable love.</p> + +<p>Lux is a lazy cat, wedded to a contemplative life. She cares little +for play, and nothing for work,—the appointed work of cats. The +notion that she has a duty to perform, that she owes service to the +home which shelters her, that only those who toil are worthy of their +keep, has never entered her head. She is content to drink the cream +of idleness, and she does this in a spirit of condescension, +wonderful to behold. The dignified distaste with which she surveys +a dinner not wholly to her liking, carries confusion to the hearts +of her servitors. It is as though Lucullus, having ordered Neapolitan +peacock, finds himself put off with nightingales' tongues.</p> + +<p>For my own part, I like to think that my beautiful and urbane +companion is not a midnight assassin. Her profound and soulless +indifference to mice pleases me better than it pleases my household. +From an economic point of view, Lux is not worth her salt. Huxley's +cat, be it remembered, was never known to attack anything larger and +fiercer than a butterfly. "I doubt whether he has the heart to kill +a mouse," wrote the proud possessor of this prodigy; "but I saw him +catch and eat the first butterfly of the season, and I trust that +the germ of courage thus manifested may develop with years into +efficient mousing."</p> + +<p>Even Huxley was disposed to take a utilitarian view of cathood. Even +Cowper, who owed to the frolics of his kitten a few hours' respite +from melancholy, had no conception that his adult cat could do better +service than slay rats. "I have a kitten, my dear," he wrote to Lady +Hesketh, "the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin. +Her gambols are incredible, and not to be described. She tumbles head +over heels several times together. She lays her cheek to the ground, +and humps her back at you with an air of most supreme disdain. From +this posture she rises to dance on her hind feet, an exercise which +she performs with all the grace imaginable; and she closes these +various exhibitions with a loud smack of her lips, which, for want +of greater propriety of expression, we call spitting. But, though +all cats spit, no cat ever produced such a sound as she does. In point +of size, she is likely to be a kitten always, being extremely small +for her age; but time, that spoils all things, will, I suppose, make +her also a cat. You will see her, I hope, before that melancholy +period shall arrive; for no wisdom that she may gain by experience +and reflection hereafter will compensate for the loss of her present +hilarity. She is dressed in a tortoiseshell suit, and I know that +you will delight in her."</p> + +<p>Had Cowper been permitted to live more with kittens, and less with +evangelical clergymen, his hours of gayety might have outnumbered +his hours of gloom. Cats have been known to retain in extreme old +age the "hilarity" which the sad poet prized. Nature has thoughtfully +provided them with one permanent plaything; and Mr. Frederick Locker +vouches for a light-hearted old Tom who, at the close of a long and +ill-spent life, actually squandered his last breath in the pursuit +of his own elusive tail. But there are few of us who would care to +see the monumental calm of our fireside sphinx degenerate into senile +sportiveness. Better far the measured slowness of her pace, the +superb immobility of her repose. To watch an ordinary cat move +imperceptibly and with a rhythmic waving of her tail through a +doorway (while we are patiently holding open the door), is like +looking at a procession. With just such deliberate dignity, in just +such solemn state, the priests of Ra filed between the endless rows +of pillars into the sunlit temple court.</p> + +<p>The cat is a freebooter. She draws no nice distinctions between a +mouse in the wainscot, and a canary swinging in its gilded cage. Her +traducers, indeed, have been wont to intimate that her preference +is for the forbidden quarry; but this is one of many libellous +accusations. The cat, though she has little sympathy with our vapid +sentiment, can be taught that a canary is a privileged nuisance, +immune from molestation. The bird's shrill notes jar her sensitive +nerves. She abhors noise, and a canary's pipe is the most piercing +and persistent of noises, welcome to that large majority of mankind +which prefers sound of any kind to silence. Moreover, a cage presents +just the degree of hindrance to tempt a cat's agility. That Puss +habitually refrains from ridding the household of canaries is proof +of her innate reasonableness, of her readiness to submit her finer +judgment and more delicate instincts to the common caprices of +humanity.</p> + +<p>As for wild birds, the robins and wrens and thrushes which are +predestined prey, there is only one way to save them, the way which +Archibald Douglas took to save the honour of Scotland,—"bell the +cat." A good-sized sleigh-bell, if she be strong enough to bear it, +a bunch of little bells, if she be small and slight,—and the +pleasures of the chase are over. One little bell is of no avail, for +she learns to move with such infinite precaution that it does not +ring until she springs, and then it rings too late. There is an +element of cruelty in depriving the cat of sport, but from the bird's +point of view the scheme works to perfection. Of course rats and mice +are as safe as birds from the claws of a belled cat, but, if we are +really humane, we will not regret their immunity.</p> + +<p>The boasted benevolence of man is, however, a purely superficial +emotion. What am I to think of a friend who anathematizes the family +cat for devouring a nest of young robins, and then tells me exultingly +that the same cat has killed twelve moles in a fortnight. To a pitiful +heart, the life of a little mole is as sacred as the life of a little +robin. To an artistic eye, the mole in his velvet coat is handsomer +than the robin, which is at best a bouncing, bourgeois sort of bird, +a true suburbanite, with all the defects of his class. But my friend +has no mercy on the mole because he destroys her garden,—her garden +which she despoils every morning, gathering its fairest blossoms to +droop and wither in her crowded rooms. To wax compassionate over a +bird, and remain hard as flint to a beast, is possible only to +humanity. The cat, following her predatory instincts, is at once more +logical and less ruthless, because the question of property does not +distort her vision. She has none of the vices of civilization.</p> + +<blockquote>"Cats I scorn, who, sleek and fat,<br> + Shiver at a Norway rat.<br> + Rough and hardy, bold and free,<br> + Be the cat that's made for me;<br> + He whose nervous paw can take<br> + My lady's lapdog by the neck,<br> + With furious hiss attack the hen,<br> + And snatch a chicken from the pen."</blockquote> + +<p>So sang Dr. Erasmus Darwin's intrepid pussy (a better poet than her +master) to the cat of Miss Anna Seward, surely the last lady in all +England to have encouraged such lawlessness on the part of +a—presumably—domestic animal.</p> + +<p>For the cat's domesticity is at best only a presumption. It is one +of life's ironical adjustments that the creature who fits so +harmoniously into the family group should be alien to its influences, +and independent of its cramping conditions. She seems made for the +fireside she adorns, and where she has played her part for centuries. +Lamb, delightedly recording his "observations on cats," sees only +their homely qualities. "Put 'em on a rug before the fire, they wink +their eyes up, and listen to the kettle, and then purr, which is +<i>their</i> music." The hymns which Shelley loved were sung by the +roaring wind, the hissing kettle, and the kittens purring by his +hearth. Heine's cat, curled close to the glowing embers, purred a +soft accompaniment to the rhythms pulsing in his brain; but he at +least, being a German, was not deceived by this specious show of +impeccability. He knew that when the night called, his cat obeyed +the summons, abandoning the warm fire for the hard-frozen snow, and +the innocent companionship of a poet for the dancing of witches on +the hill-tops.</p> + +<p>The same grace of understanding—more common in the sixteenth than +in the nineteenth century—made the famous Milanese physician, +Jerome Cardan, abandon his students at the University of Pavia, in +obedience to the decision of his cat. "In the year 1552," he writes +with becoming gravity, "having left in the house a little cat of +placid and domestic habits, she jumped upon my table, and tore at +my public lectures; yet my Book of Fate she touched not, though it +was the more exposed to her attacks. I gave up my chair, nor returned +to it for eight years." Oh, wise physician, to discern so clearly +that "placid and domestic habits" were but a cloak for mysteries too +deep to fathom, for warnings too pregnant to be disregarded.</p> + +<p>The vanity of man revolts from the serene indifference of the cat. +He is forever lauding the dog, not only for its fidelity, which is +a beautiful thing, but for its attitude of humility and abasement. +A distinguished American prelate has written some verses on his dog, +in which he assumes that, to the animal's eyes, he is as God,—a being +whose word is law, and from whose sovereign hand flow all life's +countless benefactions. Another complacent enthusiast describes +<i>his</i> dog as sitting motionless in his presence, "at once tranquil +and attentive, as a saint should be in the presence of God. He is +happy with the happiness which we perhaps shall never know, since +it springs from the smile and the approval of a life incomparably +higher than his own."</p> + +<p>Of course, if we are going to wallow in idolatry like this, we do +well to choose the dog, and not the cat, to play the worshipper's +part. I am not without a suspicion that the dog is far from feeling +the rapture and the reverence which we so delightedly ascribe to him. +What is there about any one of us to awaken such sentiments in the +breast of an intelligent animal? We have taught him our vices, and +he fools us to the top of our bent. The cat, however, is equally free +from illusions and from hypocrisy. If we aspire to a petty +omnipotence, she, for one, will pay no homage at our shrine. +Therefore has her latest and greatest defamer, Maeterlinck, branded +her as ungrateful and perfidious. The cat of "The Blue Bird" fawns +and flatters, which is something no real cat was ever known to do. +When and where did M. Maeterlinck encounter an obsequious cat? That +the wise little beast should resent Tyltyl's intrusion into the +ancient realms of night, is conceivable, and that, unlike the dog, +she should see nothing godlike in a masterful human boy, is hardly +a matter for regret; but the most subtle of dramatists should better +understand the most subtle of animals, and forbear to rank her as +man's enemy because she will not be man's dupe. Rather let us turn +back and learn our lesson from Montaigne, serenely playing with his +cat as friend to friend, for thus, and thus only, shall we enjoy the +sweets of her companionship. If we want an animal to prance on its +hind legs, and, with the over-faithful Tylo, cry out, "little god, +little god," at every blundering step we take; if we are so +constituted that we feel the need of being worshipped by something +or somebody, we must feed our vanity as best we can with the society +of dogs and men. The grocer's cat, enthroned on the grocer's +starch-box, is no fitting friend for us.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, all cats and kittens, whether royal Persians +or of the lowliest estate, resent patronage, jocoseness (which they +rightly hold to be in bad taste), and demonstrative +affection,—those lavish embraces which lack delicacy and reserve. +This last prejudice they carry sometimes to the verge of unkindness, +eluding the caresses of their friends, and wounding the spirits of +those who love them best. The little eight-year-old English girl who +composed the following lines, when smarting from unrequited +affection, had learned pretty much all there is to know concerning +the capricious nature of cats:—</p> + +<blockquote>"Oh, Selima shuns my kisses!<br> + Oh, Selima hates her missus!<br> + I never did meet<br> + With a cat so sweet,<br> + Or a cat so cruel as this is."</blockquote> + +<p>In such an instance I am disposed to think that Selima's coldness +was ill-judged. No discriminating pussy would have shunned the +kisses of such an enlightened little girl. But I confess to the +pleasure with which I have watched other Selimas extricate +themselves from well-meant but vulgar familiarities. I once saw a +small black-and-white kitten playing with a judge, who, not +unnaturally, conceived that he was playing with the kitten. For a +while all went well. The kitten pranced and paddled, fixing her +gleaming eyes upon the great man's smirking countenance, and pursued +his knotted handkerchief so swiftly that she tumbled head over heels, +giddy with her own rapid evolutions. Then the judge, being but human, +and ignorant of the wide gap which lies between a cat's standard of +good taste and the lenient standard of the court-room, ventured upon +one of those doubtful pleasantries which a few pussies permit to +privileged friends, but which none of the race ever endure from +strangers. He lifted the kitten by the tail until only her forepaws +touched the rug, which she clutched desperately, uttering a loud +protesting mew. She looked so droll in her helplessness and wrath +that several members of the household (her own household, which +should have known better) laughed outright,—a shameful thing to do.</p> + +<p>Here was a social crisis. A little cat of manifestly humble origin, +with only an innate sense of propriety to oppose to a coarse-minded +magistrate, and a circle of mocking friends. The judge, +imperturbably obtuse, dropped the kitten on the rug, and prepared +to resume their former friendly relations. The kitten did not run +away, she did not even walk away; that would have been an admission +of defeat. She sat down very slowly, as if first searching for a +particular spot in the intricate pattern of the rug, turned her back +upon her former playmate, faced her false friends, and tucked her +outraged tail carefully out of sight. Her aspect was that of a cat +alone in a desert land, brooding over the mystery of her nine lives. +In vain the handkerchief was trailed seductively past her little nose, +in vain her contrite family spoke words of sweetness and repentance. +She appeared as aloof from her surroundings as if she had been wafted +to Arabia; and presently began to wash her face conscientiously and +methodically, with the air of one who finds solitude better than the +companionship of fools. Only when the judge had put his silly +handkerchief into his pocket, and had strolled into the library under +the pretence of hunting for a book which he had never left there, +did the kitten close her eyes, lower her obdurate little head, and +purr herself tranquilly to sleep.</p> + +<p>A few years afterwards I was permitted to witness another silent +combat, another signal victory. This time the cat was, I grieve to +say, a member of a troupe of performing animals, exhibited at the +Folies-Bergère in Paris. Her fellow actors, poodles and monkeys, +played their parts with relish and a sense of fun. The cat, a thing +apart, condescended to leap twice through a hoop, and to balance +herself very prettily on a large rubber ball. She then retired to +the top of a ladder, made a deft and modest toilet, and composed +herself for slumber. Twice the trainer spoke to her persuasively, +but she paid no heed, and evinced no further interest in him nor in +his entertainment. Her time for condescension was past.</p> + +<p>The next day I commented on the cat's behaviour to some friends who +had also been to the Folies-Bergère on different nights. "But," said +the first friend, "the evening I went, that cat did wonderful things; +came down the ladder on her ball, played the fiddle, and stood on +her head."</p> + +<p>"Really," said the second friend. "Well, the night <i>I</i> went, she did +nothing at all except cuff one of the monkeys that annoyed her. She +just sat on the ladder, and watched the performance. I presumed she +was there by way of decoration."</p> + +<p>All honour to the cat, who, when her little body is enslaved, can +still preserve the freedom of her soul. The dogs and the monkeys +obeyed their master; but the cat, like Montaigne's happier pussy long +ago, had "her time to begin or to refuse," and showman and audience +waited upon her will.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<center><h2>THE END</h2></center> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Americans and Others, by Agnes Repplier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICANS AND OTHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 16722-h.htm or 16722-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/7/2/16722/ + +Produced by Ron Swanson + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Americans and Others + +Author: Agnes Repplier + +Release Date: September 19, 2005 [EBook #16722] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICANS AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Ron Swanson + + + + + +By Agnes Repplier + +COUNTER-CURRENTS. +AMERICANS AND OTHERS. +A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY AND OTHER ESSAYS. +IN OUR CONVENT DAYS. +COMPROMISES. +THE FIRESIDE SPHINX. With 4 full-page and 17 text illustrations by + Miss E. BONSALL. +BOOKS AND MEN. +POINTS OF VIEW. +ESSAYS IN IDLENESS. +IN THE DOZY HOURS, AND OTHER PAPERS. +ESSAYS IN MINIATURE. +A BOOK OF FAMOUS VERSE. Selected by Agnes Repplier. In Riverside + Library for Young People. + THE SAME. _Holiday Edition_. +VARIA. + + + + +AMERICANS AND OTHERS + + +BY +AGNES REPPLIER, LITT.D. + + + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY +The Riverside Press Cambridge + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY AGNES REPPLIER +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED +_Published October 1912_ + + +The Riverside Press +CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS +PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. + + + + +Note + +Five of the essays in this volume appear in print for the first time. +Others have been published in the _Atlantic Monthly_, the _Century +Magazine_, _Harper's Bazar_, and the _Catholic World_. + + + + +Contents + +A Question of Politeness + +The Mission of Humour + +Goodness and Gayety + +The Nervous Strain + +The Girl Graduate + +The Estranging Sea + +Travellers' Tales + +The Chill of Enthusiasm + +The Temptation of Eve + +"The Greatest of These is Charity" + +The Customary Correspondent + +The Benefactor + +The Condescension of Borrowers + +The Grocer's Cat + + + + +AMERICANS AND OTHERS + + + + +A Question of Politeness + +"La politesse de l'esprit consiste a penser des choses honnetes et +delicates." + + +A great deal has been said and written during the past few years on +the subject of American manners, and the consensus of opinion is, +on the whole, unfavourable. We have been told, more in sorrow than +in anger, that we are not a polite people; and our critics have cast +about them for causes which may be held responsible for such a +universal and lamentable result. Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, for example, +is by way of thinking that the fault lies in the sudden expansion +of wealth, in the intrusion into the social world of people who fail +to understand its requirements, and in the universal "spoiling" of +American children. He contrasts the South of his childhood, that +wonderful "South before the war," which looms vaguely, but very +grandly, through a half-century's haze, with the New York of to-day, +which, alas! has nothing to soften its outlines. A more censorious +critic in the "Atlantic Monthly" has also stated explicitly that for +true consideration and courtliness we must hark back to certain old +gentlewomen of ante-bellum days. "None of us born since the Civil +War approach them in respect to some fine, nameless quality that +gives them charm and atmosphere." It would seem, then, that the war, +with its great emotions and its sustained heroism, imbued us with +national life at the expense of our national manners. + +I wonder if this kind of criticism does not err by comparing the many +with the few, the general with the exceptional. I wonder if the +deficiencies of an imperfect civilization can be accounted for along +such obvious lines. The self-absorption of youth which Mrs. Comer +deprecates, the self-absorption of a crowd which offends Mr. Page, +are human, not American. The nature of youth and the nature of crowds +have not changed essentially since the Civil War, nor since the Punic +Wars. Granted that the tired and hungry citizens of New York, +jostling one another in their efforts to board a homeward train, +present an unlovely spectacle; but do they, as Mr. Page affirms, +reveal "such sheer and primal brutality as can be found nowhere else +in the world where men and women are together?" Crowds will jostle, +and have always jostled, since men first clustered in communities. +Read Theocritus. The hurrying Syracusans--third century +B.C.--"rushed like a herd of swine," and rent in twain Praxinoe's +muslin veil. Look at Hogarth. The whole fun of an eighteenth-century +English crowd consisted in snatching off some unfortunate's wig, or +toppling him over into the gutter. The truth is we sin against +civilization when we consent to flatten ourselves against our +neighbours. The experience of the world has shown conclusively that +a few inches more or less of breathing space make all the difference +between a self-respecting citizen and a savage. + +As for youth,--ah, who shall be brave enough, who has ever been brave +enough, to defend the rising generation? Who has ever looked with +content upon the young, save only Plato, and he lived in an age of +symmetry and order which we can hardly hope to reproduce. The +shortcomings of youth are so pitilessly, so glaringly apparent. Not +a rag to cover them from the discerning eye. And what a veil has fallen +between us and the years of _our_ offending. There is no illusion +so permanent as that which enables us to look backward with +complacency; there is no mental process so deceptive as the comparing +of recollections with realities. How loud and shrill the voice of +the girl at our elbow. How soft the voice which from the far past +breathes its gentle echo in our ears. How bouncing the vigorous young +creatures who surround us, treading us under foot in the certainty +of their self-assurance. How sweet and reasonable the pale shadows +who smile--we think appealingly--from some dim corner of our +memories. There is a passage in the diary of Louisa Gurney, a +carefully reared little Quaker girl of good family and estate, which +is dated 1796, and which runs thus:-- + +"I was in a very playing mood to-day, and thoroughly enjoyed being +foolish, and tried to be as rude to everybody as I could. We went +on the highroad for the purpose of being rude to the folks that passed. +I do think being rude is most pleasant sometimes." + +Let us hope that the grown-up Louisa Gurney, whenever she felt +disposed to cavil at the imperfections of the rising generation of +1840 or 1850, re-read these illuminating words, and softened her +judgment accordingly. + +New York has been called the most insolent city in the world. To make +or to refute such a statement implies so wide a knowledge of +contrasted civilizations that to most of us the words have no +significance. It is true that certain communities have earned for +themselves in the course of centuries an unenviable reputation for +discourtesy. The Italians say "as rude as a Florentine"; and even +the casual tourist (presuming his standard of manners to have been +set by Italy) is disposed to echo the reproach. The Roman, with the +civilization of the world at his back, is naturally, one might say +inevitably, polite. His is that serious and simple dignity which +befits his high inheritance. But the Venetian and the Sienese have +also a grave courtesy of bearing, compared with which the manners +of the Florentine seem needlessly abrupt. We can no more account for +this than we can account for the churlishness of the Vaudois, who +is always at some pains to be rude, and the gentleness of his +neighbour, the Valaisan, to whom breeding is a birthright, born, it +would seem, of generosity of heart, and a scorn of ignoble things. + +But such generalizations, at all times perilous, become impossible +in the changing currents of American life, which has as yet no quality +of permanence. The delicate old tests fail to adjust themselves to +our needs. Mr. Page is right theoretically when he says that the +treatment of a servant or of a subordinate is an infallible criterion +of manners, and when he rebukes the "arrogance" of wealthy women to +"their hapless sisters of toil." But the truth is that our hapless +sisters of toil have things pretty much their own way in a country +which is still broadly prosperous and democratic, and our treatment +of them is tempered by a selfish consideration for our own comfort +and convenience. If they are toiling as domestic servants,--a field +in which the demand exceeds the supply,--they hold the key to the +situation; it is sheer foolhardiness to be arrogant to a cook. +Dressmakers and milliners are not humbly seeking for patronage; +theirs is the assured position of people who can give the world what +the world asks; and as for saleswomen, a class upon whom much +sentimental sympathy is lavished year by year, their heart-whole +superciliousness to the poor shopper, especially if she chance to +be a housewife striving nervously to make a few dollars cover her +family needs, is wantonly and detestably unkind. It is not with us +as it was in the England of Lamb's day, and the quality of breeding +is shown in a well-practised restraint rather than in a sweet and +somewhat lofty consideration. + +Eliminating all the more obvious features of criticism, as throwing +no light upon the subject, we come to the consideration of three +points,--the domestic, the official, and the social manners of a +nation which has been roundly accused of degenerating from the high +standard of former years, of those gracious and beautiful years which +few of us have the good fortune to remember. On the first count, I +believe that a candid and careful observation will result in a +verdict of acquittal. Foreigners, Englishmen and Englishwomen +especially, who visit our shores, are impressed with the politeness +of Americans in their own households. That fine old Saxon point of +view, "What is the good of a family, if one cannot be disagreeable +in the bosom of it?" has been modified by the simple circumstance +that the family bosom is no longer a fixed and permanent asylum. The +disintegration of the home may be a lamentable feature of modern +life; but since it has dawned upon our minds that adult members of +a family need not necessarily live together if they prefer to live +apart, the strain of domesticity has been reduced to the limits of +endurance. We have gained in serenity what we have lost in +self-discipline by this easy achievement of an independence which, +fifty years ago, would have been deemed pure licence. I can remember +that, when I was a little girl, two of our neighbours, a widowed +mother and a widowed daughter, scandalized all their friends by +living in two large comfortable houses, a stone's throw apart, +instead of under one roof as became their relationship; and the fact +that they loved each other dearly and peacefully in no way lessened +their transgression. Had they shared their home, and bickered day +and night, that would have been considered unfortunate but +"natural." + +If the discipline of family life makes for law and order, for the +subordination of parts to the whole, and for the prompt recognition +of authority; if, in other words, it makes, as in the days of Rome, +for citizenship, the rescue of the individual makes for social +intercourse, for that temperate and reasoned attitude which begets +courtesy. The modern mother may lack influence and authority; but +she speaks more urbanely to her children than her mother spoke to +her. The modern child is seldom respectful, but he is often polite, +with a politeness which owes nothing to intimidation. The harsh and +wearisome habit of contradiction, which used to be esteemed a family +privilege, has been softened to a judicious dissent. In my youth I +knew several old gentlemen who might, on their death-beds, have laid +their hands upon their hearts, and have sworn that never in their +whole lives had they permitted any statement, however insignificant, +to pass uncontradicted in their presence. They were authoritative +old gentlemen, kind husbands after their fashion, and careful +fathers; but conversation at their dinner-tables was not for human +delight. + +The manners of American officials have been discussed with more or +less acrimony, and always from the standpoint of personal experience. +The Custom-House is the centre of attack, and critics for the most +part agree that the men whose business it is to "hold up" returning +citizens perform their ungracious task ungraciously. Theirs is +rather the attitude of the detective dealing with suspected +criminals than the attitude of the public servant impersonally +obeying orders. It is true that even on the New York docks one may +encounter civility and kindness. There are people who assure us that +they have never encountered anything else; but then there are people +who would have us believe that always and under all circumstances +they meet with the most distinguished consideration. They intimate +that there is _that_ in their own demeanour which makes rudeness to +them an impossibility. + +More candid souls find it hard to account for the crudity of our +intercourse, not with officials only, but with the vast world which +lies outside our narrow circle of associates. We have no human +relations where we have no social relations; we are awkward and +constrained in our recognition of the unfamiliar; and this +awkwardness encumbers us in the ordinary routine of life. A policeman +who has been long on one beat, and who has learned to know either +the householders or the business men of his locality, is wont to be +the most friendly of mortals. There is something almost pathetic in +the value he places upon human relationship, even of a very casual +order. A conductor on a local train who has grown familiar with scores +of passengers is no longer a ticket-punching, station-shouting +automaton. He bears himself in friendly fashion towards all +travellers, because he has established with some of them a rational +foothold of communication. But the official who sells tickets to a +hurrying crowd, or who snaps out a few tart words at a bureau of +information, or who guards a gate through which men and women are +pushing with senseless haste, is clad in an armour of incivility. +He is wantonly rude to foreigners, whose helplessness should make +some appeal to his humanity. I have seen a gatekeeper at Jersey City +take by the shoulders a poor German, whose ticket called for another +train, and shove him roughly out of the way, without a word of +explanation. The man, too bewildered for resentment, rejoined his +wife to whom he had said good-bye, and the two anxious, puzzled +creatures stood whispering together as the throng swept callously +past them. It was a painful spectacle, a lapse from the well-ordered +decencies of civilization. + +For to be civilized is to be incapable of giving unnecessary offence, +it is to have some quality of consideration for all who cross our +path. An Englishwoman once said to Mr. Whistler that the politeness +of the French was "all on the surface," to which the artist made +reply: "And a very good place for it to be." It is this sweet surface +politeness, costing so little, counting for so much, which smooths +the roughness out of life. "The classic quality of the French +nation," says Mr. Henry James, "is sociability; a sociability which +operates in France, as it never does in England, from below upward. +Your waiter utters a greeting because, after all, something human +within him prompts him. His instinct bids him say something, and his +taste recommends that it should be agreeable." + +This combination of instinct and taste--which happily is not +confined to the French, nor to waiters--produces some admirable +results, results out of all proportion to the slightness of the means +employed. It often takes but a word, a gesture, to indicate the +delicate process of adjustment. A few summers ago I was drinking tea +with friends in the gardens of the Hotel Faloria, at Cortina. At a +table near us sat two Englishmen, three Englishwomen, and an Austrian, +the wife of a Viennese councillor. They talked with animation and +in engaging accents. After a little while they arose and strolled +back to the hotel. The Englishmen, as they passed our table, stared +hard at two young girls who were of our party, stared as deliberately +and with as much freedom as if the children had been on a London +music-hall stage. The Englishwomen passed us as though we had been +invisible. They had so completely the air of seeing nothing in our +chairs that I felt myself a phantom, a ghost like Banquo's, with no +guilty eye to discern my presence at the table. Lastly came the +Austrian, who had paused to speak to a servant, and, as _she_ passed, +she gave us a fleeting smile and a slight bow, the mere shadow of +a curtsey, acknowledging our presence as human beings, to whom some +measure of recognition was due. + +It was such a little thing, so lightly done, so eloquent of perfect +self-possession, and the impression it made upon six admiring +Americans was a permanent one. We fell to asking ourselves--being +honestly conscious of constraint--how each one of us would have +behaved in the Austrian lady's place, whether or not that act of +simple and sincere politeness would have been just as easy for us. +Then I called to mind one summer morning in New England, when I sat +on a friend's piazza, waiting idly for the arrival of the Sunday +papers. A decent-looking man, with a pretty and over-dressed girl +by his side, drove up the avenue, tossed the packet of papers at our +feet, and drove away again. He had not said even a bare "Good +morning." My kind and courteous host had offered no word of greeting. +The girl had turned her head to stare at me, but had not spoken. Struck +by the ungraciousness of the whole episode, I asked, "Is he a stranger +in these parts?" + +"No," said my friend. "He has brought the Sunday papers all summer. +That is his daughter with him." + +All summer, and no human relations, not enough to prompt a friendly +word, had been established between the man who served and the man +who was served. None of the obvious criticisms passed upon American +manners can explain the crudity of such a situation. It was certainly +not a case of arrogance towards a hapless brother of toil. My friend +probably toiled much harder than the paperman, and was the least +arrogant of mortals. Indeed, all arrogance of bearing lay +conspicuously on the paperman's part. Why, after all, should not his +instinct, like the instinct of the French waiter, have bidden him +say something; why should not his taste have recommended that the +something be agreeable? And then, again, why should not my friend, +in whom social constraint was unpardonable, have placed his finer +instincts at the service of a fellow creature? We must probe to the +depths of our civilization before we can understand and deplore the +limitations which make it difficult for us to approach one another +with mental ease and security. We have yet to learn that the amenities +of life stand for its responsibilities, and translate them into +action. They express externally the fundamental relations which +ought to exist between men. "All the distinctions, so delicate and +sometimes so complicated, which belong to good breeding," says M. +Rondalet in "La Reforme Sociale," "answer to a profound unconscious +analysis of the duties we owe to one another." + +There are people who balk at small civilities on account of their +manifest insincerity. They cannot be brought to believe that the +expressions of unfelt pleasure or regret with which we accept or +decline invitations, the little affectionate phrases which begin and +end our letters, the agreeable formalities which have accumulated +around the simplest actions of life, are beneficent influences upon +character, promoting gentleness of spirit. The Quakers, as we know, +made a mighty stand against verbal insincerities, with one striking +exception,--the use of the word "Friend." They said and believed that +this word represented their attitude towards humanity, their spirit +of universal tolerance and brotherhood. But if to call oneself a +"Friend" is to emphasize one's amicable relations towards one's +neighbour, to call one's neighbour "Friend" is to imply that he +returns this affectionate regard, which is often an unwarranted +assumption. It is better and more logical to accept _all_ the polite +phraseology which facilitates intercourse, and contributes to the +sweetness of life. If we discarded the formal falsehoods which are +the currency of conversation, we should not be one step nearer the +vital things of truth. + +For to be sincere with ourselves is better and harder than to be +painstakingly accurate with others. A man may be cruelly candid to +his associates, and a cowardly hypocrite to himself. He may handle +his friend harshly, and himself with velvet gloves. He may never tell +the fragment of a lie, and never think the whole truth. He may wound +the pride and hurt the feelings of all with whom he comes in contact, +and never give his own soul the benefit of one good knockdown blow. +The connection which has been established between rudeness and +probity on the one hand, and politeness and insincerity on the other, +is based upon an imperfect knowledge of human nature. + + "So rugged was he that we thought him just, + So churlish was he that we deemed him true." + +"It is better to hold back a truth," said Saint Francis de Sales, +"than to speak it ungraciously." + +There are times doubtless when candour goes straight to its goal, +and courtesy misses the mark. Mr. John Stuart Mill was once asked +upon the hustings whether or not he had ever said that the English +working-classes were mostly liars. He answered shortly, "I +did!"--and the unexpected reply was greeted with loud applause. Mr. +Mill was wont to quote this incident as proof of the value which +Englishmen set upon plain speaking. They do prize it, and they prize +the courage which defies their bullying. But then the remark was, +after all, a generalization. We can bear hearing disagreeable truths +spoken to a crowd or to a congregation--causticity has always been +popular in preachers--because there are other heads than our own upon +which to fit the cap. + +The brutalities of candour, the pestilent wit which blights whatever +it touches, are not distinctively American. It is because we are a +humorous rather than a witty people that we laugh for the most part +with, and not at, our fellow creatures. Indeed, judged by the +unpleasant things we might say and do not say, we should be esteemed +polite. English memoirs teem with anecdotes which appear to us +unpardonable. Why should Lady Holland have been permitted to wound +the susceptibilities of all with whom she came in contact? When Moore +tells us that she said to him, "This book of yours" (the "Life of +Sheridan") "will be dull, I fear;" and to Lord Porchester, "I am sorry +to hear you are going to publish a poem. Can't you suppress it?" we +do not find these remarks to be any more clever than considerate. +They belong to the category of the monumentally uncouth. + +Why should Mr. Abraham Hayward have felt it his duty (he put it that +way) to tell Mr. Frederick Locker that the "London Lyrics" were +"overrated"? "I have suspected this," comments the poet, whose least +noticeable characteristic was vanity; "but I was none the less sorry +to hear him say so." Landor's reply to a lady who accused him of +speaking of her with unkindness, "Madame, I have wasted my life in +defending you!" was pardonable as a repartee. It was the exasperated +utterance of self-defence; and there is a distinction to be drawn +between the word which is flung without provocation, and the word +which is the speaker's last resource. When "Bobus" Smith told +Talleyrand that his mother had been a beautiful woman, and Talleyrand +replied, "_C'etait donc Monsieur votre pere qui n'etait pas bien_," +we hold the witticism to have been cruel because unjustifiable. A +man should be privileged to say his mother was beautiful, without +inviting such a very obvious sarcasm. But when Madame de Stael +pestered Talleyrand to say what he would do if he saw her and Madame +Recamier drowning, the immortal answer, "_Madame de Stael sait tant +de choses, que sans doute elle peut nager_," seems as kind as the +circumstances warranted. "Corinne's" vanity was of the hungry type, +which, crying perpetually for bread, was often fed with stones. + +It has been well said that the difference between a man's habitual +rudeness and habitual politeness is probably as great a difference +as he will ever be able to make in the sum of human happiness; and +the arithmetic of life consists in adding to, or subtracting from, +the pleasurable moments of mortality. Neither is it worth while to +draw fine distinctions between pleasure and happiness. If we are +indifferent to the pleasures of our fellow creatures, it will not +take us long to be indifferent to their happiness. We do not grow +generous by ceasing to be considerate. + +As a matter of fact, the perpetual surrender which politeness +dictates cuts down to a reasonable figure the sum total of our +selfishness. To listen when we are bored, to talk when we are listless, +to stand when we are tired, to praise when we are indifferent, to +accept the companionship of a stupid acquaintance when we might, at +the expense of politeness, escape to a clever friend, to endure with +smiling composure the near presence of people who are distasteful +to us,--these things, and many like them, brace the sinews of our +souls. They set a fine and delicate standard for common intercourse. +They discipline us for the good of the community. + +We cannot ring the bells backward, blot out the Civil War, and +exchange the speed of modern life for the slumberous dignity of the +Golden Age,--an age whose gilding brightens as we leave it shimmering +in the distance. But even under conditions which have the +disadvantage of existing, the American is not without gentleness of +speech and spirit. He is not always in a hurry. He is not always +elbowing his way, or quivering with ill-bred impatience. Turn to him +for help in a crowd, and feel the bright sureness of his response. +Watch him under ordinary conditions, and observe his large measure +of forbearance with the social deficiencies of his neighbour. Like +Steele, he deems it humanity to laugh at an indifferent jest, and +he has thereby earned for himself the reputation of being readily +diverted. If he lacks the urbanities which embellish conversation, +he is correspondingly free from the brutalities which degrade it. +If his instinct does not prompt him to say something agreeable, it +saves him from being wantonly unkind. Plain truths may be salutary; +but unworthy truths are those which are destitute of any spiritual +quality, which are not noble in themselves, and which are not nobly +spoken; which may be trusted to offend, and which have never been +known to illuminate. It is not for such asperities that we have +perfected through the ages the priceless gift of language, that we +seek to meet one another in the pleasant comradeship of life. + + + + +The Mission of Humour + + "Laughter is my object: 'tis a property + In man, essential to his reason." +THOMAS RANDOLPH, _The Muses' Looking-Glass_. + + +American humour is the pride of American hearts. It is held to +be our splendid national characteristic, which we flaunt in the faces +of other nations, conceiving them to have been less favoured by +Providence. Just as the most effective way to disparage an author +or an acquaintance--and we have often occasion to disparage both--is +to say that he lacks a sense of humour, so the most effective +criticism we can pass upon a nation is to deny it this valuable +quality. American critics have written the most charming things +about the keenness of American speech, the breadth and insight of +American drollery, the electric current in American veins; and we, +reading these pleasant felicitations, are wont to thank God with +greater fervour than the occasion demands that we are more merry and +wise than our neighbours. Mr. Brander Matthews, for example, has told +us that there are newspaper writers in New York who have cultivated +a wit, "not unlike Voltaire's." He mistrusts this wit because he +finds it "corroding and disintegrating"; but he makes the comparison +with that casual assurance which is a feature of American criticism. + +Indeed, our delight in our own humour has tempted us to overrate both +its literary value and its corrective qualities. We are never so apt +to lose our sense of proportion as when we consider those beloved +writers whom we hold to be humourists because they have made us laugh. +It may be conceded that, as a people, we have an abiding and somewhat +disquieting sense of fun. We are nimble of speech, we are more prone +to levity than to seriousness, we are able to recognize a vital truth +when it is presented to us under the familiar aspect of a jest, and +we habitually allow ourselves certain forms of exaggeration, +accepting, perhaps unconsciously, Hazlitt's verdict: "Lying is a +species of wit, and shows spirit and invention." It is true also that +no adequate provision is made in this country for the defective but +valuable class without humour, which in England is exceedingly well +cared for. American letters, American journalism, and American +speech are so coloured by pleasantries, so accentuated by ridicule, +that the silent and stodgy men, who are apt to represent a nation's +real strength, hardly know where to turn for a little saving dulness. +A deep vein of irony runs through every grade of society, making it +possible for us to laugh at our own bitter discomfiture, and to scoff +with startling distinctness at the evils which we passively permit. +Just as the French monarchy under Louis the Fourteenth was wittily +defined as despotism tempered by epigram, so the United States have +been described as a free republic fettered by jokes, and the taunt +conveys a half-truth which it is worth our while to consider. + +Now there are many who affirm that the humourist's point of view is, +on the whole, the fairest from which the world can be judged. It is +equally remote from the misleading side-lights of the pessimist and +from the wilful blindness of the optimist. It sees things with +uncompromising clearness, but it judges of them with tolerance and +good temper. Moreover, a sense of the ridiculous is a sound +preservative of social virtues. It places a proper emphasis on the +judgments of our associates, it saves us from pitfalls of vanity and +self-assurance, it lays the basis of that propriety and decorum of +conduct upon which is founded the charm of intercourse among equals. +And what it does for us individually, it does for us collectively. +Our national apprehension of a jest fosters whatever grace of modesty +we have to show. We dare not inflate ourselves as superbly as we +should like to do, because our genial countrymen stand ever ready +to prick us into sudden collapse. "It is the laugh we enjoy at our +own expense which betrays us to the rest of the world." + +Perhaps we laugh too readily. Perhaps we are sometimes amused when +we ought to be angry. Perhaps we jest when it is our plain duty to +reform. Here lies the danger of our national light-mindedness,--for +it is seldom light-heartedness; we are no whit more light-hearted +than our neighbours. A carping English critic has declared that +American humour consists in speaking of hideous things with levity; +and while so harsh a charge is necessarily unjust, it makes clear +one abiding difference between the nations. An Englishman never +laughs--except officially in "Punch"--over any form of political +degradation. He is not in the least amused by jobbery, by bad service, +by broken pledges. The seamy side of civilized life is not to him +a subject for sympathetic mirth. He can pity the stupidity which does +not perceive that it is cheated and betrayed; but penetration allied +to indifference awakens his wondering contempt. "If you think it +amusing to be imposed on," an Englishwoman once said to me, "you need +never be at a loss for a joke." + +In good truth, we know what a man is like by the things he finds +laughable, we gauge both his understanding and his culture by his +sense of the becoming and of the absurd. If the capacity for laughter +be one of the things which separates men from brutes, the quality +of laughter draws a sharp dividing-line between the trained +intelligence and the vacant mind. The humour of a race interprets +the character of a race, and the mental condition of which laughter +is the expression is something which it behooves the student of human +nature and the student of national traits to understand very clearly. + +Now our American humour is, on the whole, good-tempered and decent. +It is scandalously irreverent (reverence is a quality which seems +to have been left out of our composition); but it has neither the +pitilessness of the Latin, nor the grossness of the Teuton jest. As +Mr. Gilbert said of Sir Beerbohm Tree's "Hamlet," it is funny without +being coarse. We have at our best the art of being amusing in an +agreeable, almost an amiable, fashion; but then we have also the rare +good fortune to be very easily amused. Think of the current jokes +provided for our entertainment week by week, and day by day. Think +of the comic supplement of our Sunday newspapers, designed for the +refreshment of the feeble-minded, and calculated to blight the +spirits of any ordinarily intelligent household. Think of the +debilitated jests and stories which a time-honoured custom inserts +at the back of some of our magazines. It seems to be the custom of +happy American parents to report to editors the infantile prattle +of their engaging little children, and the editors print it for the +benefit of those who escape the infliction firsthand. There is a +story, pleasant but piteous, of Voltaire's listening with what +patience he could muster to a comedy which was being interpreted by +its author. At a certain point the dramatist read, "At this the +Chevalier laughed"; whereupon Voltaire murmured enviously, "How +fortunate the Chevalier was!" I think of that story whenever I am +struck afresh by the ease with which we are moved to mirth. + +A painstaking German student, who has traced the history of humour +back to its earliest foundations, is of the opinion that there are +eleven original jokes known to the world, or rather that there are +eleven original and basic situations which have given birth to the +world's jokes; and that all the pleasantries with which we are daily +entertained are variations of these eleven originals, traceable +directly or indirectly to the same sources. There are times when we +are disposed to think eleven too generous a computation, and there +are less weary moments in which the inexhaustible supply of +situations still suggests fresh possibilities of laughter. Granted +that the ever fertile mother-in-law jest and the one about the +talkative barber were venerable in the days of Plutarch; there are +others more securely and more deservedly rooted in public esteem +which are, by comparison, new. Christianity, for example, must be +held responsible for the missionary and cannibal joke, of which we +have grown weary unto death; but which nevertheless possesses +astonishing vitality, and exhibits remarkable breadth of treatment. +Sydney Smith did not disdain to honour it with a joyous and unclerical +quatrain; and the agreeable author of "Rab and his Friends" has told +us the story of his fragile little schoolmate whose mother had +destined him for a missionary, "though goodness knows there wasn't +enough of him to go around among many heathen." + +To Christianity is due also the somewhat ribald mirth which has clung +for centuries about Saint Peter as gatekeeper of Heaven. We can trace +this mirth back to the rude jests of the earliest miracle plays. We +see these jests repeated over and over again in the folklore of Latin +and Germanic nations. And if we open a comic journal to-day, there +is more than a chance that we shall find Saint Peter, key in hand, +uttering his time-honoured witticisms. This well-worn situation +depends, as a rule, upon that common element of fun-making, the +incongruous. Saint Peter invaded by air-ships. Saint Peter +outwitting a squad of banner-flying suffragettes. Saint Peter losing +his saintly temper over the expansive philanthropy of millionaires. +Now and then a bit of true satire, like Mr. Kipling's "Tomlinson," +conveys its deeper lesson to humanity. A recently told French story +describes a lady of good reputation, family, and estate, presenting +herself fearlessly at the gates of Heaven. Saint Peter receives her +politely, and leads her through a street filled with lofty and +beautiful mansions, any one of which she thinks will satisfy her +requirements; but, to her amazement, they pass them by. Next they +come to more modest but still charming houses with which she feels +she could be reasonably content; but again they pass them by. Finally +they reach a small and mean dwelling in a small and mean thoroughfare. +"This," says Saint Peter, "is your habitation." "This!" cries the +indignant lady; "I could not possibly live in any place so shabby +and inadequate." "I am sorry, madame," replies the saint urbanely; +"but we have done the best we could with the materials you furnished +us." + +There are no bounds to the loyalty with which mankind clings to a +well-established jest, there is no limit to the number of times a +tale will bear retelling. Occasionally we give it a fresh setting, +adorn it with fresh accessories, and present it as new-born to the +world; but this is only another indication of our affectionate +tenacity. I have heard that caustic gibe of Queen Elizabeth's anent +the bishop's lady and the bishop's wife (the Tudors had a biting wit +of their own) retold at the expense of an excellent lady, the wife +of a living American bishop; and the story of the girl who, professing +religion, gave her ear-rings to a sister, because she knew they were +taking _her_ to Hell,--a story which dates from the early Wesleyan +revivals in England,--I have heard located in Philadelphia, and +assigned to one of Mr. Torrey's evangelistic services. We still +resort, as in the days of Sheridan, to our memories for our jokes, +and to our imaginations for our facts. + +Moreover, we Americans have jests of our own,--poor things for the +most part, but our own. They are current from the Atlantic to the +Pacific, they appear with commendable regularity in our newspapers +and comic journals, and they have become endeared to us by a lifetime +of intimacy. The salient characteristics of our great cities, the +accepted traditions of our mining-camps, the contrast between East +and West, the still more familiar contrast between the torpor of +Philadelphia and Brooklyn ("In the midst of life," says Mr. Oliver +Herford, "we are--in Brooklyn") and the uneasy speed of New +York,--these things furnish abundant material for everyday American +humour. There is, for example, the encounter between the Boston girl +and the Chicago girl, who, in real life, might often be taken for +each other; but who, in the American joke, are as sharply +differentiated as the Esquimo and the Hottentot. And there is the +little Boston boy who always wears spectacles, who is always named +Waldo, and who makes some innocent remark about "Literary Ethics," +or the "Conduct of Life." We have known this little boy too long to +bear a parting from him. Indeed, the mere suggestion that all +Bostonians are forever immersed in Emerson is one which gives +unfailing delight to the receptive American mind. It is a poor +community which cannot furnish its archaic jest for the diversion +of its neighbours. + +The finest example of our bulldog resoluteness in holding on to a +comic situation, or what we conceive to be a comic situation, may +be seen every year when the twenty-second of February draws near, +and the shops of our great and grateful Republic break out into an +irruption of little hatchets, by which curious insignia we have +chosen to commemorate our first President. These toys, occasionally +combined with sprigs of artificial cherries, are hailed with +unflagging delight, and purchased with what appears to be patriotic +fervour. I have seen letter-carriers and post-office clerks wearing +little hatchets in their button-holes, as though they were party +buttons, or temperance badges. It is our great national joke, which +I presume gains point from the dignified and reticent character of +General Washington, and from the fact that he would have been +sincerely unhappy could he have foreseen the senile character of a +jest, destined, through our love of absurdity, our careful +cultivation of the inappropriate, to be linked forever with his name. + +The easy exaggeration which is a distinctive feature of American +humour, and about which so much has been said and written, has its +counterpart in sober and truth-telling England, though we are always +amazed when we find it there, and fall to wondering, as we never +wonder at home, in what spirit it was received. There are two kinds +of exaggeration; exaggeration of statement, which is a somewhat +primitive form of humour, and exaggeration of phrase, which implies +a dexterous misuse of language, a skilful juggling with words. Sir +John Robinson gives, as an admirable instance of exaggeration of +statement, the remark of an American in London that his dining-room +ceiling was so low that he could not have anything for dinner but +soles. Sir John thought this could have been said only by an American, +only by one accustomed to have a joke swiftly catalogued as a joke, +and suffered to pass. An English jester must always take into account +the mental attitude which finds "Gulliver's Travels" "incredible." +When Mr. Edward FitzGerald said that the church at Woodbridge was +so damp that fungi grew about the communion rail, Woodbridge ladies +offered an indignant denial. When Dr. Thompson, the witty master of +Trinity, observed of an undergraduate that "all the time he could +spare from the neglect of his duties he gave to the adornment of his +person," the sarcasm made its slow way into print; whereupon an +intelligent British reader wrote to the periodical which had printed +it, and explained painstakingly that, inasmuch as it was not possible +to spare time from the neglect of anything, the criticism was +inaccurate. + +Exaggeration of phrase, as well as the studied understatement which +is an even more effective form of ridicule, seem natural products +of American humour. They sound, wherever we hear them, familiar to +our ears. It is hard to believe that an English barrister, and not +a Texas ranch-man, described Boston as a town where respectability +stalked unchecked. Mazarin's plaintive reflection, "Nothing is so +disagreeable as to be obscurely hanged," carries with it an echo of +Wyoming or Arizona. Mr. Gilbert's analysis of Hamlet's mental +disorder,-- + + "Hamlet is idiotically sane, + With lucid intervals of lunacy,"-- + +has the pure flavour of American wit,--a wit which finds its most +audacious expression in burlesquing bitter things, and which misfits +its words with diabolic ingenuity. To match these alien jests, which +sound so like our own, we have the whispered warning of an American +usher (also quoted by Sir John Robinson) who opened the door to a +late comer at one of Mr. Matthew Arnold's lectures: "Will you please +make as little noise as you can, sir. The audience is asleep"; and +the comprehensive remark of a New England scholar and wit that he +never wanted to do anything in his life, that he did not find it was +expensive, unwholesome, or immoral. This last observation embraces +the wisdom of the centuries. Solomon would have endorsed it, and it +is supremely quotable as expressing a common experience with very +uncommon felicity. + +When we leave the open field of exaggeration, that broad area which +is our chosen territory, and seek for subtler qualities in American +humour, we find here and there a witticism which, while admittedly +our own, has in it an Old-World quality. The epigrammatic remark of +a Boston woman that men get and forget, and women give and forgive, +shows the fine, sharp finish of Sydney Smith or Sheridan. A +Philadelphia woman's observation, that she knew there could be no +marriages in Heaven, because--"Well, women were there no doubt in +plenty, and some men; but not a man whom any woman would have," is +strikingly French. The word of a New York broker, when Mr. Roosevelt +sailed for Africa, "Wall Street expects every lion to do its duty!" +equals in brevity and malice the keen-edged satire of Italy. No +sharper thrust was ever made at prince or potentate. + +The truth is that our love of a jest knows no limit and respects no +law. The incongruities of an unequal civilization (we live in the +land of contrasts) have accustomed us to absurdities, and reconciled +us to ridicule. We rather like being satirized by our own countrymen. +We are very kind and a little cruel to our humourists. We crown them +with praise, we hold them to our hearts, we pay them any price they +ask for their wares; but we insist upon their being funny all the +time. Once a humourist, always a humourist, is our way of thinking; +and we resent even a saving lapse into seriousness on the part of +those who have had the good or the ill fortune to make us laugh. + +England is equally obdurate in this regard. Her love of laughter has +been consecrated by Oxford,--Oxford, the dignified refuge of English +scholarship, which passed by a score of American scholars to bestow +her honours on our great American joker. And because of this love +of laughter, so desperate in a serious nation, English jesters have +enjoyed the uneasy privileges of a court fool. Look at poor Hood. +What he really loved was to wallow in the pathetic,--to write such +harrowing verses as the "Bridge of Sighs," and the "Song of the Shirt" +(which achieved the rare distinction of being printed--like the +"Beggar's Petition"--on cotton handkerchiefs), and the "Lady's +Dream." Every time he broke from his traces, he plunged into these +morasses of melancholy; but he was always pulled out again, and +reharnessed to his jokes. He would have liked to be funny +occasionally and spontaneously, and it was the will of his master, +the public, that he should be funny all the time, or starve. Lord +Chesterfield wisely said that a man should live within his wit as +well as within his income; but if Hood had lived within his wit--which +might then have possessed a vital and lasting quality--he would have +had no income. His role in life was like that of a dancing bear, which +is held to commit a solecism every time it settles wearily down on +the four legs nature gave it. + +The same tyrannous demand hounded Mr. Eugene Field along his +joke-strewn path. Chicago, struggling with vast and difficult +problems, felt the need of laughter, and required of Mr. Field that +he should make her laugh. He accepted the responsibility, and, as +a reward, his memory is hallowed in the city he loved and derided. +New York echoes this sentiment (New York echoes more than she +proclaims; she confirms rather than initiates); and when Mr. Francis +Wilson wrote some years ago a charming and enthusiastic paper for +the "Century Magazine," he claimed that Mr. Field was so great a +humourist as to be--what all great humourists are,--a moralist as +well. But he had little to quote which could be received as evidence +in a court of criticism; and many of the paragraphs which he deemed +it worth while to reprint were melancholy instances of that jaded +wit, that exhausted vitality, which in no wise represented Mr. +Field's mirth-loving spirit, but only the things which were ground +out of him when he was not in a mirthful mood. + +The truth is that humour as a lucrative profession is a purely modern +device, and one which is much to be deplored. The older humourists +knew the value of light and shade. Their fun was precious in +proportion to its parsimony. The essence of humour is that it should +be unexpected, that it should embody an element of surprise, that +it should startle us out of that reasonable gravity which, after all, +must be our habitual frame of mind. But the professional humourist +cannot afford to be unexpected. The exigencies of his vocation compel +him to be relentlessly droll from his first page to his last, and +this accumulated drollery weighs like lead. Compared to it, sermons +are as thistle-down, and political economy is gay. + +It is hard to estimate the value of humour as a national trait. Life +has its appropriate levities, its comedy side. We cannot "see it +clearly and see it whole," without recognizing a great many +absurdities which ought to be laughed at, a great deal of nonsense +which is a fair target for ridicule. The heaviest charge brought +against American humour is that it never keeps its target well in +view. We laugh, but we are not purged by laughter of our follies; +we jest, but our jests are apt to have a kitten's sportive +irresponsibility. The lawyer offers a witticism in place of an +argument, the diner-out tells an amusing story in lieu of +conversation. Even the clergyman does not disdain a joke, heedless +of Dr. Johnson's warning which should save him from that pitfall. +Smartness furnishes sufficient excuse for the impertinence of +children, and with purposeless satire the daily papers deride the +highest dignitaries of the land. + +Yet while always to be reckoned with in life and letters, American +humour is not a powerful and consistent factor either for destruction +or for reform. It lacks, for the most part, a logical basis, and the +dignity of a supreme aim. Moliere's humour amounted to a philosophy +of life. He was wont to say that it was a difficult task to make +gentlefolk laugh; but he succeeded in making them laugh at that which +was laughable in themselves. He aimed his shafts at the fallacies +and the duplicities which his countrymen ardently cherished, and he +scorned the cheaper wit which contents itself with mocking at idols +already discredited. As a result, he purged society, not of the +follies that consumed it, but of the illusion that these follies were +noble, graceful, and wise. "We do not plough or sow for fools," says +a Russian proverb, "they grow of themselves"; but humour has +accomplished a mighty work if it helps us to see that a fool is a +fool, and not a prophet in the market-place. And if the man in the +market-place chances to be a prophet, his message is safe from +assault. No laughter can silence him, no ridicule weaken his words. + +Carlyle's grim humour was also drilled into efficacy. He used it in +orderly fashion; he gave it force by a stern principle of repression. +He had (what wise man has not?) an honest respect for dulness, knowing +that a strong and free people argues best--as Mr. Bagehot puts +it--"in platoons." He had some measure of mercy for folly. But +against the whole complicated business of pretence, against the +pious, and respectable, and patriotic hypocrisies of a successful +civilization, he hurled his taunts with such true aim that it is not +too much to say there has been less real comfort and safety in lying +ever since. + +These are victories worth recording, and there is a big battlefield +for American humour when it finds itself ready for the fray, when +it leaves off firing squibs, and settles down to a compelling +cannonade, when it aims less at the superficial incongruities of life, +and more at the deep-rooted delusions which rob us of fair fame. It +has done its best work in the field of political satire, where the +"Biglow Papers" hit hard in their day, where Nast's cartoons helped +to overthrow the Tweed dynasty, and where the indolent and luminous +genius of Mr. Dooley has widened our mental horizon. Mr. Dooley is +a philosopher, but his is the philosophy of the looker-on, of that +genuine unconcern which finds Saint George and the dragon to be both +a trifle ridiculous. He is always undisturbed, always illuminating, +and not infrequently amusing; but he anticipates the smiling +indifference with which those who come after us will look back upon +our enthusiasms and absurdities. Humour, as he sees it, is that +thrice blessed quality which enables us to laugh, when otherwise we +should be in danger of weeping. "We are ridiculous animals," observes +Horace Walpole unsympathetically, "and if angels have any fun in +their hearts, how we must divert them." + +It is this clear-sighted, non-combative humour which Americans love +and prize, and the absence of which they reckon a heavy loss. Nor +do they always ask, "a loss to whom?" Charles Lamb said it was no +misfortune for a man to have a sulky temper. It was his friends who +were unfortunate. And so with the man who has no sense of humour. +He gets along very well without it. He is not aware that anything +is lacking. He is not mourning his lot. What loss there is, his +friends and neighbours bear. A man destitute of humour is apt to be +a formidable person, not subject to sudden deviations from his chosen +path, and incapable of frittering away his elementary forces by +pottering over both sides of a question. He is often to be respected, +sometimes to be feared, and always--if possible--to be avoided. His +are the qualities which distance enables us to recognize and value +at their worth. He fills his place in the scheme of creation; but +it is for us to see that his place is not next to ours at table, where +his unresponsiveness narrows the conversational area, and dulls the +contagious ardour of speech. He may add to the wisdom of the ages, +but he lessens the gayety of life. + + + + +Goodness and Gayety + +"Can surly Virtue hope to find a friend?"--DR. JOHNSON. + + +Sir Leslie Stephen has recorded his conviction that a sense of humour, +being irreconcilable with some of the cardinal virtues, is lacking +in most good men. Father Faber asserted, on the contrary, that a sense +of humour is a great help in the religious life, and emphasized this +somewhat unusual point of view with the decisive statement: "Perhaps +nature does not contribute a greater help to grace than this." + +Here are conflicting verdicts to be well considered. Sir Leslie +Stephen knew more about humour than did Father Faber; Father Faber +knew more about "grace" than did Sir Leslie Stephen; and both +disputants were widely acquainted with their fellow men. Sir Leslie +Stephen had a pretty wit of his own, but it may have lacked the +qualities which make for holiness. There was in it the element of +denial. He seldom entered the shrine where we worship our ideals in +secret. He stood outside, remarks Mr. Birrell cheerily, "with a pail +of cold water." Father Faber also possessed a vein of irony which +was the outcome of a priestly experience with the cherished foibles +of the world. He entered unbidden into the shrine where we worship +our illusions in secret, and chilled us with unwelcome truths. I know +of no harder experience than this. It takes time and trouble to +persuade ourselves that the things we want to do are the things we +ought to do. We balance our spiritual accounts with care. We insert +glib phrases about duty into all our reckonings. There is nothing, +or next to nothing, which cannot, if adroitly catalogued, be +considered a duty; and it is this delicate mental adjustment which +is disturbed by Father Faber's ridicule. "Self-deceit," he +caustically observes, "seems to thrive on prayer, and to grow fat +on contemplation." + +If a sense of humour forces us to be candid with ourselves, then it +can be reconciled, not only with the cardinal virtues--which are but +a chilly quartette--but with the flaming charities which have +consumed the souls of saints. The true humourist, objects Sir Leslie +Stephen, sees the world as a tragi-comedy, a Vanity Fair, in which +enthusiasm is out of place. But if the true humourist also sees +himself presiding, in the sacred name of duty, over a booth in Vanity +Fair, he may yet reach perfection. What Father Faber opposed so +strenuously were, not the vanities of the profane, of the openly and +cheerfully unregenerate; but the vanities of a devout and +fashionable congregation, making especial terms--by virtue of its +exalted station--with Providence. These were the people whom he +regarded all his priestly life with whimsical dismay. "Their +voluntary social arrangements," he wrote in "Spiritual +Conferences," "are the tyranny of circumstance, claiming our +tenderest pity, and to be managed like the work of a Xavier, or a +Vincent of Paul, which hardly left the saints time to pray. Their +sheer worldliness is to be considered as an interior trial, with all +manner of cloudy grand things to be said about it. They must avoid +uneasiness, for such great graces as theirs can grow only in calmness +and tranquillity." + +This is irony rather than humour, but it implies a capacity to see +the tragi-comedy of the world, without necessarily losing the power +of enthusiasm. It also explains why Father Faber regarded an honest +sense of the ridiculous as a help to goodness. The man or woman who +is impervious to the absurd cannot well be stripped of self-delusion. +For him, for her, there is no shaft which wounds. The admirable advice +of Thomas a Kempis to keep away from people whom we desire to please, +and the quiet perfection of his warning to the censorious, "In +judging others, a man toileth in vain; for the most part he is +mistaken, and he easily sinneth; but in judging and scrutinizing +himself, he always laboureth with profit," can make their just appeal +only to the humorous sense. So, too, the counsel of Saint Francis +de Sales to the nuns who wanted to go barefooted, "Keep your shoes +and change your brains"; the cautious query of Pope Gregory the First, +concerning John the Faster, "Does he abstain even from the truth?" +Cardinal Newman's axiom, "It is never worth while to call whity-brown +white, for the sake of avoiding scandal"; and Father Faber's own +felicitous comment on religious "hedgers," "A moderation which +consists in taking immoderate liberties with God is hardly what the +Fathers of the Desert meant when they preached their crusade in +favour of discretion";--are all spoken to those hardy and humorous +souls who can bear to be honest with themselves. + +The ardent reformer, intolerant of the ordinary processes of life, +the ardent philanthropist, intolerant of an imperfect civilization, +the ardent zealot, intolerant of man's unspiritual nature, are +seldom disposed to gayety. A noble impatience of spirit inclines them +to anger or to sadness. John Wesley, reformer, philanthropist, +zealot, and surpassingly great in all three characters, strangled +within his own breast the simple desire to be gay. He was a young +man when he formed the resolution, "to labour after continual +seriousness, not willingly indulging myself in the least levity of +behaviour, or in laughter,--no, not for a moment"; and for more than +fifty years he kept--probably with no great difficulty--this stern +resolve. The mediaeval saying, that laughter has sin for a father +and folly for a mother, would have meant to Wesley more than a figure +of speech. Nothing could rob him of a dry and bitter humour ("They +won't let me go to Bedlam," he wrote, "because they say I make the +inmates mad, nor into Newgate, because I make them wicked"); but +there was little in his creed or in the scenes of his labours to +promote cheerfulness of spirit. + +This disciplining of nature, honest, erring human nature, which +could, if permitted, make out a fair case for itself, is not an +essential element of the evangelist's code. In the hands of men less +great than Wesley, it has been known to nullify the work of a lifetime. +The Lincolnshire farmer who, after listening to a sermon on Hell, +said to his wife, "Noa, Sally, it woant do. Noa constitootion could +stand it," expressed in his own fashion the healthy limit of +endurance. Our spiritual constitutions break under a pitiless strain. +When we read in the diary of Henry Alline, quoted by Dr. William James +in his "Varieties of Religious Experience," "On Wednesday the +twelfth I preached at a wedding, and had the happiness thereby to +be the means of excluding carnal mirth," we are not merely sorry for +the wedding guests, but beset by doubts as to their moral gain. + +Why should Henry Martyn, that fervent young missionary who gave his +life for his cause with the straight-forward simplicity of a soldier, +have regretted so bitterly an occasional lapse into good spirits? +He was inhumanly serious, and he prayed by night and day to be saved +from his "besetting sin" of levity. He was consumed by the flame of +religious zeal, and he bewailed at grievous length, in his diary, +his "light, worldly spirit." He toiled unrestingly, taking no heed +of his own physical weakness, and he asked himself (when he had a +minute to spare) what would become of his soul, should he be struck +dead in a "careless mood." We have Mr. Birrell's word for it that +once, in an old book about India, he came across an after-dinner jest +of Henry Martyn's; but the idea was so incongruous that the startled +essayist was disposed to doubt the evidence of his senses. "There +must have been a mistake somewhere." + +To such a man the world is not, and never can be, a tragi-comedy, +and laughter seems forever out of place. When a Madeira negress, a +good Christian after her benighted fashion, asked Martyn if the +English were ever baptized, he did not think the innocent question +funny, he thought it horrible. He found Saint Basil's writings +unsatisfactory, as lacking "evangelical truth"; and, could he have +heard this great doctor of the Church fling back a witticism in the +court of an angry magistrate, he would probably have felt more +doubtful than ever concerning the status of the early Fathers. It +is a relief to turn from the letters of Martyn, with their aloofness +from the cheerful currents of earth, to the letters of Bishop Heber, +who, albeit a missionary and a keen one, had always a laugh for the +absurdities which beset his wandering life. He could even tell with +relish the story of the drunken pedlar whom he met in Wales, and who +confided to him that, having sold all his wares, he was trying to +drink up the proceeds before he got home, lest his wife should take +the money away from him. Heber, using the argument which he felt would +be of most avail, tried to frighten the man into soberness by +picturing his wife's wrath; whereupon the adroit scamp replied that +he knew what _that_ would be, and had taken the precaution to have +his hair cut short, so that she could not get a grip on it. Martyn +could no more have chuckled over this depravity than he could have +chuckled over the fallen angels; but Saint Teresa could have laughed +outright, her wonderful, merry, infectious laugh; and have then +proceeded to plead, to scold, to threaten, to persuade, until a +chastened and repentant pedlar, money in hand, and some dim +promptings to goodness tugging at his heart, would have tramped +bravely and soberly home. + +It is so much the custom to obliterate from religious memoirs all +vigorous human traits, all incidents which do not tend to edification, +and all contemporary criticism which cannot be smoothed into praise, +that what is left seems to the disheartened reader only a pale shadow +of life. It is hard to make any biography illustrate a theme, or prove +an argument; and the process by which such results are obtained is +so artificial as to be open to the charge of untruth. Because General +Havelock was a good Baptist as well as a good soldier, because he +expressed a belief in the efficacy of prayer (like Cromwell's "Trust +in God, and keep your powder dry "), and because he wrote to his wife, +when sent to the relief of Lucknow, "May God give me wisdom and +strength for the work!"--which, after all, was a natural enough thing +for any man to say,--he was made the subject of a memoir determinedly +and depressingly devout, in which his family letters were annotated +as though they were the epistles of Saint Paul. Yet this was the man +who, when Lucknow _was_ relieved, behaved as if nothing out of the +ordinary had happened to besiegers or besieged. "He shook hands with +me," wrote Lady Inglis in her journal, "and observed that he feared +we had suffered a great deal." That was all. He might have said as +much had the little garrison been incommoded by a spell of unusual +heat, or by an epidemic of measles. + +As a matter of fact, piety is a by no means uncommon attribute of +soldiers, and there was no need on the part of the Reverend Mr. Brock, +who compiled these shadowy pages, to write as though General Havelock +had been a rare species of the genius military. We know that what +the English Puritans especially resented in Prince Rupert was his +insistence on regimental prayers. They could pardon his raids, his +breathless charges, his bewildering habit of appearing where he was +least expected or desired; but that he should usurp their own +especial prerogative of piety was more than they could bear. It is +probable that Rupert's own private petitions resembled the memorable +prayer offered by Sir Jacob Astley (a hardy old Cavalier who was both +devout and humorous) before the battle of Edgehill: "Oh, Lord, Thou +knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou +forget me. March on, boys!" + +If it were not for a few illuminating anecdotes, and the thrice +blessed custom of letter writing, we should never know what manner +of thing human goodness, exalted human goodness, is; and so acquiesce +ignorantly in Sir Leslie Stephen's judgment. The sinners of the world +stand out clear and distinct, full of vitality, and of an engaging +candour. The saints of Heaven shine dimly through a nebulous haze +of hagiology. They are embodiments of inaccessible virtues, as +remote from us and from our neighbours as if they had lived on another +planet. There is no more use in asking us to imitate these +incomprehensible creatures than there would be in asking us to climb +by easy stages to the moon. Without some common denominator, sinner +and saint are as aloof from each other as sinner and archangel. +Without some clue to the saint's spiritual identity, the record of +his labours and hardships, fasts, visions, and miracles, offers +nothing more helpful than bewilderment. We may be edified or we may +be sceptical, according to our temperament and training; but a +profound unconcern devitalizes both scepticism and edification. +What have we mortals in common with these perfected prodigies of +grace? + +It was Cardinal Newman who first entered a protest against "minced" +saints, against the pious and popular custom of chopping up human +records into lessons for the devout. He took exception to the +hagiological licence which assigns lofty motives to trivial actions. +"The saint from humility made no reply." "The saint was silent out +of compassion for the ignorance of the speaker." He invited us to +approach the Fathers of the Church in their unguarded moments, in +their ordinary avocations, in their moods of gayety and depression; +and, when we accepted the invitation, these figures, lofty and remote, +became imbued with life. It is one thing to know that Saint Chrysostom +retired at twenty-three to a monastery near Antioch, and there spent +six years in seclusion and study. It is another and more enlightening +thing to be made aware, through the medium of his own letters, that +he took this step with reasonable doubts and misgivings,--doubts +which extended to the freshness of the monastery bread, misgivings +which concerned themselves with the sweetness of the monastery oil. +And when we read these candid expressions of anxiety, Saint +Chrysostom, by virtue of his healthy young appetite, and his distaste +(which any poor sinner can share) for rancid oil, becomes a man and +a brother. It is yet more consoling to know that when well advanced +in sainthood, when old, austere, exiled, and suffering many +privations for conscience' sake, Chrysostom was still disposed to +be a trifle fastidious about his bread. He writes from Caesarea to +Theodora that he has at last found clean water to drink, and bread +which can be chewed. "Moreover, I no longer wash myself in broken +crockery, but have contrived some sort of bath; also I have a bed +to which I can confine myself." + +If Saint Chrysostom possessed, according to Newman, a cheerful +temper, and "a sunniness of mind all his own," Saint Gregory of +Nazianzus was a fair humourist, and Saint Basil was a wit. "Pensive +playfulness" is Newman's phrase for Basil, but there was a speed +about his retorts which did not always savour of pensiveness. When +the furious governor of Pontus threatened to tear out his liver, +Basil, a confirmed invalid, replied suavely, "It is a kind intention. +My liver, as at present located, has given me nothing but +uneasiness." + +To Gregory, Basil was not only guide, philosopher, and friend; but +also a cherished target for his jests. It has been wisely said that +we cannot really love anybody at whom we never laugh. Gregory loved +Basil, revered him, and laughed at him. Does Basil complain, not +unnaturally, that Tiberina is cold, damp, and muddy, Gregory writes +to him unsympathetically that he is a "clean-footed, tip-toeing, +capering man." Does Basil promise a visit, Gregory sends word to +Amphilochus that he must have some fine pot-herbs, "lest Basil should +be hungry and cross." Does Gregory visit Basil in his solitude at +Pontus, he expresses in no measured terms his sense of the discomfort +he endures. It would be hard to find, in all the annals of +correspondence, a letter written with a more laudable and +well-defined intention of teasing its recipient, than the one +dispatched to Basil by Gregory after he has made good his escape from +the austerities of his friend's housekeeping. + +"I have remembrance of the bread and of the broth,--so they were +named,--and shall remember them; how my teeth stuck in your hunches, +and lifted and heaved themselves as out of paste. You, indeed, will +set it out in tragic style, taking a sublime tone from your own +sufferings; but for me, unless that true Lady Bountiful, your mother, +had rescued me quickly, showing herself in my need like a haven to +the tempest-tossed, I had been dead long ago, getting myself little +honour, though much pity, from Pontic hospitality." + +This is not precisely the tone in which the lives of the saints (of +any saints of any creeds) are written. Therefore is it better to read +what the saints say for themselves than what has been said about them. +This is not precisely the point of view which is presented unctuously +for our consideration, yet it makes all other points of view +intelligible. It is contrary to human nature to court privations. +We know that the saints did court them, and valued them as avenues +to grace. It is in accord with human nature to meet privations +cheerfully, and with a whimsical sense of discomfiture. When we hear +the echo of a saint's laughter ringing down the centuries, we have +a clue to his identity; not to his whole and heroic self, but to that +portion of him which we can best understand, and with which we claim +some humble brotherhood. We ourselves are not hunting assiduously +for hardships; but which one of us has not summoned up courage enough +to laugh in the face of disaster? + +There is no reading less conducive to good spirits than the recitals +of missionaries, or than such pitiless records as those compiled by +Dr. Thomas William Marshall in his two portly volumes on "Christian +Missions." The heathen, as portrayed by Dr. Marshall, do not in the +least resemble the heathen made familiar to us by the hymns and tracts +of our infancy. So far from calling on us to deliver their land "from +error's chain," they mete out prompt and cruel death to their +deliverers. So far from thirsting for Gospel truths, they thirst for +the blood of the intruders. This is frankly discouraging, and we +could never read so many pages of disagreeable happenings, were it +not for the gayety of the letters which Dr. Marshall quotes, and which +deal less in heroics than in pleasantries. Such men as Bishop Berneux, +the Abbe Retord, and Father Feron, missionaries in Cochin-China and +Corea, all possessed that protective sense of humour which kept up +their spirits and their enthusiasms. Father Feron, for example, +hidden away in the "Valley of the Pines," six hundred miles from +safety, writes to his sister in the autumn of 1858:-- + +"I am lodged in one of the finest houses in the village, that of the +catechist, an opulent man. It is considered to be worth a pound +sterling. Do not laugh; there are some of the value of eightpence. +My room has a sheet of paper for a door, the rain filters through +my grass-covered roof as fast as it falls outside, and two large +kettles barely suffice to receive it. ... The Prophet Elisha, at the +house of the Shunamite, had for furniture a bed, a table, a chair, +and a candlestick,--four pieces in all. No superfluity there. Now +if I search well, I can also find four articles in my room; a wooden +candlestick, a trunk, a pair of shoes, and a pipe. Bed none, chairs +none, table none. Am I, then, richer or poorer than the Prophet? It +is not an easy question to answer, for, granting that his quarters +were more comfortable than mine, yet none of the things belonged to +him; while in my case, although the candlestick is borrowed from the +chapel, and the trunk from Monseigneur Berneux, the shoes (worn only +when I say Mass) and the pipe are my very own." + +Surely if one chanced to be the sister of a missionary in Corea, and +apprehensive, with good cause, of his personal safety, this is the +kind of a letter one would be glad to receive. The comfort of finding +one's brother disinclined to take what Saint Gregory calls "a sublime +tone" would tend--illogically, I own,--to ease the burden of anxiety. +Even the remote reader, sick of discouraging details, experiences +a renewal of confidence, and all because Father Feron's good humour +is of the common kind which we can best understand, and with which +it befits every one of us to meet the vicissitudes of life. + +I have said that the ardent reformer is seldom gay. Small wonder, +when his eyes are turned upon the dark places of earth, and his whole +strength is consumed in combat. Yet Saint Teresa, the most +redoubtable reformer of her day, was gay. No other word expresses +the quality of her gladness. She was not only spiritually serene, +she was humanly gay, and this in the face of acute ill-health, and +many profound discouragements. We have the evidence of all her +contemporaries,--friends, nuns, patrons, and confessors; and we +have the far more enduring testimony of her letters, in proof of this +mirthfulness of spirit, which won its way into hearts, and lightened +the austerities of her rule. "A very cheerful and gentle disposition, +an excellent temper, and absolutely void of melancholy," wrote +Ribera. "So merry that when she laughed, every one laughed with her, +but very grave when she was serious." + +There is a strain of humour, a delicate and somewhat biting wit in +the correspondence of Saint Teresa, and in her admonitions to her +nuns. There is also an inspired common sense which we hardly expect +to find in the writings of a religious and a mystic. But Teresa was +not withdrawn from the world. She travelled incessantly from one end +of Spain to the other, establishing new foundations, visiting her +convents, and dealing with all classes of men, from the soldier to +the priest, from the prince to the peasant. The severity of her +discipline was tempered by a tolerant and half-amused insight into +the pardonable foibles of humanity. She held back her nuns with one +hand from "the frenzy of self-mortification," which is the mainstay +of spiritual vanity, and with the other hand from a too solicitous +regard for their own comfort and convenience. They were not to +consider that the fear of a headache,--a non-existent headache +threatening the future--was sufficient excuse for absenting +themselves from choir; and, if they were too ailing to practise any +other austerities, the rule of silence, she reminded them, could do +the feeblest no harm. "Do not contend wordily over matters of no +consequence," was her counsel of perfection. "Fly a thousand leagues +from such observations as 'You see I was right,' or 'They did me an +injustice.'" + +Small wonder that peace reigned among the discalced Carmelites so +long as Teresa ruled. Practical and fearless (save when a lizard ran +up her sleeve, on which occasion she confesses she nearly "died of +fright,") her much-sought advice was always on the side of reason. +Asceticism she prized; dirt she abhorred. "For the love of Heaven," +she wrote to the Provincial, Gratian, then occupied with his first +foundation of discalced friars, "let your fraternity be careful that +they have clean beds and tablecloths, even though it be more +expensive, for it is a terrible thing not to be cleanly." No +persuasion could induce her to retain a novice whom she believed to +be unfitted for her rule:--"We women are not so easy to know," was +her scornful reply to the Jesuit, Olea, who held his judgment in such +matters to be infallible; but nevertheless her practical soul +yearned over a well-dowered nun. When an "excellent novice" with a +fortune of six thousand ducats presented herself at the gates of the +poverty-stricken convent in Seville, Teresa, then in Avila, was +consumed with anxiety lest such an acquisition should, through some +blunder, be lost. "For the love of God," wrote the wise old saint +to the prioress in Seville, "if she enters, bear with a few defects, +for well does she deserve it." + +This is not the type of anecdote which looms large in the volumes +of "minced saints" prepared for pious readers, and its absence has +accustomed us to dissever humour from sanctity. But a candid soul +is, as a rule, a humorous soul, awake to the tragi-comic aspect of +life, and immaculately free from self-deception. And to such souls, +cast like Teresa's in heroic mould, comes the perception of great +moral truths, together with the sturdy strength which supports +enthusiasm in the face of human disabilities. They are the +lantern-bearers of every age, of every race, of every creed, _les +ames bien nees_ whom it behooves us to approach fearlessly out of +the darkness, for so only can we hope to understand. + + + + +The Nervous Strain + +"Which fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this +night."--MRS. GAMP. + + +Anna Robeson Burr, in her scholarly analysis of the world's great +autobiographies, has found occasion to compare the sufferings of the +American woman under the average conditions of life with the +endurance of the woman who, three hundred years ago, confronted dire +vicissitudes with something closely akin to insensibility. +"To-day," says Mrs. Burr, "a child's illness, an over-gay season, +the loss of an investment, a family jar,--these are accepted as +sufficient cause for over-strained nerves and temporary retirement +to a sanitarium. _Then_, war, rapine, fire, sword, prolonged and +mortal peril, were considered as furnishing no excuse to men or women +for altering the habits, or slackening the energies, of their daily +existence." + +As a matter of fact, Isabella d' Este witnessed the sacking of Rome +without so much as thinking of nervous prostration. This was nearly +four hundred years ago, but it is the high-water mark of feminine +fortitude. To live through such days and nights of horror, and emerge +therefrom with unimpaired vitality, and unquenched love for a +beautiful and dangerous world, is to rob the words "shock" and +"strain" of all dignity and meaning. To resume at once the +interrupted duties and pleasures of life was, for the Marchioness +of Mantua, obligatory; but none the less we marvel that she could +play her role so well. + +A hundred and thirty years later, Sir Ralph Verney, an exiled +royalist, sent his young wife back to England to petition Parliament +for the restoration of his sequestrated estates. Lady Verney's path +was beset by difficulties and dangers. She had few friends and many +enemies, little money and cruel cares. She was, it is needless to +state, pregnant when she left France, and paused in her work long +enough to bear her husband "a lusty boy"; after which Sir Ralph writes +that he fears she is neglecting her guitar, and urges her to practise +some new music before she returns to the Continent. + +Such pages of history make tonic reading for comfortable ladies who, +in their comfortable homes, are bidden by their comfortable doctors +to avoid the strain of anything and everything which makes the game +of life worth living. It is our wont to think of our +great-great-great-grandmothers as spending their days in +undisturbed tranquillity. We take imaginary naps in their quiet +rooms, envying the serenity of an existence unvexed by telegrams, +telephones, clubs, lectures, committee-meetings, suffrage +demonstrations, and societies for harrying our neighbours. How sweet +and still those spacious rooms must have been! What was the remote +tinkling of a harp, compared to pianolas, and phonographs, and all +the infernal contrivances of science for producing and perpetuating +noise? What was a fear of ghosts compared to a knowledge of germs? +What was repeated child-bearing, or occasional smallpox, compared +to the "over-pressure" upon "delicate organisms," which is making +the fortunes of doctors to-day? + +So we argue. Yet in good truth our ancestors had their share of +pressure, and more than their share of ill-health. The stomach was +the same ungrateful and rebellious organ then that it is now. Nature +was the same strict accountant then that she is now, and balanced +her debit and credit columns with the same relentless accuracy. The +"liver" of the last century has become, we are told, the "nerves" +of to-day; which transmigration should be a bond of sympathy between +the new woman and that unchangeable article, man. We have warmer +spirits and a higher vitality than our home-keeping +great-grandmothers ever had. We are seldom hysterical, and we never +faint. If we are gay, our gayeties involve less exposure and fatigue. +If we are serious-minded, our attitude towards our own errors is one +of unaffected leniency. That active, lively, all-embracing +assurance of eternal damnation, which was part of John Wesley's +vigorous creed, might have broken down the nervous system of a +mollusk. The modern nurse, jealously guarding her patient from all +but the neutralities of life, may be pleased to know that when Wesley +made his memorable voyage to Savannah, a young woman on board the +ship gave birth to her first child; and Wesley's journal is full of +deep concern, because the other women about her failed to improve +the occasion by exhorting the poor tormented creature "to fear Him +who is able to inflict sharper pains than these." + +As for the industrious idleness which is held to blame for the +wrecking of our nervous systems, it was not unknown to an earlier +generation. Madame Le Brun assures us that, in her youth, +pleasure-loving people would leave Brussels early in the morning, +travel all day to Paris, to hear the opera, and travel all night home. +"That," she observes,--as well she may,--"was considered being fond +of the opera." A paragraph in one of Horace Walpole's letters gives +us the record of a day and a night in the life of an English +lady,--sixteen hours of "strain" which would put New York to the +blush. "I heard the Duchess of Gordon's journal of last Monday," he +writes to Miss Berry in the spring of 1791. "She first went to hear +Handel's music in the Abbey; she then clambered over the benches, +and went to Hastings's trial in the Hall; after dinner, to the play; +then to Lady Lucan's assembly; after that to Ranelagh, and returned +to Mrs. Hobart's faro-table; gave a ball herself in the evening of +that morning, into which she must have got a good way; and set out +for Scotland the next day. Hercules could not have accomplished a +quarter of her labours in the same space of time." + +Human happiness was not to this gay Gordon a "painless languor"; and +if she failed to have nervous prostration--under another name--she +was cheated of her dues. Wear-and-tear plus luxury is said to break +down the human system more rapidly than wear-and-tear plus want; but +perhaps wear-and-tear plus pensive self-consideration is the most +destructive agent of all. "Apres tout, c'est un monde passable"; and +the Duchess of Gordon was too busy acquainting herself with this fact +to count the costs, or even pay the penalty. + +One thing is sure,--we cannot live in the world without vexation and +without fatigue. We are bidden to avoid both, just as we are bidden +to avoid an injudicious meal, a restless night, a close and crowded +room, an uncomfortable sensation of any kind,--as if these things +were not the small coin of existence. An American doctor who was +delicately swathing his nervous patient in cotton wool, explained +that, as part of the process, she must be secluded from everything +unpleasant. No disturbing news must be told her. No needless +contradiction must be offered her. No disagreeable word must be +spoken to her. "But doctor," said the lady, who had long before +retired with her nerves from all lively contact with realities, "who +is there that would dream of saying anything disagreeable to me?" +"Madam," retorted the physician, irritated for once into +unprofessional candour, "have you then no family?" + +There _is_ a bracing quality about family criticism, if we are strong +enough to bear its veracities. What makes it so useful is that it +recognizes existing conditions. All the well-meant wisdom of the +"Don't Worry" books is based upon immunity from common sensations +and from everyday experience. We must--unless we are insensate--take +our share of worry along with our share of mishaps. All the kindly +counsellors who, in scientific journals, entreat us to keep on tap +"a vivid hope, a cheerful resolve, an absorbing interest," by way +of nerve-tonic, forget that these remedies do not grow under glass. +They are hardy plants, springing naturally in eager and animated +natures. Artificial remedies might be efficacious in an artificial +world. In a real world, the best we can do is to meet the plagues +of life as Dick Turpin met the hangman's noose, "with manly +resignation, though with considerable disgust." Moreover, +disagreeable things are often very stimulating. A visit to some +beautiful little rural almshouses in England convinced me that what +kept the old inmates alert and in love with life was, not the charm +of their bright-coloured gardens, nor the comfort of their cottage +hearths, but the vital jealousies and animosities which pricked +their sluggish blood to tingling. + +There are prophets who predict the downfall of the human race through +undue mental development, who foresee us (flatteringly, I must say) +winding up the world's history in a kind of intellectual apotheosis. +They write distressing pages about the strain of study in schools, +the strain of examinations, the strain of competition, the strain +of night-work, when children ought to be in bed, the strain of +day-work, when they ought to be at play. An article on "Nerves and +Over-Pressure" in the "Dublin Review" conveys the impression that +little boys and girls are dangerously absorbed in their lessons, and +draws a fearful picture of these poor innocents literally "grinding +from babyhood." It is over-study (an evil from which our remote +ancestors were wholly and happily exempt) which lays, so we are told, +the foundation of all our nervous disorders. It is this wasting +ambition which exhausts the spring of childhood and the vitality of +youth. + +There must be some foundation for fears so often expressed; though +when we look at the blooming boys and girls of our acquaintance, with +their placid ignorance and their love of fun, their glory in +athletics and their transparent contempt for learning, it is hard +to believe that they are breaking down their constitutions by study. +Nor is it possible to acquire even the most modest substitute for +education without some effort. The carefully fostered theory that +school-work can be made easy and enjoyable breaks down as soon as +anything, however trivial, has to be learned. + +Life is a real thing in the school-room and in the nursery; and +children--left to their own devices--accept it with wonderful +courage and sagacity. If we allow to their souls some noble and free +expansion, they may be trusted to divert themselves from that fretful +self-consciousness which the nurse calls naughtiness, and the doctor, +nerves. A little wholesome neglect, a little discipline, plenty of +play, and a fair chance to be glad and sorry as the hours swing +by,--these things are not too much to grant to childhood. That +careful coddling which deprives a child of all delicate and strong +emotions lest it be saddened, or excited, or alarmed, leaves it +dangerously soft of fibre. Coleridge, an unhappy little lad at school, +was lifted out of his own troubles by an acquaintance with the heroic +sorrows of the world. There is no page of history, however dark, there +is no beautiful old tale, however tragic, which does not impart some +strength and some distinction to the awakening mind. It is possible +to overrate the superlative merits of insipidity as a mental and +moral force in the development of youth. + +There are people who surrender themselves without reserve to +needless activities, who have a real affection for telephones, and +district messengers, and the importunities of their daily mail. If +they are women, they put special delivery stamps on letters which +would lose nothing by a month's delay. If they are men, they exult +in the thought that they can be reached by wireless telegraphy on +mid-ocean. We are apt to think of these men and women as painful +products of our own time and of our own land; but they have probably +existed since the building of the Tower of Babel,--a nerve-racking +piece of work which gave peculiar scope to strenuous and impotent +energies. + +A woman whose every action is hurried, whose every hour is open to +disturbance, whose every breath is drawn with superfluous emphasis, +will talk about the nervous strain under which she is living, as +though dining out and paying the cook's wages were the things which +are breaking her down. The remedy proposed for such "strain" is +withdrawal from the healthy buffetings of life,--not for three days, +as Burke withdrew in order that he might read "Evelina," and be rested +and refreshed thereby; but long enough to permit of the notion that +immunity from buffetings is a possible condition of existence,--of +all errors, the most irretrievable. + +It has been many centuries since Marcus Aurelius observed the fretful +disquiet of Rome, which must have been strikingly like our fretful +disquiet to-day, and proffered counsel, unheeded then as now: "Take +pleasure in one thing and rest in it, passing from one social act +to another, thinking of God." + + + + +The Girl Graduate + +"When I find learning and wisdom united in one person, I do not wait +to consider the sex; I bend in admiration."--LA BRUYERE. + + +We shall never know, though we shall always wonder, why certain +phrases, carelessly flung to us by poet or by orator, should be +endowed with regrettable vitality. When Tennnyson wrote that mocking +line about "sweet girl graduates in their golden hair," he could +hardly have surmised that it would be quoted exuberantly year after +weary year, or that with each successive June it would reappear as +the inspiration of flowery editorials, and of pictures, monotonously +amorous, in our illustrated journals. Perhaps in view of the serious +statistics which have for some time past girdled the woman student, +statistics dealing exhaustively with her honours, her illnesses, her +somewhat nebulous achievements, and the size of her infant families, +it is as well to realize that the big, unlettered, easy-going world +regards her still from the standpoint of golden hair, and of the +undying charm of immaturity. + +In justice to the girl graduate, it must be said that she takes +herself simply and sanely. It is not her fault that statisticians +note down every breath she draws; and many of their most heartrending +allegations have passed into college jokes, traditional jokes, fated +to descend from senior to freshman for happy years to come. The +student learns in the give-and-take of communal life to laugh at many +things, partly from sheer high spirits, partly from youthful +cynicism, and the habit of sharpening her wit against her neighbour's. +It is commonly believed that she is an unduly serious young person +with an insatiable craving for knowledge; in reality she is often +as healthily unresponsive as is her Yale or Harvard brother. If she +cannot yet weave her modest acquirements into the tissue of her life +as unconcernedly as her brother does, it is not because she has been +educated beyond her mental capacity: it is because social conditions +are not for her as inevitable as they are for him. + +Things were simpler in the old days, when college meant for a woman +the special training needed for a career; when, battling often with +poverty, she made every sacrifice for the education which would give +her work a market value; and when all she asked in return was the +dignity of self-support. Now many girls, unspurred by necessity or +by ambition, enter college because they are keen for personal and +intellectual freedom, because they desire the activities and the +pleasures which college generously gives. They bring with them some +traditions of scholarship, and some knowledge of the world, with a +corresponding elasticity of judgment. They may or may not be good +students, but their influence makes for serenity and balance. Their +four years' course lacks, however, a definite goal. It is a training +for life, as is the four years' course of their Yale or Harvard +brothers, but with this difference,--the college woman's life is +still open to adjustment. + +Often it adjusts itself along time-honoured lines, and with +time-honoured results. In this happy event, some mystic figures are +recalculated in scientific journals, the graduate's babies are added +to the fractional birth-rate accredited to the college woman, her +family and friends consider that, individually, she has settled the +whole vexed question of education and domesticity, and the world, +enamoured always of the traditional type of femininity, goes on its +way rejoicing. If, however, the graduate evinces no inclination for +social and domestic delights, if she longs to do some definite work, +to breathe the breath of man's activities, and to guide herself, as +a man must do, through the intricate mazes of life, it is the part +of justice and of wisdom to let her try. Nothing steadies the restless +soul like work,--real work which has an economic value, and is +measured by the standards of the world. The college woman has been +trained to independence of thought, and to a wide reasonableness of +outlook. She has also received some equipment in the way of +knowledge; not more, perhaps, than could be easily absorbed in the +ordinary routine of life, but enough to give her a fair start in +whatever field of industry she enters. If she develops into +efficiency, if she makes good her hold upon work, she silences her +critics. If she fails, and can, in Stevenson's noble words, "take +honourable defeat to be a form of victory," she has not wasted her +endeavours. + +It is strange that the advantages of a college course for +girls--advantages solid and reckonable--should be still so sharply +questioned by men and women of the world. It is stranger still that +its earnest advocates should claim for it in a special manner the +few merits it does not possess. When President David Starr Jordan, +of Leland Stanford University, tells us that "it is hardly necessary +among intelligent men and women to argue that a good woman is a better +one for having received a college education; anything short of this +is inadequate for the demands of modern life and modern culture"; +we can only echo the words of the wise cat in Mr. Froude's "Cat's +Pilgrimage," "There may be truth in what you say, but your view is +limited." + +Goodness, indeed, is not a matter easily opened to discussion. Who +can pigeonhole goodness, or assign it a locality? But culture (if +by the word we mean that common understanding of the world's best +traditions which enables us to meet one another with mental ease) +is not the fair fruit of a college education. It is primarily a matter +of inheritance, of lifelong surroundings, of temperament, of +delicacy of taste, of early and vivid impressions. It is often found +in college, but it is not a collegiate product. The steady and +absorbing work demanded of a student who is seeking a degree, +precludes wide wanderings "in the realms of gold." If, in her four +years of study, she has gained some solid knowledge of one or two +subjects, with a power of approach in other directions, she has done +well, and justified the wisdom of the group system, which makes for +intellectual discipline and real attainments. + +In households where there is little education, the college daughter +is reverenced for what she knows,--for her Latin, her mathematics, +her biology. What she does not know, being also unknown to her family, +causes no dismay. In households where the standard of cultivation +is high, the college daughter is made the subject of good-humoured +ridicule, because she lacks the general information of her +sisters,--because she has never heard of Abelard and Heloise, of +Graham of Claverhouse, of "The Beggars' Opera." Nobody expects the +college son to know these things, or is in the least surprised when +he does not; but the college daughter is supposed to be the repository +of universal erudition. Every now and then somebody rushes into print +with indignant illustrations of her ignorance, as though ignorance +were not the one common possession of mankind. Those of us who are +not undergoing examinations are not driven to reveal it,--a +comfortable circumstance, which need not, however, make us +unreasonably proud. + +Therefore, when we are told of sophomores who place Shakespeare in +the twelfth, and Dickens in the seventeenth century, who are under +the impression that "Don Quixote" flowed from the fertile pen of Mr. +Marion Crawford, and who are not aware that a gentleman named James +Boswell wrote a most entertaining life of another gentleman named +Samuel Johnson, we need not lift up horror-stricken hands to Heaven, +but call to mind how many other things there are in this world to +know. That a girl student should mistake "_Launcelot Gobbo_" for King +Arthur's knight is not a matter of surprise to one who remembers how +three young men, graduates of the oldest and proudest colleges in +the land, placidly confessed ignorance of "_Petruchio_." +Shakespeare, after all, belongs to "the realms of gold." The higher +education, as now understood, permits the student to escape him, and +to escape the Bible as well. As a consequence of these exemptions, +a bachelor of arts may be, and often is, unable to meet his +intellectual equals with mental ease. Allusions that have passed +into the common vocabulary of cultivated men and women have no +meaning for him. Does not Mr. Andrew Lang tell us of an Oxford student +who wanted to know what people meant when they said "hankering after +the flesh-pots of Egypt"; and has not the present writer been asked +by a Harvard graduate if she could remember a Joseph, "somewhere" +in the Old Testament, who was "decoyed into Egypt by a coat of many +colours"? + +To measure _any_ form of schooling by its direct results is to narrow +a wide issue to insignificance. The by-products of education are the +things which count. It has been said by an admirable educator that +the direct results obtained from Eton and Rugby are a few copies of +indifferent Latin verse; the by-products are the young men who run +the Indian Empire. We may be startled for a moment by discovering +a student of political economy to be wholly and happily ignorant of +Mr. Lloyd-George's "Budget," the most vivid object-lesson of our +day; but how many Americans who talked about the budget, and had +impassioned views on the subject, knew what it really contained? If +the student's intelligence is so trained that she has some adequate +grasp of economics, if she has been lifted once and forever out of +the Robin Hood school of political economy, which is so dear to a +woman's generous heart, it matters little how early or how late she +becomes acquainted with the history of her own time. "Depend upon +it," said the wise Dr. Johnson, whom undergraduates are sometimes +wont to slight, "no woman was ever the worse for sense and knowledge." +It was his habit to rest a superstructure on foundations. + +The college graduate is far more immature than her characteristic +self-reliance leads us to suppose. By her side, the girl who has left +school at eighteen, and has lived four years in the world, is weighted +with experience. The extension of youth is surely as great a boon +to women as to men. There is time enough ahead of all of us in which +to grow old and circumspect. For four years the student's interests +have been keen and concentrated, the healthy, limited interests of +a community. For four years her pleasures have been simple and sane. +For four years her ambitions, like the ambitions of her college +brother, have been as deeply concerned with athletics as with +text-books. She has had a better chance for physical development than +if she had "come out" at eighteen. Her college life has been +exceptionally happy, because its complications have been few, and +its freedom as wide as wisdom would permit. The system of +self-government, now introduced into the colleges, has justified +itself beyond all questioning. It has promoted a clear understanding +of honour, it has taught the student the value of discipline, it has +lent dignity to the routine of her life. + +Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, + +is surely the first and best lesson which the citizen of a republic +needs to learn. + +Writers on educational themes have pointed out--with tremors of +apprehension--that while a woman student working among men at a +foreign university is mentally stimulated by her surroundings, +stimulated often to the point of scholarship, her development is not +uniform and normal. She is always in danger of sinking her femininity, +or of overemphasizing it. In the former case, she loses charm and +personality; in the latter, sanity and balance. From both perils the +college woman in the United States is happily exempt. President +Jordan offers as a plea for co-education the healthy sense of +companionship between boy and girl students. "There is less of +silliness and folly," he says, "where man is not a novelty." But, +in truth, this particular form of silliness and folly is at a discount +in every woman's college, simply because the interests and +occupations which crowd the student's day leave little room for its +expansion. + +The three best things about the college life of girls are its attitude +towards money (an attitude which contrasts sharply with that of many +private schools), its attitude towards social disparities, and its +attitude towards men. The atmosphere of the college is reasonably +democratic. Like gravitates towards like, and a similarity of +background and tradition forms a natural basis for companionship; +but there is tolerance for other backgrounds which are not without +dignity, though they may be lacking in distinction. Poverty is +admittedly inconvenient, but carries no reproach. Light hearts and +jesting tongues minimize its discomforts. I well remember when the +coming of Madame Bernhardt to Philadelphia in 1901 fired the students +of Bryn Mawr College with the justifiable ambition to see this great +actress in all her finer roles. Those who had money spent it royally. +Those who had none offered their possessions,--books, ornaments, +tea-cups, for sale. "Such a chance to buy bargains," observed one +young spendthrift, who had been endeavouring to dispose of all she +needed most; "but unluckily everybody wants to sell. We know now the +importance of the consuming classes, and how useful in their modest +way some idle rich would be." + +That large and influential portion of the community which does not +know its own mind, and which the rest of the world is always +endeavouring to conciliate, is still divided between its honest +desire to educate women, and its fear lest the woman, when educated, +may lose the conservative force which is her most valuable asset. +That small and combative portion of the community which knows its +own mind accurately, and which always demands the impossible, is +determined that the college girl shall betake herself to practical +pursuits, that she shall wedge into her four years of work, courses +in domestic science, the chemistry of food, nursing, dressmaking, +house sanitation, pedagogy, and that blight of the +nursery,--child-study. These are the things, we are often told, +which it behooves a woman to know, and by the mastery of which she +is able, so says a censorious writer in the "Educational Review," +"to repay in some measure her debt to man, who has extended to her +the benefits of a higher education." + +It is to be feared that the girl graduate, the youthful bachelor of +arts who steps smiling through the serried ranks of students, her +heart beating gladly in response to their generous applause, has +little thought of repaying her debt to man. Somebody has made an +address which she was too nervous to hear, and has affirmed, with +that impressiveness which we all lend to our easiest generalizations, +that the purpose of college is to give women a broad and liberal +education, and, at the same time, to preserve and develop the +characteristics of a complete womanhood. Somebody else has followed +up the address with a few fervent remarks, declaring that the only +proof of competence is performance. "The world belongs to those who +have stormed it." This last ringing sentence--delivered with an +almost defiant air of originality--has perhaps caught the graduate's +ear, but its familiar cadence awakened no response. Has she not +already stormed the world by taking her degree, and does not the world +belong to her, in any case, by virtue of her youth and inexperience? +Never, while she lives, will it be so completely hers as on the day +of her graduation. Let her enjoy her possession while she may. + +And her equipment? Well, those of us who call to mind the medley of +unstable facts, untenable theories, and undesirable accomplishments, +which was _our_ substitute for education, deem her solidly informed. +If the wisdom of the college president has rescued her from domestic +science, and her own common sense has steered her clear of art, she +has had a chance, in four years of study, to lay the foundation of +knowledge. Her vocabulary is curiously limited. At her age, her +grandmother, if a gentlewoman, used more words, and used them better. +But then her grandmother had not associated exclusively with +youthful companions. The graduate has serious views of life, which +are not amiss, and a healthy sense of humour to enliven them. She +is resourceful, honourable, and pathetically self-reliant. In her +highest and happiest development, she merits the noble words in which +an old Ferrara chronicler praises the loveliest and the most maligned +woman in all history: "The lady is keen and intellectual, joyous and +human, and possesses good reasoning powers." + +To balance these permanent gains, there are some temporary losses. +The college student, if she does not take up a definite line of work, +is apt, for a time at least, to be unquiet. That quality so lovingly +described by Peacock as "stayathomeativeness" is her least +noticeable characteristic. The smiling discharge of uncongenial +social duties, which disciplines the woman of the world, seems to +her unseeing eyes a waste of time and opportunities. She has read +little, and that little, not for "human delight." Excellence in +literature has been pointed out to her, starred and double-starred, +like Baedeker's cathedrals. She has been taught the value of +standards, and has been spared the groping of the undirected reader, +who builds up her own standards slowly and hesitatingly by an endless +process of comparison. The saving in time is beneficial, and some +defects in taste have been remedied. But human delight does not +respond to authority. It is the hour of rapturous reading and the +power of secret thinking which make for personal distinction. The +shipwreck of education, says Dr. William James, is to be unable, +after years of study, to recognize unticketed eminence. The best +result obtainable from college, with its liberal and honourable +traditions, is that training in the humanities which lifts the raw +boy and girl into the ranks of the understanding; enabling them to +sympathize with men's mistakes, to feel the beauty of lost causes, +the pathos of misguided epochs, "the ceaseless whisper of permanent +ideals." + + + + +The Estranging Sea + + "God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off, + And keeps our Britain whole within itself." + + +So speaks "the Tory member's elder son," in "The Princess":-- + + "... God bless the narrow seas! + I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad"; + +and the transatlantic reader, pausing to digest this conservative +sentiment, wonders what difference a thousand leagues would make. +If the little strip of roughened water which divides Dover from +Calais were twice the ocean's breadth, could the division be any +wider and deeper than it is? + +We Americans cross from continent to continent, and are merged +blissfully into the Old-World life. Inured from infancy to contrasts, +we seldom resent the unfamiliar. Our attitude towards it is, for the +most part, frankly receptive, and full of joyous possibilities. We +take kindly, or at least tolerantly, to foreign creeds and customs. +We fail to be affronted by what we do not understand. We are not +without a shadowy conviction that there may be other points of view +than our own, other beliefs than those we have been taught to cherish. +Mr. Birrell, endeavouring to account for Charlotte Bronte's +hostility to the Belgians,--who had been uncommonly kind to +her,--says that she "had never any patience" with Catholicism. The +remark invites the reply of the Papal chamberlain to Prince Herbert +Bismarck, when that nobleman, being in attendance upon the Emperor, +pushed rudely--and unbidden--into Pope Leo's audience chamber. "I +am Prince Herbert Bismarck," shouted the German. "That," said the +urbane Italian, "explains, but does not excuse your conduct." + +So much has been said and written about England's "splendid +isolation," the phrase has grown so familiar to English eyes and ears, +that the political and social attitude which it represents is a +source of pride to thousands of Englishmen who are intelligent enough +to know what isolation costs. "It is of the utmost importance," says +the "Spectator," "that we should understand that the temper with +which England regards the other states of Europe, and the temper with +which those states regard her, is absolutely different." And then, +with ill-concealed elation, the writer adds: "The English are the +most universally disliked nation on the face of the earth." + +Diplomatically, this may be true, though it is hard to see why. +Socially and individually, it is not true at all. The English possess +too many agreeable traits to permit them to be as much disliked as +they think and hope they are. Even on the Continent, even in that +strange tourist world where hostilities grow apace, where the +courtesies of life are relaxed, and where every nationality presents +its least lovable aspect, the English can never aspire to the prize +of unpopularity. They are too silent, too clean, too handsome, too +fond of fresh air, too schooled in the laws of justice which compel +them to acknowledge--however reluctantly--the rights of other men. +They are certainly uncivil, but that is a matter of no great moment. +We do not demand that our fellow tourists should be urbane, but that +they should evince a sense of propriety in their behaviour, that they +should be decently reluctant to annoy. There is distinction in the +Englishman's quietude, and in his innate respect for order. + +But why should he covet alienation? Why should he dread popularity, +lest it imply that he resembles other men? When the tide of fortune +turned in the South African war, and the news of the relief of +Mafeking drove London mad with joy, there were Englishmen who +expressed grave alarm at the fervid demonstrations of the populace. +England, they said, was wont to take her defeats without despondency, +and her victories without elation. They feared the national +character was changing, and becoming more like the character of +Frenchmen and Americans. + +This apprehension--happily unfounded--was very insular and very +English. National traits are, as a matter of fact, as enduring as +the mountain-tops. They survive all change of policies, all shifting +of boundary lines, all expansion and contraction of dominion. When +Froissart tranquilly observed, "The English are affable to no other +nation than themselves," he spoke for the centuries to come. +Sorbieres, who visited England in 1663, who loved the English turf, +hated and feared the English cooking, and deeply admired his +hospitable English hosts, admitted that the nation had "a propensity +to scorn all the rest of the world." The famous verdict, "_Les Anglais +sont justes, mais pas bons_," crystallizes the judgment of time. +Foreign opinion is necessarily an imperfect diagnosis, but it has +its value to the open mind. He is a wise man who heeds it, and a dull +man who holds it in derision. When an English writer in "Macmillan" +remarks with airy contempt that French criticisms on England have +"all the piquancy of a woman's criticisms on a man," the +American--standing outside the ring--is amused by this superb +simplicity of self-conceit. + +Fear of a French invasion and the carefully nurtured detestation of +the Papacy,--these two controlling influences must be held +responsible for prejudices too deep to be fathomed, too strong to +be overcome. "We do naturally hate the French," observes Mr. Pepys, +with genial candour; and this ordinary, everyday prejudice darkened +into fury when Napoleon's conquests menaced the world. Our school +histories have taught us (it is the happy privilege of a school +history to teach us many things which make no impression on our minds) +that for ten years England apprehended a descent upon her shores; +but we cannot realize what the apprehension meant, how it ate its +way into the hearts of men, until we stumble upon some such paragraph +as this, from a letter of Lord Jeffrey's, written to Francis Horner +in the winter of 1808: "For my honest impression is that Bonaparte +will be in Dublin in about fifteen months, perhaps. And then, if I +survive, I shall try to go to America." + +"If I survive!" What wonder that Jeffrey, who was a clear-headed, +unimaginative man, cherished all his life a cold hostility to France? +What wonder that the painter Haydon, who was highly imaginative and +not in the least clear-headed, felt such hostility to be an essential +part of patriotism? "In _my_ day," he writes in his journal, "boys +were born, nursed, and grew up, hating and to hate the name of +Frenchman." He did hate it with all his heart, but then his earliest +recollection--when he was but four years old--was seeing his mother +lying on her sofa and crying bitterly. He crept up to her, puzzled +and frightened, poor baby, and she sobbed out: "They have cut off +the Queen of France's head, my dear." Such an ineffaceable +recollection colours childhood and sets character. It is an +education for life. + +As for the Papacy,--well, years have softened but not destroyed +England's hereditary detestation of Rome. The easy tolerance of the +American for any religion, or for all religions, or for no religion +at all, is the natural outcome of a mixed nationality, and of a +tolerably serene background. We have shed very little of our blood, +or of our neighbour's blood, for the faith that was in us, or in him; +and, during the past half-century, forbearance has broadened into +unconcern. Even the occasional refusal of a pastor to allow a cleric +of another denomination to preach in his church, can hardly be deemed +a violent form of persecution. + +What American author, for example, can recall such childish memories +as those which Mr. Edmund Gosse describes with illuminating candour +in "Father and Son"? "We welcomed any social disorder in any part +of Italy, as likely to be annoying to the Papacy. If there was a +custom-house officer stabbed in a fracas at Sassari, we gave loud +thanks that liberty and light were breaking in upon Sardinia." What +American scientist, taking a holiday in Italy, ever carried around +with him such uncomfortable sensations as those described by +Professor Huxley in some of his Roman letters? "I must have a strong +strain of Puritan blood in me somewhere," he writes to Sir John +Donnelly, after a morning spent at Saint Peter's, "for I am possessed +with a desire to arise and slay the whole brood of idolaters, whenever +I assist at one of these services." + +Save and except Miss Georgiana Podsnap's faltering fancy for +murdering her partners at a ball, this is the most bloodthirsty +sentiment on record, and suggests but a limited enjoyment of a really +beautiful service. Better the light-hearted unconcern of Mr. John +Richard Green, the historian, who, albeit a clergyman of the Church +of England, preferred going to the Church of Rome when Catholicism +had an organ, and Protestantism, a harmonium. "The difference in +truth between them doesn't seem to me to make up for the difference +in instruments." + +Mr. Lowell speaks somewhere of a "divine provincialism," which +expresses the sturdy sense of a nation, and is but ill replaced by +a cosmopolitanism lacking in virtue and distinction. Perhaps this +is England's gift, and insures for her a solidarity which Americans +lack. Ignoring or misunderstanding the standards of other races, she +sets her own so high we needs must raise our eyes to consider them. +Yet when Mr. Arnold scandalized his fellow countrymen by the frank +confession that he found foreign life "liberating," what did he mean +but that he refused to + + "drag at each remove a lengthening chain"? + +His mind leaped gladly to meet new issues and fresh tides of thought; +he stood ready to accept the reasonableness of usages which differed +materially from his own; and he took delight in the trivial +happenings of every day, precisely because they were un-English and +unfamiliar. Even the names of strange places, of German castles and +French villages, gave him, as they give Mr. Henry James, a curious +satisfaction, a sense of harmony and ordered charm. + +In that caustic volume, "Elizabeth in Rugen," there is an amusing +description of the indignation of the bishop's wife, Mrs. +Harvey-Browne, over what she considers the stupidities of German +speech. + +"What," she asks with asperity, "could be more supremely senseless +than calling the Baltic the Ostsee?" + +"Well, but why shouldn't they, if they want to?" says Elizabeth +densely. + +"But, dear Frau X, it is so foolish. East sea! Of what is it the east? +One is always the east of something, but one doesn't talk about it. +The name has no meaning whatever. Now 'Baltic' exactly describes it." + +This is fiction, but it is fiction easily surpassed by fact,--witness +the English tourist in France who said to Sir Leslie Stephen that +it was "unnatural" for soldiers to dress in blue. Then, remembering +certain British instances, he added hastily: "Except, indeed, for +the Artillery, or the Blue Horse." "The English model," comments Sir +Leslie, "with all its variations, appeared to him to be ordained by +nature." + +The rigid application of one nation's formulas to another nation's +manners has its obvious disadvantages. It is praiseworthy in an +Englishman to carry his conscience--like his bathtub--wherever he +goes, but both articles are sadly in his way. The American who leaves +his conscience and his tub at home, and who trusts to being clean +and good after a foreign fashion, has an easier time, and is not +permanently stained. Being less cock-sure in the start about his +standing with Heaven, he is subject to reasonable doubts as to the +culpability of other people. The joyous outdoor Sundays of France +and Germany please him at least as well as the shut-in Sundays of +England and Scotland. He takes kindly to concerts, enlivened, +without demoralization, by beer, and wonders why he cannot have them +at home. Whatever is distinctive, whatever is national, interests +and delights him; and he seldom feels called upon to decide a moral +issue which is not submitted to his judgment. + +I was once in Valais when a rude play was acted by the peasants of +Vissoye. It set forth the conversion of the Huns to Christianity +through the medium of a miracle vouchsafed to Zacheo, the legendary +apostle of Anniviers. The little stage was erected on a pleasant +hillside, the procession bearing the cross wound down from the +village church, the priests from all the neighbouring towns were +present, and the pious Valaisans--as overjoyed as if the Huns were +a matter of yesterday--sang a solemn _Te Deum_ in thanksgiving for +the conversion of their land. It would be hard to conceive of a drama +less profane; indeed, only religious fervour could have breathed +life into so much controversy; yet I had English friends, intelligent, +cultivated, and deeply interested, who refused to go with me to +Vissoye because it was Sunday afternoon. They stood by their guns, +and attended their own service in the drawing-room of the deserted +little hotel at Zinal; gaining, I trust, the approval of their own +consciences, and losing the experience of a lifetime. + +Disapprobation has ever been a powerful stimulus to the Saxon mind. +The heroic measures which it enforces command our faltering homage, +and might incite us to emulation, were we not temperamentally +disposed to ask ourselves the fatal question, "Is it worth while?" +When we remember that twenty-five thousand people in Great Britain +left off eating sugar, by way of protest against slavery in the West +Indies, we realize how the individual Englishman holds himself +morally responsible for wrongs he is innocent of inflicting, and +powerless to redress. Hood and other light-minded humourists laughed +at him for drinking bitter tea; but he was not to be shaken by ridicule. +Miss Edgeworth voiced the conservative sentiment of her day when she +objected to eating unsweetened custards; but he was not to be chilled +by apathy. + +The same strenuous spirit impelled the English to express their +sympathy for Captain Alfred Dreyfus by staying away from the Paris +fair of 1900. The London press loudly boasted that Englishmen would +not give the sanction of their presence to any undertaking of the +French Government, and called attention again and again to their +absence from the exhibition. I myself was asked a number of times +in England whether this absence were a noticeable thing; but truth +compelled me to admit that it was not. With Paris brimming over like +a cup filled to the lip, with streets and fair-grounds thronged, with +every hotel crowded and every cab engaged, and with twenty thousand +of my own countrymen clamorously enlivening the scene, it was not +possible to miss anybody anywhere. It obviously had not occurred to +Americans to see any connection between the trial of Captain Dreyfus +and their enjoyment of the most beautiful and brilliant thing that +Europe had to give. The pretty adage, "_Tout homme a deux pays: le +sien et puis la France_," is truer of us than of any other people +in the world. And we may as well pardon a nation her transgressions, +if we cannot keep away from her shores. + +England's public utterances anent the United States are of the +friendliest character. Her newspapers and magazines say flattering +things about us. Her poet-laureate--unlike his great predecessor who +unaffectedly detested us--began his official career by praising us +with such fervour that we felt we ought in common honesty to tell +him that we were nothing like so good as he thought us. An English +text-book, published a few years ago, explains generously to the +school-boys of Great Britain that the United States should not be +looked upon as a foreign nation. "They are peopled by men of our blood +and faith, enjoy in a great measure the same laws that we do, read +the same Bible, and acknowledge, like us, the rule of King +Shakespeare." + +All this is very pleasant, but the fact remains that Englishmen +express surprise and pain at our most innocent idiosyncrasies. They +correct our pronunciation and our misuse of words. They regret our +nomadic habits, our shrill voices, our troublesome children, our +inability to climb mountains or "do a little glacier work" (it sounds +like embroidery, but means scrambling perilously over ice), our +taste for unwholesome--or, in other words, seasoned--food. When I +am reproved by English acquaintances for the "Americanisms" which +disfigure my speech and proclaim my nationality, I cannot well defend +myself by asserting that I read the same Bible as they do,--for maybe, +after all, I don't. + +The tenacity with which English residents on the Continent cling to +the customs and traditions of their own country is pathetic in its +loyalty and in its misconceptions. Their scheme of life does not +permit a single foreign observance, their range of sympathies seldom +includes a single foreign ideal. "An Englishman's happiness," says +M. Taine, "consists in being at home at six in the evening, with a +pleasing, attached wife, four or five children, and respectful +domestics." This is a very good notion of happiness, no fault can +be found with it, and something on the same order, though less perfect +in detail, is highly prized and commended in America. But it does +not embrace every avenue of delight. The Frenchman who seems never +to go home, who seldom has a large family, whose wife is often his +business partner and helpmate, and whose servants are friendly +allies rather than automatic menials, enjoys life also, and with some +degree of intelligence. He may be pardoned for resenting the attitude +of English exiles, who, driven from their own country by the +harshness of the climate, or the cruel cost of living, never cease +to deplore the unaccountable foreignness of foreigners. "Our social +tariff amounts to prohibition," said a witty Englishman in France. +"Exchange of ideas takes place only at the extreme point of +necessity." + +It is not under such conditions that any nation gives its best to +strangers. It is not to the affronted soul that the charm of the +unfamiliar makes its sweet and powerful appeal. Lord Byron was +furious when one of his countrywomen called Chamonix "rural"; yet, +after all, the poor creature was giving the scenery what praise she +understood. The Englishman who complained that he could not look out +of his window in Rome without seeing the sun, had a legitimate +grievance (we all know what it is to sigh for grey skies, and for +the unutterable rest they bring); but if we want Rome, we must take +her sunshine, along with her beggars and her Church. Accepted +sympathetically, they need not mar our infinite content. + +There is a wonderful sentence in Mrs. Humphry Ward's "Marriage of +William Ashe," which subtly and strongly protests against the blight +of mental isolation. Lady Kitty Bristol is reciting Corneille in Lady +Grosville's drawing-room. "Her audience," says Mrs. Ward, "looked +on at first with the embarrassed or hostile air which is the +Englishman's natural protection against the great things of art." +To write a sentence at once so caustic and so flawless is to triumph +over the limitations of language. The reproach seems a strange one +to hurl at a nation which has produced the noblest literature of the +world since the light of Greece waned; but we must remember that +distinction of mind, as Mrs. Ward understands it, and as it was +understood by Mr. Arnold, is necessarily allied with a knowledge of +French arts and letters, and with some insight into the qualities +which clarify French conversation. "Divine provincialism" had no +halo for the man who wrote "Friendship's Garland." He regarded it +with an impatience akin to mistrust, and bordering upon fear. Perhaps +the final word was spoken long ago by a writer whose place in +literature is so high that few aspire to read him. England was +severing her sympathies sharply from much which she had held in +common with the rest of Europe, when Dryden wrote: "They who would +combat general authority with particular opinion must first +establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other +men." + + + + +Travellers' Tales + + "Wenten forth in heore wey with mony wyse tales, + And hedden leve to lyen al heore lyf aftir." + _Piers Plowman_. + + +I don't know about travellers' "hedden leve" to lie, but that they +"taken leve" no one can doubt who has ever followed their wandering +footsteps. They say the most charming and audacious things, in +blessed indifference to the fact that somebody may possibly believe +them. They start strange hopes and longings in the human heart, and +they pave the way for disappointments and disasters. They record the +impression of a careless hour as though it were the experience of +a lifetime. + +There is a delightful little book on French rivers, written some +years ago by a vivacious and highly imaginative gentleman named +Molloy. It is a rose-tinted volume from the first page to the last, +so full of gay adventures that it would lure a mollusc from his shell. +Every town and every village yields some fresh delight, some humorous +exploit to the four oarsmen who risk their lives to see it; but the +few pages devoted to Amboise are of a dulcet and irresistible +persuasiveness. They fill the reader's soul with a haunting desire +to lay down his well-worn cares and pleasures, to say good-bye to +home and kindred, and to seek that favoured spot. Touraine is full +of beauty, and steeped to the lips in historic crimes. Turn where +we may, her fairness charms the eye, her memories stir the heart. +But Mr. Molloy claims for Amboise something rarer in France than +loveliness or romance, something which no French town has ever yet +been known to possess,--a slumberous and soul-satisfying silence. +"We dropped under the very walls of the Castle," he writes, "without +seeing a soul. It was a strange contrast to Blois in its absolute +stillness. There was no sound but the noise of waters rushing through +the arches of the bridge. It might have been the palace of the +Sleeping Beauty, but was only one of the retrospective cities that +had no concern with the present." + +Quiet brooded over the ivied towers and ancient water front. +Tranquillity, unconcern, a gentle and courteous aloofness +surrounded and soothed the intrepid travellers. When, in the early +morning, the crew pushed off in their frail boat, less than a dozen +citizens assembled to watch the start. Even the peril of the +performance (and there are few things more likely to draw a crowd +than the chance of seeing four fellow mortals drown) failed to awaken +curiosity. Nine men stood silent on the shore when the outrigger shot +into the swirling river, and it is the opinion of the chronicler that +Amboise "did not often witness such a gathering." Nine quiet men were, +for Amboise, something in the nature of a mob. + +It must be remembered that Mr. Molloy's book is not a new one; but +then Touraine is neither new nor mutable. Nothing changes in its +beautiful old towns, the page of whose history has been turned for +centuries. What if motors now whirl in a white dust through the heart +of France? They do not affect the lives of the villages through which +they pass. The simple and primitive desire of the motorist is to be +fed and to move on, to be fed again and to move on again, to sleep +and to start afresh. That unavoidable waiting between trains which +now and then compelled an old-time tourist to look at a cathedral +or a chateau, by way of diverting an empty hour, no longer retards +progress. The motorist needs never wait. As soon as he has eaten, +he can go,--a privilege of which be gladly avails himself. A month +at Amboise taught us that, at the feeding-hour, motors came flocking +like fowls, and then, like fowls, dispersed. They were disagreeable +while they lasted, but they never lasted long. Replete with a +five-course luncheon, their fagged and grimy occupants sped on to +distant towns and dinner. + +But why should we, who knew well that there is not, and never has +been, a quiet corner in all France, have listened to a traveller's +tale, and believed in a silent Amboise? Is there no limit to human +credulity? Does experience count for nothing in the Bourbon-like +policy of our lives? It is to England we must go if we seek for silence, +that gentle, pervasive silence which wraps us in a mantle of content. +It was in Porlock that Coleridge wrote "Kubla Khan," transported, +Heaven knows whither, by virtue of the hushed repose that consecrates +the sleepiest hamlet in Great Britain. It was at Stoke Pogis that +Gray composed his "Elegy." He could never have written-- + + "And all the air a solemn stillness holds," + +in the vicinity of a French village. + +But Amboise! Who would go to rural England, live on ham and eggs, +and sleep in a bed harder than Pharaoh's heart, if it were possible +that a silent Amboise awaited him? The fair fresh vegetables of +France, her ripe red strawberries and glowing cherries, her crisp +salads and her caressing mattresses lured us no less than the vision +of a bloodstained castle, and the wide sweep of the Loire flashing +through the joyous landscape of Touraine. In the matter of beauty, +Amboise outstrips all praise. In the matter of romance, she leaves +nothing to be desired. Her splendid old Chateau--half palace and half +fortress--towers over the river which mirrors its glory and +perpetuates its shame. She is a storehouse of historic memories, she +is the loveliest of little towns, she is in the heart of a district +which bears the finest fruit and has the best cooks in France; but +she is not, and never has been, silent, since the days when Louis +the Eleventh was crowned, and she gave wine freely to all who chose +to be drunk and merry at her charge. + +If she does not give her wine to-day, she sells it so cheaply--lying +girt by vine-clad hills--that many of her sons are drunk and merry +still. The sociable habit of setting a table in the open street +prevails at Amboise. Around it labourers take their evening meal, +to the accompaniment of song and sunburnt mirth. It sounds poetic +and it looks picturesque,--like a picture by Teniers or Jan +Steen,--but it is not a habit conducive to repose. + +As far as I can judge,--after a month's experience,--the one thing +no inhabitant of Amboise ever does is to go to bed. At midnight the +river front is alive with cheerful and strident voices. The French +countryman habitually speaks to his neighbour as if he were half a +mile away; and when a score of countrymen are conversing in this key, +the air rings with their clamour. They sing in the same lusty fashion; +not through closed lips, as is the custom of English singers, but +rolling out the notes with volcanic energy from the deep craters of +their throats. When our admirable waiter--who is also our best +friend--frees his soul in song as he is setting the table, the walls +of the dining-room quiver and vibrate. By five o'clock in the morning +every one except ourselves is on foot and out of doors. We might as +well be, for it is custom, not sleep, which keeps us in our beds. +The hay wagons are rolling over the bridge, the farmhands are going +to work, the waiter, in an easy undress, is exchanging voluble +greetings with his many acquaintances, the life of the town has +begun. + +The ordinary week-day life, I mean, for on Sundays the market people +have assembled by four, and there are nights when the noises never +cease. It is no unusual thing to be awakened, an hour or two after +midnight, by a tumult so loud and deep that my first impression is +one of conspiracy or revolution. The sound is not unlike the hoarse +roar of Sir Henry Irving's admirably trained mobs,--the only mobs +I have ever heard,--and I jump out of bed, wondering if the President +has been shot, or the Chamber of Deputies blown up by malcontents. +Can these country people have heard the news, as the shepherds of +Peloponnesus heard of the fall of Syracuse, through the gossiping +of wood devils, and, like the shepherds, have hastened to carry the +intelligence? When I look out of my window, the crowd seems small +for the uproar it is making. Armand, the waiter, who, I am convinced, +merely dozes on a dining-room chair, so as to be in readiness for +any diversion, stands in the middle of the road, gesticulating with +fine dramatic gestures. I cannot hear what is being said, because +everybody is speaking at once; but after a while the excitement dies +away, and the group slowly disperses, shouting final vociferations +from out of the surrounding darkness. The next day when I ask the +cause of the disturbance, Armand looks puzzled at my question. He +does not seem aware that anything out of the way has happened; but +finally explains that "quelques amis" were passing the hotel, and +that Madame must have heard them stop and talk. The incident is +apparently too common an occurrence to linger in his mind. + +As for the Amboise dogs, I do not know whether they really possess +a supernatural strength which enables them to bark twenty-four hours +without intermission, or whether they divide themselves into day and +night pickets, so that, when one band retires to rest, the other takes +up the interrupted duty. The French villager, who values all domestic +pets in proportion to the noise they can make, delights especially +in his dogs, giant black-and-tan terriers for the most part, of +indefatigable perseverance in their one line of activity. Their bark +is high-pitched and querulous rather than deep and defiant, but for +continuity it has no rival upon earth. Our hotel--in all other +respects unexceptionable--possesses two large bulldogs which have +long ago lost their British phlegm, and acquired the agitated yelp +of their Gallic neighbours. They could not be quiet if they wanted +to, for heavy sleigh-bells (unique decorations for a bulldog) hang +about their necks, and jangle merrily at every step. In the courtyard +lives a colony of birds. One virulent parrot which shrieks its +inarticulate wrath from morning until night, but which does--be it +remembered to its credit--go to sleep at sundown; three paroquets; +two cockatoos of ineffable shrillness, and a cageful of canaries and +captive finches. When taken in connection with the dogs, the hotel +cat, the operatic Armand, and the cook who plays "See, O Norma!" on +his flute every afternoon and evening, it will be seen that Amboise +does not so closely resemble the palace of the Sleeping Beauty as +Mr. Molloy has given us to understand. + +All other sounds, however, melt into a harmonious murmur when +compared to the one great speciality of the village,--stone-cutting +in the open streets. Whenever one of the picturesque old houses is +crumbling into utter decay, a pile of stone is dumped before it, and +the easy-going masons of Amboise prepare to patch up its walls. No +particular method is observed, the work progresses after the fashion +of a child's block house, and the principal labour lies in dividing +the lumps of stone. This is done with a rusty old saw pulled slowly +backward and forward by two men, the sound produced resembling a +succession of agonized shrieks. It goes on for hours and hours, with +no apparent result except the noise; while a handsome boy, in a +striped blouse and broad blue sash, completes the discord by currying +the stone with an iron currycomb,--a process I have never witnessed +before, and ardently hope never to witness again. If one could +imagine fifty school-children all squeaking their slate pencils down +their slates together,--who does not remember that blood-curdling +music of his youth?--one might gain some feeble notion of the acute +agony induced by such an instrument of torture. Agony to the nervous +visitor alone; for the inhabitants of Amboise love their shrieking +saws and currycombs, just as they love their shrieking parrots and +cockatoos. They gather in happy crowds to watch the blue-sashed boy, +and drink in the noise he makes. We drink it in, too, as he is +immediately beneath our windows. Then we look at the castle walls +glowing in the splendour of the sunset, and at the Loire sweeping +in magnificent curves between the grey-green poplar trees; at the +noble width of the horizon, and at the deepening tints of the sky; +and we realize that a silent Amboise would be an earthly Paradise, +too fair for this sinful world. + + + + +The Chill of Enthusiasm + +"Surtout, pas de zele."--TALLEYRAND. + + +There is no aloofness so forlorn as our aloofness from an +uncontagious enthusiasm, and there is no hostility so sharp as that +aroused by a fervour which fails of response. Charles Lamb's "D--n +him at a hazard," was the expression of a natural and reasonable frame +of mind with which we are all familiar, and which, though admittedly +unlovely, is in the nature of a safeguard. If we had no spiritual +asbestos to protect our souls, we should be consumed to no purpose +by every wanton flame. If our sincere and restful indifference to +things which concern us not were shaken by every blast, we should +have no available force for things which concern us deeply. If +eloquence did not sometimes make us yawn, we should be besotted by +oratory. And if we did not approach new acquaintances, new authors, +and new points of view with life-saving reluctance, we should never +feel that vital regard which, being strong enough to break down our +barriers, is strong enough to hold us for life. + +The worth of admiration is, after all, in proportion to the value +of the thing admired,--a circumstance overlooked by the people who +talk much pleasant nonsense about sympathy, and the courage of our +emotions, and the open and generous mind. We know how Mr. Arnold felt +when an American lady wrote to him, in praise of American authors, +and said that it rejoiced her heart to think of such excellence as +being "common and abundant." Mr. Arnold, who considered that +excellence of any kind was very uncommon and beyond measure rare, +expressed his views on this occasion with more fervour and publicity +than the circumstances demanded; but his words are as balm to the +irritation which some of us suffer and conceal when drained of our +reluctant applause. + +It is perhaps because women have been trained to a receptive attitude +of mind, because for centuries they have been valued for their +sympathy and appreciation rather than for their judgment, that they +are so perilously prone to enthusiasm. It has come to all of us of +late to hear much feminine eloquence, and to marvel at the nimbleness +of woman's wit, at the speed with which she thinks, and the facility +with which she expresses her thoughts. A woman who, until five years +ago, never addressed a larger audience than that afforded by a +reading-club or a dinner-party, will now thrust and parry on a +platform, wholly unembarrassed by timidity or by ignorance. +Sentiment and satire are hers to command; and while neither is +convincing, both are tremendously effective with people already +convinced, with the partisans who throng unwearyingly to hear the +voicing of their own opinions. The ease with which such a speaker +brings forward the great central fact of the universe, maternity, +as an argument for or against the casting of a ballot (it works just +as well either way); the glow with which she associates Jeanne d'Arc +with federated clubs and social service; and the gay defiance she +hurls at customs and prejudices so profoundly obsolete that the +lantern of Diogenes could not find them lurking in a village +street,--these things may chill the unemotional listener into apathy, +but they never fail to awaken the sensibilities of an audience. The +simple process, so highly commended by debaters, of ignoring all that +cannot be denied, makes demonstration easy. "A crowd," said Mr. +Ruskin, "thinks by infection." To be immune from infection is to +stand outside the sacred circle of enthusiasts. + +Yet if the experience of mankind teaches anything, it is that vital +convictions are not at the mercy of eloquence. The "oratory of +conviction," to borrow a phrase of Mr. Bagehot's, is so rare as to +be hardly worth taking into account. Fox used to say that if a speech +read well, it was "a damned bad speech," which is the final word of +cynicism, spoken by one who knew. It was the saving sense of England, +that solid, prosaic, dependable common sense, the bulwark of every +great nation, which, after Sheridan's famous speech, demanding the +impeachment of Warren Hastings, made the House adjourn "to collect +its reason,"--obviously because its reason had been lost. Sir +William Dolden, who moved the adjournment, frankly confessed that +it was impossible to give a "determinate opinion" while under the +spell of oratory. So the lawmakers, who had been fired to white heat, +retired to cool down again; and when Sheridan--always as deep in +difficulties as Micawber--was offered a thousand pounds for the +manuscript of the speech, he remembered Fox's verdict, and refused +to risk his unballasted eloquence in print. + +Enthusiasm is praised because it implies an unselfish concern for +something outside our personal interest and advancement. It is +reverenced because the great and wise amendments, which from time +to time straighten the roads we walk, may always be traced back to +somebody's zeal for reform. It is rich in prophetic attributes, +banking largely on the unknown, and making up in nobility of design +what it lacks in excellence of attainment. Like simplicity, and +candour, and other much-commended qualities, enthusiasm is charming +until we meet it face to face, and cannot escape from its charm. It +is then that we begin to understand the attitude of Goethe, and +Talleyrand, and Pitt, and Sir Robert Peel, who saved themselves from +being consumed by resolutely refusing to ignite. "It is folly," +observed Goethe, "to expect that other men will consent to believe +as we do"; and, having reconciled himself to this elemental obstinacy +of the human heart, it no longer troubled him that those whom he felt +to be wrong should refuse to acknowledge their errors. + +There are men and women--not many--who have the happy art of making +their most fervent convictions endurable. Their hobbies do not +spread desolation over the social world, their prejudices do not +insult our intelligence. They may be so "abreast with the times" that +we cannot keep track of them, or they may be basking serenely in some +Early Victorian close. They may believe buoyantly in the Baconian +cipher, or in thought transference, or in the serious purposes of +Mr. George Bernard Shaw, or in anything else which invites credulity. +They may even express their views, and still be loved and cherished +by their friends. + +How illuminating is the contrast which Hazlitt unconsciously draws +between the enthusiasms of Lamb which everybody was able to bear, +and the enthusiasms of Coleridge which nobody was able to bear. Lamb +would parade his admiration for some favourite author, Donne, for +example, whom the rest of the company probably abhorred. He would +select the most crabbed passages to quote and defend; he would +stammer out his piquant and masterful half sentences, his scalding +jests, his controvertible assertions; he would skilfully hint at the +defects which no one else was permitted to see; and if he made no +converts (wanting none), he woke no weary wrath. But we all have a +sneaking sympathy for Holcroft, who, when Coleridge was expatiating +rapturously and oppressively upon the glories of German +transcendental philosophy, and upon his own supreme command of the +field, cried out suddenly and with exceeding bitterness: "Mr. +Coleridge, you are the most eloquent man I ever met, and the most +unbearable in your eloquence." + +I am not without a lurking suspicion that George Borrow must have +been at times unbearable in his eloquence. "We cannot refuse to meet +a man on the ground that he is an enthusiast," observes Mr. George +Street, obviously lamenting this circumstance; "but we should at +least like to make sure that his enthusiasms are under control." +Borrow's enthusiasms were never under control. He stood ready at a +moment's notice to prove the superiority of the Welsh bards over the +paltry poets of England, or to relate the marvellous Welsh prophecies, +so vague as to be always safe. He was capable of inflicting Armenian +verbs upon Isopel Berners when they sat at night over their gipsy +kettle in the dingle (let us hope she fell asleep as sweetly as does +Milton's Eve when Adam grows too garrulous); and he met the +complaints of a poor farmer on the hardness of the times with jubilant +praises of evangelicalism. "Better pay three pounds an acre, and live +on crusts and water in the present enlightened days," he told the +disheartened husbandman, "than pay two shillings an acre, and sit +down to beef and ale three times a day in the old superstitious ages." +This is _not_ the oratory of conviction. There are unreasoning +prejudices in favour of one's own stomach which eloquence cannot +gainsay. "I defy the utmost power of language to disgust me wi' a +gude denner," observes the Ettrick Shepherd; thus putting on record +the attitude of the bucolic mind, impassive, immutable, since +earth's first harvests were gleaned. + +The artificial emotions which expand under provocation, and collapse +when the provocation is withdrawn, must be held responsible for much +mental confusion. Election oratory is an old and cherished +institution. It is designed to make candidates show their paces, and +to give innocent amusement to the crowd. Properly reinforced by brass +bands and bunting, graced by some sufficiently august presence, and +enlivened by plenty of cheering and hat-flourishing, it presents a +strong appeal. A political party is, moreover, a solid and +self-sustaining affair. All sound and alliterative generalities +about virile and vigorous manhood, honest and honourable labour, +great and glorious causes, are understood, in this country at least, +to refer to the virile and vigorous manhood of Republicans or +Democrats, as the case may be; and to uphold the honest and honourable, +great and glorious Republican or Democratic principles, upon which, +it is also understood, depends the welfare of the nation. + +Yet even this sense of security cannot always save us from the chill +of collapsed enthusiasm. I was once at a great mass meeting, held +in the interests of municipal reform, and at which the principal +speaker was a candidate for office. He was delayed for a full hour +after the meeting had been opened, and this hour was filled with good +platform oratory. Speechmaker after speechmaker, all adepts in their +art, laid bare before our eyes the evils which consumed us, and called +upon us passionately to support the candidate who would lift us from +our shame. The fervour of the house rose higher and higher. Martial +music stirred our blood, and made us feel that reform and patriotism +were one. The atmosphere grew tense with expectancy, when suddenly +there came a great shout, and the sound of cheering from the crowd +in the streets, the crowd which could not force its way into the huge +and closely packed opera house. Now there are few things more +profoundly affecting than cheers heard from a distance, or muffled +by intervening walls. They have a fine dramatic quality, unknown to +the cheers which rend the air about us. When the chairman of the +meeting announced that the candidate was outside the doors, speaking +to the mob, the excitement reached fever heat. When some one cried, +"He is here!" and the orchestra struck the first bars of "Hail +Columbia," we rose to our feet, waving multitudinous flags, and +shouting out the rapture of our hearts. + +And then,--and then there stepped upon the stage a plain, tired, +bewildered man, betraying nervous exhaustion in every line. He spoke, +and his voice was not the assured voice of a leader. His words were +not the happy words which instantly command attention. It was evident +to the discerning eye that he had been driven for days, perhaps for +weeks, beyond his strength and endurance; that he had resorted to +stimulants to help him in this emergency, and that they had failed; +that he was striving with feeble desperation to do the impossible +which was expected of him. I wondered even then if a few common words +of explanation, a few sober words of promise, would not have +satisfied the crowd, already sated with eloquence. I wondered if the +unfortunate man could feel the chill settling down upon the house +as he spoke his random and undignified sentences, whether he could +see the first stragglers slipping down the aisles. What did his +decent record, his honest purpose, avail him in an hour like this? +He tried to lash himself to vigour, but it was spurring a +broken-winded horse. The stragglers increased into a flying squadron, +the house was emptying fast, when the chairman in sheer desperation +made a sign to the leader of the orchestra, who waved his baton, and +"The Star-Spangled Banner" drowned the candidate's last words, and +brought what was left of the audience to its feet. I turned to a friend +beside me, the wife of a local politician who had been the most fiery +speaker of the evening. "Will it make any difference?" I asked, and +she answered disconsolately; "The city is lost, but we may save the +state." + +Then we went out into the quiet streets, and I bethought me of +Voltaire's driving in a blue coach powdered with gilt stars to see +the first production of "Irene," and of his leaving the theatre to +find that enthusiasts had cut the traces of his horses, so that the +shouting mob might drag him home in triumph. But the mob, having done +its shouting, melted away after the irresponsible fashion of mobs, +leaving the blue coach stranded in front of the Tuileries, with +Voltaire shivering inside of it, until the horses could be brought +back, the traces patched up, and the driver recalled to his duty. + +That "popular enthusiasm is but a fire of straw" has been amply +demonstrated by all who have tried to keep it going. It can be lighted +to some purpose, as when money is extracted from the enthusiasts +before they have had time to cool; but even this process--so +skilfully conducted by the initiated--seems unworthy of great and +noble charities, or of great and noble causes. It is true also that +the agitator--no matter what he may be agitating--is always sure of +his market; a circumstance which made that most conservative of +chancellors, Lord Eldon, swear with bitter oaths that, if he were +to begin life over again, he would begin it as an agitator. Tom Moore +tells a pleasant story (one of the many pleasant stories embalmed +in his vast sarcophagus of a diary) about a street orator whom he +heard address a crowd in Dublin. The man's eloquence was so stirring +that Moore was ravished by it, and he expressed to Sheil his +admiration for the speaker. "Ah," said Sheil carelessly, "that was +a brewer's patriot. Most of the great brewers have in their employ +a regular patriot who goes about among the publicans, talking violent +politics, which helps to sell the beer." + +Honest enthusiasm, we are often told, is the power which moves the +world. Therefore it is perhaps that honest enthusiasts seem to think +that if they stopped pushing, the world would stop moving,--as though +it were a new world which didn't know its way. This belief inclines +them to intolerance. The more keen they are, the more contemptuous +they become. What Wordsworth admirably called "the self-applauding +sincerity of a heated mind" leaves them no loophole for doubt, and +no understanding of the doubter. In their volcanic progress they bowl +over the non-partisan--a man and a brother--with splendid unconcern. +He, poor soul, stunned but not convinced, clings desperately to some +pettifogging convictions which he calls truth, and refuses a clearer +vision. His habit of remembering what he believed yesterday clogs +his mind, and makes it hard for him to believe something entirely +new to-day. Much has been said about the inconvenience of keeping +opinions, but much might be said about the serenity of the process. +Old opinions are like old friends,--we cease to question their worth +because, after years of intimacy and the loss of some valuable +illusions, we have grown to place our slow reliance on them. We know +at least where we stand, and whither we are tending, and we refuse +to bustle feverishly about the circumference of life, because, as +Amiel warns us, we cannot reach its core. + + + + +The Temptation of Eve + +"My Love in her attire doth shew her wit." + + +It is an old and honoured jest that Eve--type of eternal +womanhood--sacrificed the peace of Eden for the pleasures of dress. +We see this jest reflected in the satire of the Middle Ages, in the +bitter gibes of mummer and buffoon. We can hear its echoes in the +invectives of the reformer,--"I doubt," said a good +fifteenth-century bishop to the ladies of England in their horned +caps,--"I doubt the Devil sit not between those horns." We find it +illustrated with admirable naivete in the tapestries which hang in +the entrance corridor of the Belle Arti in Florence. + +These tapestries tell the downfall of our first parents. In one we +see the newly created and lovely Eve standing by the side of the +sleeping Adam, and regarding him with pleasurable anticipation. +Another shows us the animals marching in line to be inspected and +named. The snail heads the procession and sets the pace. The lion +and the tiger stroll gossiping together. The unicorn walks alone, +very stiff and proud. Two rats and two mice are closely followed by +two sleek cats, who keep them well covered, and plainly await the +time when Eve's amiable indiscretion shall assign them their natural +prey. In the third tapestry the deed has been done, the apple had +been eaten. The beasts are ravening in the background. Adam, already +clad, is engaged in fastening a picturesque girdle of leaves around +the unrepentant Eve,--for all the world like a modern husband +fastening his wife's gown,--while she for the first time gathers up +her long fair hair. Her attitude is full of innocent yet +indescribable coquetry. The passion for self-adornment had already +taken possession of her soul. Before her lies a future of many cares +and some compensations. She is going to work and she is going to weep, +but she is also going to dress. The price was hers to pay. + +In the hearts of Eve's daughters lies an unspoken convincement that +the price was not too dear. As far as feminity is known, or can ever +be known, one dominant impulse has never wavered or weakened. In +every period of the world's history, in every quarter of the globe, +in every stage of savagery or civilization, this elementary instinct +has held, and still holds good. The history of the world is largely +the history of dress. It is the most illuminating of records, and +tells its tale with a candour and completeness which no chronicle +can surpass. We all agree in saying that people who reached a high +stage of artistic development, like the Greeks and the Italians of +the Renaissance, expressed this sense of perfection in their attire; +but what we do not acknowledge so frankly is that these same nations +encouraged the beauty of dress, even at a ruthless cost, because they +felt that in doing so they cooperated with a great natural law,--the +law which makes the "wanton lapwing" get himself another crest. They +played into nature's hands. + +The nations which sought to bully nature, like the Spartans and the +Spaniards, passed the severest sumptuary laws; and for proving the +power of fundamental forces over the unprofitable wisdom of +reformers, there is nothing like a sumptuary law. In 1563 Spanish +women of good repute were forbidden to wear jewels or +embroideries,--the result being that many preferred to be thought +reputationless, rather than abandon their finery. Some years later +it was ordained that only women of loose life should be permitted +to bare their shoulders; and all dressmakers who furnished the +interdicted gowns to others than courtesans were condemned to four +years' penal servitude. These were stern measures,--"root and +branch" was ever the Spaniard's cry; but he found it easier to stamp +out heresy than to eradicate from a woman's heart something which +is called vanity, but which is, in truth, an overmastering impulse +which she is too wise to endeavour to resist. + +As a matter of fact it was a sumptuary law which incited the women +of Rome to make their first great public demonstration, and to +besiege the Forum as belligerently as the women of England have, in +late years, besieged Parliament. The Senate had thought fit to save +money for the second Punic War by curtailing all extravagance in +dress; and, when the war was over, showed no disposition to repeal +a statute which--to the simple masculine mind--seemed productive of +nothing but good. Therefore the women gathered in the streets of Rome, +demanding the restitution of their ornaments, and deeply +scandalizing poor Cato, who could hardly wedge his way through the +crowd. His views on this occasion were expressed with the bewildered +bitterness of a modern British conservative. He sighed for the good +old days when women were under the strict control of their fathers +and husbands, and he very plainly told the Senators that if they had +maintained their proper authority at home, their wives and daughters +would not then be misbehaving themselves in public. "It was not +without painful emotions of shame," said this outraged Roman +gentleman, "that I just now made my way to the Forum through a herd +of women. Our ancestors thought it improper that women should +transact any private business without a director. We, it seems, +suffer them to interfere in the management of state affairs, and to +intrude into the general assemblies. Had I not been restrained by +the modesty and dignity of some among them, had I not been unwilling +that they should be rebuked by a Consul, I should have said to them: +'What sort of practice is this of running into the streets, and +addressing other women's husbands? Could you not have petitioned at +home? Are your blandishments more seductive in public than in private, +and with other husbands than your own?'" + +How natural it all sounds, how modern, how familiar! And with what +knowledge of the immutable laws of nature, as opposed to the +capricious laws of man, did Lucius Valerius defend the rebellious +women of Rome! "Elegance of apparel," he pleaded before the Senate, +"and jewels, and ornaments,--these are a woman's badges of +distinction; in these she glories and delights; these our ancestors +called the woman's world. What else does she lay aside in mourning +save her purple and gold? What else does she resume when the mourning +is over? How does she manifest her sympathy on occasions of public +rejoicing, but by adding to the splendour of her dress?"[1] + +[Footnote 1: Livy.] + +Of course the statute was repealed. The only sumptuary laws which +defied resistance were those which draped the Venetian gondolas and +the Milanese priests in black, and with such restrictions women had +no concern. + +The symbolism of dress is a subject which has never received its due +share of attention, yet it stands for attributes in the human race +which otherwise defy analysis. It is interwoven with all our carnal +and with all our spiritual instincts. It represents a cunning triumph +over hard conditions, a turning of needs into victories. It voices +desires and dignities without number, it subjects the importance of +the thing done to the importance of the manner of doing it. "Man wears +a special dress to kill, to govern, to judge, to preach, to mourn, +to play. In every age the fashion in which he retains or discards +some portion of this dress denotes a subtle change in his feelings." +All visible things are emblematic of invisible forces. Man fixed the +association of colours with grief and gladness, he made ornaments +the insignia of office, he ordained that fabric should grace the +majesty of power. + +Yet though we know this well, it is our careless custom to talk about +dress, and to write about dress, as if it had no meaning at all; as +if the breaking waves of fashion which carry with them the record +of pride and gentleness, of distinction and folly, of the rising and +shattering of ideals,--"the cut which betokens intellect and talent, +the colour which betokens temper and heart,"--were guided by no other +law than chance, were a mere purposeless tyranny. Historians dwell +upon the mad excesses of ruff and farthingale, of pointed shoe and +swelling skirt, as if these things stood for nothing in a society +forever alternating between rigid formalism and the irrepressible +spirit of democracy. + +Is it possible to look at a single costume painted by Velasquez +without realizing that the Spanish court under Philip the Fourth had +lost the mobility which has characterized it in the days of Ferdinand +and Isabella, and had hardened into a formalism, replete with dignity, +but lacking intelligence, and out of touch with the great social +issues of the day? French chroniclers have written page after page +of description--aimless and tiresome description, for the most +part--of those amazing head-dresses which, at the court of Marie +Antoinette, rose to such heights that the ladies looked as if their +heads were in the middle of their bodies. They stood seven feet high +when their hair was dressed, and a trifle over five when it wasn't. +The Duchesse de Lauzun wore upon one memorable occasion a head-dress +presenting a landscape in high relief on the shore of a stormy lake, +ducks swimming on the lake, a sportsman shooting at the ducks, a mill +which rose from the crown of her head, a miller's wife courted by +an abbe, and a miller placidly driving his donkey down the steep +incline over the lady's left ear. + +It sounds like a Christmas pantomime; but when we remember that the +French court, that model of patrician pride, was playing with +democracy, with republicanism, with the simple life, as presented +by Rousseau to its consideration, we see plainly enough how the real +self-sufficiency of caste and the purely artificial sentiment of the +day found expression in absurdities of costume. Women dared to wear +such things, because, being aristocrats, they felt sure of +themselves: and they professed to admire them, because, being +engulfed in sentiment, they had lost all sense of proportion. A +miller and his donkey were rustic (Marie Antoinette adored +rusticity); an abbe flirting with a miller's wife was as obviously +artificial as Watteau. It would have been hard to find a happier or +more expressive combination. And when Rousseau and republicanism had +won the race, we find the ladies of the Directoire illustrating the +national illusions with clinging and diaphanous draperies; and +asserting their affinity with the high ideals of ancient Greece by +wearing sandals instead of shoes, and rings on their bare white toes. +The reaction from the magnificent formalism of court dress to this +abrupt nudity is in itself a record as graphic and as illuminating +as anything that historians have to tell. The same great principle +was at work in England when the Early Victorian virtues asserted +their supremacy, when the fashionable world, becoming for a spell +domestic and demure, expressed these qualities in smoothly banded +hair, and draperies of decorous amplitude. There is, in fact, no +phase of national life or national sentiment which has not betrayed +itself to the world in dress. + +And not national life only, but individual life as well. Clothes are +more than historical, they are autobiographical. They tell their +story in broad outlines and in minute detail. Was it for nothing that +Charles the First devised that rich and sombre costume of black and +white from which he never sought relief? Was it for nothing that +Garibaldi wore a red shirt, and Napoleon an old grey coat? In proof +that these things stood for character and destiny, we have but to +look at the resolute but futile attempt which Charles the Second made +to follow his father's lead, to express something beyond a +fluctuating fashion in his dress. In 1666 he announced to his +Council--which was, we trust, gratified by the intelligence--that +he intended to wear one unaltered costume for the rest of his days. +A month later he donned this costume, the distinguishing features +of which were a long, close-fitting, black waistcoat, pinked with +white, a loose embroidered surtout, and buskins. The court followed +his example, and Charles not unnaturally complained that so many +black and white waistcoats made him feel as though he were surrounded +by magpies. So the white pinking was discarded, and plain black +velvet waistcoats substituted. These were neither very gay, nor very +becoming to a swarthy monarch; and the never-to-be-altered costume +lasted less than two years, to the great relief of the courtiers, +especially of those who had risked betting with the king himself on +its speedy disappearance. Expressing nothing but a caprice, it had +the futility and the impermanence of all caprices. + +Within the last century, men have gradually, and it would seem +permanently, abandoned the effort to reveal their personality in +dress. They have allowed themselves to be committed for life to a +costume of ruthless utilitarianism, which takes no count of physical +beauty, or of its just display. Comfort, convenience, and sanitation +have conspired to establish a rigidity of rule never seen before, +to which men yield a docile and lamblike obedience. Robert Burton's +axiom, "Nothing sooner dejects a man than clothes out of fashion," +is as true now as it was three hundred years ago. Fashion sways the +shape of a collar, and the infinitesimal gradations of a hat-brim; +but the sense of fitness, and the power of interpreting life, which +ennobled fashion in Burton's day, have disappeared in an enforced +monotony. + +Men take a strange perverted pride in this mournful sameness of +attire,--delight in wearing a hat like every other man's hat, are +content that it should be a perfected miracle of ugliness, that it +should be hot, that it should be heavy, that it should be disfiguring, +if only they can make sure of seeing fifty, or a hundred and fifty, +other hats exactly like it on their way downtown. So absolute is this +uniformity that the late Marquess of Ailesbury bore all his life a +reputation for eccentricity, which seems to have had no other +foundation than the fact of his wearing hats, or rather a hat, of +distinctive shape, chosen with reference to his own head rather than +to the heads of some odd millions of fellow citizens. The story is +told of his standing bare-headed in a hatter's shop, awaiting the +return of a salesman who had carried off his own beloved head-gear, +when a shortsighted bishop entered, and, not recognizing the peer, +took him for an assistant, and handed him _his_ hat, asking him if +he had any exactly like it. Lord Ailesbury turned the bishop's hat +over and over, examined it carefully inside and out, and gave it back +again. "No," he said, "I haven't, and I'll be damned if I'd wear it, +if I had." + +Even before the establishment of the invincible despotism which +clothes the gentlemen of Christendom in a livery, we find the +masculine mind disposed to severity in the ruling of fashions. Steele, +for example, tells us the shocking story of an English gentleman who +would persist in wearing a broad belt with a hanger, instead of the +light sword then carried by men of rank, although in other respects +he was a "perfectly well-bred person." Steele naturally regarded +this acquaintance with deep suspicion, which was justified when, +twenty-two years afterwards, the innovator married his cook-maid. +"Others were amazed at this," writes the essayist, "but I must +confess that I was not. I had always known that his deviation from +the costume of a gentleman indicated an ill-balanced mind." + +Now the adoption of a rigorous and monotonous utilitarianism in +masculine attire has had two unlovely results. In the first place, +men, since they ceased to covet beautiful clothes for themselves, +have wasted much valuable time in counselling and censuring women; +and, in the second place, there has come, with the loss of their fine +trappings, a corresponding loss of illusions on the part of the women +who look at them. Black broadcloth and derby hats are calculated to +destroy the most robust illusions in Christendom; and men--from +motives hard to fathom--have refused to retain in their wardrobes +a single article which can amend an imperfect ideal. This does not +imply that women fail to value friends in black broadcloth, nor that +they refuse their affections to lovers and husbands in derby hats. +Nature is not to be balked by such impediments. But as long as men +wore costumes which interpreted their strength, enhanced their +persuasiveness, and concealed their shortcomings, women accepted +their dominance without demur. They made no idle claim to equality +with creatures, not only bigger and stronger, not only more capable +and more resolute, not only wiser and more experienced, but more +noble and distinguished in appearance than they were themselves. +What if the assertive attitude of the modern woman, her easy +arrogance, and the confidence she places in her own untried powers, +may be accounted for by the dispiriting clothes which men have +determined to wear, and the wearing of which may have cost them no +small portion of their authority? + +The whole attitude of women in this regard is fraught with +significance. Men have rashly discarded those details of costume +which enhanced their comeliness and charm (we have but to look at +Van Dyck's portraits to see how much rare distinction is traceable +to subdued elegance of dress); but women have never through the long +centuries laid aside the pleasant duty of self-adornment. They dare +not if they would,--too much is at stake; and they experience the +just delight which comes from cooperation with a natural law. The +flexibility of their dress gives them every opportunity to modify, +to enhance, to reveal, and to conceal. It is in the highest degree +interpretative, and through it they express their aspirations and +ideals, their thirst for combat and their realization of defeat, +their fluctuating sentiments and their permanent predispositions. + + "A winning wave, deserving note, + In the tempestuous petticoat; + A careless shoe-string, in whose tie + I see a wild civility." + +Naturally, in a matter so vital, they are not disposed to listen to +reason, and they cannot be argued out of a great fundamental instinct. +Women are constitutionally incapable of being influenced by +argument,--a limitation which is in the nature of a safeguard. The +cunning words in which M. Marcel Provost urges them to follow the +example of men, sounds, to their ears, a little like the words in +which the fox which had lost its tail counsels its fellow foxes to +rid themselves of so despicable an appendage. "Before the +Revolution," writes M. Provost, in his "Lettres a Francois," "the +clothes worn by men of quality were more costly than those worn by +women. To-day all men dress with such uniformity that a Huron, +transported to Paris or to London, could not distinguish master from +valet. This will assuredly be the fate of feminine toilets in a future +more or less near. The time must come when the varying costumes now +seen at balls, at the races, at the theatre, will all be swept away; +and in their place women will wear, as men do, a species of uniform. +There will be a 'woman's suit,' costing sixty francs at Batignolles, +and five hundred francs in the rue de la Paix; and, this reform once +accomplished, it will never be possible to return to old conditions. +Reason will have triumphed." + +Perhaps! But reason has been routed so often from the field that one +no longer feels confident of her success. M. Baudrillart had a world +of reason on his side when, before the Chamber of Deputies, he urged +reform in dress, and the legal suppression of jewels and costly +fabrics. M. de Lavaleye, the Belgian statist, was fortified by reason +when he proposed his grey serge uniform for women of all classes. +If we turn back a page or two of history, and look at the failure +of the sumptuary laws in England, we find the wives of London +tradesmen, who were not permitted to wear velvet in public, lining +their grogram gowns with this costly fabric, for the mere pleasure +of possession, for the meaningless--and most unreasonable--joy of +expenditure. And when Queen Elizabeth, who considered extravagance +in dress to be a royal prerogative, attempted to coerce the ladies +of her court into simplicity, the Countess of Shrewsbury comments +with ill-concealed irony on the result of such reasonable endeavours. +"How often hath her majestie, with the grave advice of her honourable +Councell, sette down the limits of apparell of every degree; and how +soon again hath the pride of our harts overflown the chanell." + +There are two classes of critics who still waste their vital forces +in a futile attempt to reform feminine dress. The first class cherish +artistic sensibilities which are grievously wounded by the caprices +of fashion. They anathematize a civilization which tolerates +ear-rings, or feathered hats, or artificial flowers. They appear to +suffer vicarious torments from high-heeled shoes, spotted veils, and +stays. They have occasional doubts as to the moral influence of +ball-dresses. An unusually sanguine writer of this order has assured +us, in the pages of the "Contemporary Review," that when women once +assume their civic responsibilities, they will dress as austerely +as men. The first fruits of the suffrage will be seen in sober and +virtue-compelling gowns at the opera. + +The second class of critics is made up of economists, who believe +that too much of the world's earnings is spent upon clothes, and that +this universal spirit of extravagance retards marriage, and blocks +the progress of the race. It is in an ignoble effort to pacify these +last censors that women writers undertake to tell their women readers, +in the pages of women's periodicals, how to dress on sums of +incredible insufficiency. Such misleading guides would be harmless, +and even in their way amusing, if nobody believed them; but unhappily +somebody always does believe them, and that somebody is too often +a married man. There is no measure to the credulity of the average +semi-educated man when confronted by a printed page (print carries +such authority in his eyes), and with rows of figures, all showing +conclusively that two and two make three, and that with economy and +good management they can be reduced to one and a half. He has never +mastered, and apparently never will master, the exact shade of +difference between a statement and a fact. + +Women are, under most circumstances, even more readily deceived; but, +in the matter of dress, they have walked the thorny paths of +experience. They know the cruel cost of everything they wear,--a cost +which in this country is artificially maintained by a high protective +tariff,--and they are not to be cajoled by that delusive word +"simplicity," being too well aware that it is, when synonymous with +good taste, the consummate success of artists, and the crowning +achievement of wealth. Some years ago there appeared in one of the +English magazines an article entitled, "How to Dress on Thirty Pounds +a Year. As a Lady. By a Lady." Whereupon "Punch" offered the following +light-minded amendment: "How to Dress on Nothing a Year. As a Kaffir. +By a Kaffir." At least a practical proposition. + +Mr. Henry James has written some charming paragraphs on the symbolic +value of clothes, as illustrated by the costumes worn by the French +actresses of the Comedie,--women to whose unerring taste dress +affords an expression of fine dramatic quality. He describes with +enthusiasm the appearance of Madame Nathalie, when playing the part +of an elderly provincial bourgeoise in a curtain-lifter called "Le +Village." + +"It was the quiet felicity of the old lady's dress that used to charm +me. She wore a large black silk mantilla of a peculiar cut, which +looked as if she had just taken it tenderly out of some old wardrobe +where it lay folded in lavender, and a large dark bonnet, adorned +with handsome black silk loops and bows. The extreme suggestiveness, +and yet the taste and temperateness of this costume, seemed to me +inimitable. The bonnet alone, with its handsome, decent, virtuous +bows, was worth coming to see." + +If we compare this "quiet felicity" of the artist with the absurd +travesties worn on our American stage, we can better understand the +pleasure which filled Mr. James's heart. What, for example, would +Madame Nathalie have thought of the modish gowns which Mrs. Fiske +introduces into the middle-class Norwegian life of Ibsen's dramas? +No plays can less well bear such inaccuracies, because they depend +on their stage-setting to bring before our eyes their alien aspect, +to make us feel an atmosphere with which we are wholly unfamiliar. +The accessories are few, but of supreme importance; and it is +inconceivable that a keenly intelligent actress like Mrs. Fiske +should sacrifice _vraisemblance_ to a meaningless refinement. In the +second act of "Rosmersholm," to take a single instance, the text +calls for a morning wrapper, a thing so manifestly careless and +informal that the school-master, Kroll, is scandalized at seeing +Rebecca in it, and says so plainly. But as Mrs. Fiske plays the scene +in a tea-gown of elaborate elegance, in which she might with +propriety have received the Archbishop of Canterbury, Kroll's +studied apologies for intruding upon her before she has had time to +dress, and the whole suggestion of undue intimacy between Rebecca +and Rosmer, which Ibsen meant to convey, is irrevocably lost. And +to weaken a situation for the sake of being prettily dressed would +be impossible to a French actress, trained in the delicacies of her +art. + +If the feeling for clothes, the sense of their correspondence with +time and place, with public enthusiasms and with private +sensibilities, has always belonged to France, it was a no less +dominant note in Italy during the two hundred years in which she +eclipsed and bewildered the rest of Christendom; and it bore fruit +in those great historic wardrobes which the Italian chroniclers +describe with loving minuteness. We know all about Isabella d' Este's +gowns, as if she had worn them yesterday. We know all about the jewels +which were the assertion of her husband's pride in times of peace, +and his security with the Lombard bankers in times of war. We know +what costumes the young Beatrice d' Este carried with her on her +mission to Venice, and how favourably they impressed the grave +Venetian Senate. We can count the shifts in Lucretia Borgia's +trousseau, when that much-slandered woman became Duchess of Ferrara, +and we can reckon the cost of the gold fringe which hung from her +linen sleeves. We are told which of her robes was wrought with fish +scales, and which with interlacing leaves, and which with a hem of +pure and flame-like gold. Ambassadors described in state papers her +green velvet cap with its golden ornaments, and the emerald she wore +on her forehead, and the black ribbon which tied her beautiful fair +hair. + +These vanities harmonized with character and circumstance. The joy +of living was then expressing itself in an overwhelming sense of +beauty, and in material splendour which, unlike the material +splendour of to-day, never overstepped the standard set by the +intellect. Taste had become a triumphant principle, and as women grew +in dignity and importance, they set a higher and higher value on the +compelling power of dress. They had no more doubt on this score than +had wise Homer when he hung the necklaces around Aphrodite's tender +neck before she was well out of the sea, winding them row after row +in as many circles as there are stars clustering about the moon. No +more doubt than had the fair and virtuous Countess of Salisbury, who, +so Froissart tells us, chilled the lawless passion of Edward the +Third by the simple expedient of wearing unbefitting clothes. Saint +Lucy, under somewhat similar circumstances, felt it necessary to put +out her beautiful eyes; but Katharine of Salisbury knew men better +than the saint knew them. She shamed her loveliness by going to +Edward's banquet looking like a rustic, and found herself in +consequence very comfortably free from royal attentions. + +In the wise old days when men outshone their consorts, we find their +hearts set discerningly on one supreme extravagance. Lace, the most +artistic fabric that taste and ingenuity have devised, "the fine web +which feeds the pride of the world," was for centuries the delight +of every well-dressed gentleman. We know not by what marital cajolery +Mr. Pepys persuaded Mrs. Pepys to give him the lace from her best +petticoat, "that she had when I married her"; but we do know that +he used it to trim a new coat; and that he subsequently noted down +in his diary one simple, serious, and heartfelt resolution, which +we feel sure was faithfully kept: "Henceforth I am determined my +chief expense shall be in lace bands." Charles the Second paid +fifteen pounds apiece for his lace-trimmed night-caps; William the +Third, five hundred pounds for a set of lace-trimmed night-shirts; +and Cinq-Mars, the favourite of Louis the Thirteenth, who was +beheaded when he was barely twenty-two, found time in his short life +to acquire three hundred sets of lace ruffles. The lace collars of +Van Dyck's portraits, the lace cravats which Grahame of Claverhouse +and Montrose wear over their armour, are subtly suggestive of the +strength that lies in delicacy. The fighting qualities of +Claverhouse were not less effective because of those soft folds of +lace and linen. The death of Montrose was no less noble because he +went to the scaffold in scarlet and fine linen, with "stockings of +incarnate silk, and roses on his shoon." Once Carlyle was disparaging +Montrose, as (being in a denunciatory mood) he would have disparaged +the Archangel Michael; and, finding his hearers disposed to disagree +with him, asked bitterly: "What did Montrose do anyway?" Whereupon +Irving retorted: "He put on a clean shirt to be hanged in, and that +is more than you, Carlyle, would ever have done in his place." + +It was the association of the scaffold with an ignoble victim which +banished black satin from the London world. Because a foul-hearted +murderess[2] elected to be hanged in this material, Englishwomen +refused for years to wear it, and many bales of black satin languished +on the drapers' shelves,--a memorable instance of the significance +which attaches itself to dress. The caprices of fashion do more than +illustrate a woman's capacity or incapacity for selection. They +mirror her inward refinements, and symbolize those feminine virtues +and vanities which are so closely akin as to be occasionally +undistinguishable. + +[Footnote 2: Mrs. Manning.] + + "A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn," + +mocked Pope; and woman smiles at the satire, knowing more about the +matter than Pope could ever have known, and seeing a little sparkle +of truth glimmering beneath the gibe. Fashion fluctuates from one +charming absurdity to another, and each in turn is welcomed and +dismissed; through each in turn woman endeavours to reveal her own +elusive personality. Poets no longer praise With Herrick the brave +vibrations of her petticoats. Ambassadors no longer describe her +caps and ribbons in their official documents. Novelists no longer +devote twenty pages, as did the admirable Richardson, to the wedding +finery of their heroines. Men have ceased to be vitally interested +in dress, but none the less are they sensitive to its influence and +enslaved by its results; while women, preserving through the +centuries the great traditions of their sex, still rate at its utmost +value the prize for which Eve sold her freehold in the Garden of +Paradise. + + + + +"The Greatest of These is Charity" + + +_Mrs. James Gordon Harrington Balderston to Mrs. Lapham Shepherd_ + +MY DEAR MRS. SHEPHERD, + +Will you pardon me for this base encroachment on your time? Busy women +are the only ones who ever _have_ any time, so the rest of the world +is forced to steal from them. And then all that you organize is so +successful that every one turns naturally to you for advice and +assistance, as I am turning now. A really charming woman, a Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay, who has lived for years in Italy, is anxious to +give a series of lectures on Dante. I am sure they will be interesting, +for she can put so much local colour into them, and I understand she +is a fluent Italian scholar. Her uncle was the English Consul in +Florence or Naples, I don't remember which, so she has had unusual +opportunities for study; and her grandfather was Dr. Alexander +Ramsay, who wrote a history of the Hebrides. Unfortunately her voice +is not very strong, so she would be heard to the best advantage in +a drawing-room. I am wondering whether you would consent to lend +yours, which is so beautiful, or whether you could put Miss Ramsay +in touch with the Century Club, or the Spalding School. You will find +her attractive, I am sure. The Penhursts knew her well in Munich, +and have given her a letter to me. + +Pray allow me to congratulate you on your new honours as a grandmother. +I trust that both your daughter and the baby are well. + + Very sincerely yours, + IRENE BALDERSTON. + +I forgot to tell you that Miss Ramsay's lectures are on + + Dante, the Lover. + Dante, the Poet. + Dante, the Patriot. + Dante, the Reformer. + +There was a fifth on Dante, the Prophet, but I persuaded her to leave +it out of the course. + + I. B. + + +_Mrs. Lapham Shepherd to Mrs. Wilfred Ward Hamilton_ + +DEAR MRS. HAMILTON,-- + +Mrs. James Balderston has asked me to do what I can for a Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay (granddaughter of the historian), who wants to +give four lectures on Dante in Philadelphia. She has chopped him up +into poet, prophet, lover, etc. I cannot have any lectures or +readings in my house this winter. Jane is still far from strong, and +we shall probably go South after Christmas. Please don't let me put +any burden on your shoulders; but if Dr. Hamilton could persuade +those nice Quakers at Swarthmore that there is nothing so educational +as a course of Dante, it would be the best possible opening for Miss +Ramsay. Mrs. Balderston seems to think her voice would not carry in +a large room, but as students never listen to anybody, this would +make very little difference. The Century Club has been suggested, +but I fancy the classes there have been arranged for the season. There +are preparatory schools, aren't there, at Swarthmore, which need to +know about Dante? Or would there be any chance at all at Miss +Irington's? + +Miss Ramsay has been to see me, and I feel sorry for the girl. Her +uncle was the English Consul at Milan, and the poor thing loved Italy +(who doesn't!), and hated to leave it. I wish she could establish +herself as a lecturer, though there is nothing I detest more ardently +than lectures. + +I missed you sorely at the meeting of the Aubrey Home house-committee +yesterday. Harriet Maline and Mrs. Percy Brown had a battle royal +over the laying of the new water-pipes, and over _my_ prostrate body, +which still aches from the contest. I wish Harriet would resign. She +is the only creature I have ever known, except the Bate's parrot and +my present cook, who is perpetually out of temper. If she were not +my husband's stepmother's niece, I am sure I could stand up to her +better. + + Cordially yours, + ALICE LEIGH SHEPHERD. + + +_Mrs. Wilfred Ward Hamilton to Miss Violet Wray_ + +DEAR VIOLET,-- + +You know Margaret Irington better than I do. Do you think she would +like to have a course of Dante in her school this winter? A very clever +and charming woman, a Miss Alexandrina Ramsay, has four lectures on +the poet which she is anxious to give before schools, or clubs, or--if +she can--in private houses. I have promised Mrs. Shepherd to do +anything in my power to help her. It occurred to me that the +Contemporary Club might like to have one of the lectures, and you +are on the committee. That would be the making of Miss Ramsay, if +only she could be heard in that huge Clover Room. I understand she +has a pleasant cultivated voice, but is not accustomed to public +speaking. There must be plenty of smaller clubs at Bryn Mawr, or +Haverford, or Chestnut Hill, for which she would be just the thing. +Her grandfather wrote a history of England, and I have a vague +impression that I studied it at school. I should write to the Drexel +Institute, but don't know anybody connected with it. Do you? It would +be a real kindness to give Miss Ramsay a start, and I know you do +not begrudge trouble in a good cause. You did such wonders for +Fraulein Breitenbach last winter. + + Love to your mother, + Affectionately yours, + HANNAH GALE HAMILTON. + + +_Miss Violet Wray to Mrs. J. Lockwood Smith_ + +DEAR ANN,-- + +I have been requested by Hannah Hamilton--may Heaven forgive +her!--to find lecture engagements for a Miss Ramsay, Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay, who wants to tell the American public what she +knows about Dante. Why a Scotchwoman should be turned loose in the +Inferno, I cannot say; but it seems her father or her grandfather +wrote school-books, and she is carrying on the educational +traditions of the family. Hannah made the unholy suggestion that she +should speak at the Contemporary Club, and offered as an inducement +the fact that she couldn't be heard in so large a room. But we are +supposed to discuss topics of the day, and Dante happened some little +while ago. He has no bearing upon aviation, or National Insurance +Bills (that is our subject next Monday night); but he is brimming +over with ethics, and it is the duty of your precious Ethical Society +to grapple with him exhaustively. I always wondered what took you +to that strange substitute for church; but now I see in it the hand +of Providence pointing the way to Miss Ramsay's lecture field. Please +persuade your fellow Ethicals that four lectures--or even one +lecture--on Dante will be what Alice Hunt calls an "uplift." I feel +that I must try and find an opening for Hannah's protegee, because +she helped me with Fraulein Breitenbach's concert last winter,--a +circumstance she does not lightly permit me to forget. Did I say, +"May Heaven forgive her" for saddling me with this Scotch +schoolmaster's daughter? Well, I take back that devout supplication. +May jackals sit on her grandmother's grave! Meantime here is Miss +Ramsay to be provided for. If your Ethicals (disregarding their duty) +will have none of her, please think up somebody with a taste for +serious study, and point out that Dante, elucidated by a Scotchwoman, +will probably be as serious as anything that has visited Philadelphia +since the yellow fever. + +If you want one of Grisette's kittens, there are still two left. The +handsomest of all has gone to live in regal splendour at the Bruntons, +and I have promised another to our waitress who was married last month. +Such are the vicissitudes of life. + + Ever yours, + VIOLET WRAY. + + +_Mrs. J. Lockwood Smith to Mrs. James Gordon Harrington Balderston_ + +DEAR MRS. BALDERSTON,-- + +I want to enlist your interest in a clever young Scotchwoman, a Miss +Alexandrina Ramsay, who hopes to give four lectures on Dante in +Philadelphia this winter. Her father was an eminent teacher in his +day, and I understand she is thoroughly equipped for her work. Heaven +knows I wish fewer lecturers would cross the sea to enlighten our +ignorance, and so will you when you get this letter; but I remember +with what enthusiasm you talked about Italy and Dante at Brown's +Mills last spring, and I trust that your ardour has not waned. The +Century Club seems to me the best possible field for Miss Ramsay. +Do you know any one on the entertainment committee, and do you think +it is not too late in the season to apply? Of course there are always +the schools. Dear Mrs. Balderston, I should feel more shame in +troubling you, did I not know how capable you are, and how much weight +your word carries. Violet Wray and Mrs. Wilfred Hamilton are +tremendously interested in Miss Ramsay. May I tell Violet to send +her to you, so that you can see for yourself what she is like, and +what chances she has of success? Please be quite frank in saying yes +or no, and believe me always, + + Yours very cordially, + ANN HAZELTON SMITH. + + + + +The Customary Correspondent + +"Letters warmly sealed and coldly opened."--RICHTER. + + +Why do so many ingenious theorists give fresh reasons every year for +the decline of letter writing, and why do they assume, in derision +of suffering humanity, that it has declined? They lament the lack +of leisure, the lack of sentiment,--Mr. Lucas adds the lack of +stamps,--which chill the ardour of the correspondent; and they fail +to ascertain how chilled he is, or how far he sets at naught these +justly restraining influences. They talk of telegrams, and +telephones, and postal cards, as if any discovery of science, any +device of civilization, could eradicate from the human heart that +passion for self-expression which is the impelling force of letters. +They also fail to note that, side by side with telephones and +telegrams, comes the baleful reduction of postage rates, which +lowers our last barrier of defence. Two cents an ounce leaves us naked +at the mercy of the world. + +It is on record that a Liverpool tradesman once wrote to Dickens, +to express the pleasure he had derived from that great Englishman's +immortal novels, and enclosed, by way of testimony, a cheque for five +hundred pounds. This is a phenomenon which ought to be more widely +known than it is, for there is no natural law to prevent its +recurrence; and while the world will never hold another Dickens, +there are many deserving novelists who may like to recall the +incident when they open their morning's mail. It would be pleasant +to associate our morning's mail with such fair illusions; and though +writing to strangers is but a parlous pastime, the Liverpool +gentleman threw a new and radiant light upon its possibilities. "The +gratuitous contributor is, _ex vi termini_, an ass," said +Christopher North sourly; but then he never knew, nor ever deserved +to know, this particular kind of contribution. + +Generally speaking, the unknown correspondent does not write to +praise. His guiding principle is the diffusion of useless knowledge, +and he demands or imparts it according to the exigencies of the hour. +It is strange that a burning thirst for information should be +combined with such reluctance to acquire it through ordinary +channels. A man who wishes to write a paper on the botanical value +of Shakespeare's plays does not dream of consulting a concordance +and a botany, and then going to work. The bald simplicity of such +a process offends his sense of magnitude. He writes to a +distinguished scholar, asking a number of burdensome questions, and +is apparently under the impression that the resources of the +scholar's mind, the fruits of boundless industry, should be +cheerfully placed at his disposal. A woman who meditates a "literary +essay" upon domestic pets is not content to track her quarry through +the long library shelves. She writes to some painstaking worker, +enquiring what English poets have "sung the praises of the cat," and +if Cowper was the only author who ever domesticated hares? One of +Huxley's most amusing letters is written in reply to a gentleman who +wished to compile an article on "Home Pets of Celebrities," and who +unhesitatingly applied for particulars concerning the Hodeslea cat. + +These are, of course, labour-saving devices, but economy of effort +is not always the ambition of the correspondent. It would seem easier, +on the whole, to open a dictionary of quotations than to compose an +elaborately polite letter, requesting to know who said-- + + "Fate cannot harm me; I have dined to-day." + +It is certainly easier, and far more agreeable, to read Charles +Lamb's essays than to ask a stranger in which one of them he +discovered the author's heterodox views on encyclopaedias. It +involves no great fatigue to look up a poem of Herrick's, or a letter +of Shelley's, or a novel of Peacock's (these things are accessible +and repay enquiry), and it would be a rational and self-respecting +thing to do, instead of endeavouring to extort information (like an +intellectual footpad) from writers who are in no way called upon to +furnish it. + +One thing is sure. As long as there are people in this world whose +guiding principle is the use of other people's brains, there can be +no decline and fall of letter-writing. The correspondence which +plagued our great-grandfathers a hundred years ago, plagues their +descendants to-day. Readers of Lockhart's "Scott" will remember how +an Edinburgh minister named Brunton, who wished to compile a hymnal, +wrote to the poet Crabbe for a list of hymns; and how Crabbe (who, +albeit a clergyman, knew probably as little about hymns as any man +in England) wrote in turn to Scott, to please help him to help +Brunton; and how Scott replied in desperation that he envied the +hermit of Prague who never saw pen nor ink. How many of us have in +our day thought longingly of that blessed anchorite! Surely Mr. +Herbert Spencer must, consciously or unconsciously, have shared +Scott's sentiments, when he wrote a letter to the public press, +explaining with patient courtesy that, being old, and busy, and very +tired, it was no longer possible for him to answer all the unknown +correspondents who demanded information upon every variety of +subject. He had tried to do this for many years, but the tax was too +heavy for his strength, and he was compelled to take refuge in +silence. + +Ingenious authors and editors who ask for free copy form a class apart. +They are not pursuing knowledge for their own needs, but offering +themselves as channels through which we may gratuitously enlighten +the world. Their questions, though intimate to the verge of +indiscretion, are put in the name of humanity; and we are bidden to +confide to the public how far we indulge in the use of stimulants, +what is the nature of our belief in immortality, if--being women--we +should prefer to be men, and what incident of our lives has most +profoundly affected our careers. Reticence on our part is met by the +assurance that eminent people all over the country are hastening to +answer these queries, and that the "unique nature" of the discussion +will make it of permanent value to mankind. We are also told in +soothing accents that our replies need not exceed a few hundred words, +as the editor is nobly resolved not to infringe upon our valuable +time. + +Less commercial, but quite as importunate, are the correspondents +who belong to literary societies, and who have undertaken to read, +before these select circles, papers upon every conceivable subject, +from the Bride of the Canticle to the divorce laws of France. They +regret their own ignorance--as well they may--and blandly ask for +aid. There is no limit to demands of this character. The young +Englishwoman who wrote to Tennyson, requesting some verses which she +might read as her own at a picnic, was not more intrepid than the +American school-girl who recently asked a man of letters to permit +her to see an unpublished address, as she had heard that it dealt +with the subject of her graduation paper, and hoped it might give +her some points. It is hard to believe that the timidity natural to +youth--or which we used to think natural to youth--could be so easily +overcome; or that the routine of school work, which makes for honest +if inefficient acquirements, could leave a student still begging or +borrowing her way. + +We must in justice admit, however, that the unknown correspondent +is as ready to volunteer assistance as to demand it. He is ingenious +in criticism, and fertile in suggestions. He has inspirations in the +way of plots and topics,--like that amiable baronet, Sir John +Sinclair, who wanted Scott to write a poem on the adventures and +intrigues of a Caithness mermaiden, and who proffered him, by way +of inducement, "all the information I possess." The correspondent's +tone, when writing to humbler drudges in the field, is kind and +patronizing. He admits that he likes your books, or at least--here +is a veiled reproach--that he "has liked the earlier ones"; he +assumes, unwarrantably, that you are familiar with his favourite +authors; and he believes that it would be for you "an interesting +and congenial task" to trace the "curious connection" between +American fiction and the stock exchange. Sometimes, with thinly +veiled sarcasm, he demands that you should "enlighten his dulness," +and say _why_ you gave your book its title. If he cannot find a French +word you have used in his "excellent dictionary," he thinks it worth +while to write and tell you so. He fears you do not "wholly understand +or appreciate the minor poets of your native land"; and he protests, +more in sorrow than in anger, against certain innocent phrases with +which you have disfigured "your otherwise graceful pages." + +Now it must be an impulse not easily resisted which prompts people +to this gratuitous expression of their opinions. They take a world +of trouble which they could so easily escape; they deem it their +privilege to break down the barriers which civilization has taught +us to respect; and if they ever find themselves repaid, it is +assuredly by something remote from the gratitude of their +correspondents. Take, for example, the case of Mr. Peter Bayne, +journalist, and biographer of Martin Luther, who wrote to +Tennyson,--with whom he was unacquainted,--protesting earnestly +against a line in "Lady Clare":-- + + "'If I'm a beggar born,' she said." + +It was Mr. Bayne's opinion that such an expression was not only +exaggerated, inasmuch as the nurse was not, and never had been, a +beggar; but, coming from a child to her mother, was harsh and unfilial. +"The criticism of my heart," he wrote, "tells me that Lady Clare could +never have said that." + +Tennyson was perhaps the last man in Christendom to have accepted +the testimony of Mr. Bayne's heart-throbs. He intimated with some +asperity that he knew better than anyone else what Lady Clare _did_ +say, and he pointed out that she had just cause for resentment against +a mother who had placed her in such an embarrassing position. The +controversy is one of the drollest in literature; but what is hard +to understand is the mental attitude of a man--and a reasonably busy +man--who could attach so much importance to Lady Clare's remarks, +and who could feel himself justified in correcting them. + +Begging letters form a class apart. They represent a great and +growing industry, and they are too purposeful to illustrate the +abstract passion for correspondence. Yet marvellous things have been +done in this field. There is an ingenuity, a freshness and fertility +of device about the begging letter which lifts it often to the realms +of genius. Experienced though we all are, it has surprises in store +for every one of us. Seasoned though we are, we cannot read without +appreciation of its more daring and fantastic flights. There was, +for instance, a very imperative person who wrote to Dickens for a +donkey, and who said he would call for it the next day, as though +Dickens kept a herd of donkeys in Tavistock Square, and could always +spare one for an emergency. There was a French gentleman who wrote +to Moore, demanding a lock of Byron's hair for a young lady, who +would--so he said--die if she did not get it. This was a very +lamentable letter, and Moore was conjured, in the name of the young +lady's distracted family, to send the lock, and save her from the +grave. And there was a misanthrope who wrote to Peel that he was weary +of the ways of men (as so, no doubt, was Peel), and who requested +a hermitage in some nobleman's park, where he might live secluded +from the world. The best begging-letter writers depend upon the +element of surprise as a valuable means to their end. I knew a +benevolent old lady who, in 1885, was asked to subscribe to a fund +for the purchase of "moderate luxuries" for the French soldiers in +Madagascar. "What did you do?" I asked, when informed of the incident. +"I sent the money," was the placid reply. "I thought I might never +again have an opportunity to send money to Madagascar." + +It would be idle to deny that a word of praise, a word of thanks, +sometimes a word of criticism, have been powerful factors in the +lives of men of genius. We know how profoundly Lord Byron was affected +by the letter of a consumptive girl, written simply and soberly, +signed with initials only, seeking no notice and giving no address; +but saying in a few candid words that the writer wished before she +died to thank the poet for the rapture his poems had given her. "I +look upon such a letter," wrote Byron to Moore, "as better than a +diploma from Gottingen." We know, too, what a splendid impetus to +Carlyle was that first letter from Goethe, a letter which he +confessed seemed too wonderful to be real, and more "like a message +from fairyland." It was but a brief note after all, tepid, sensible, +and egotistical; but the magic sentence, "It may be I shall yet hear +much of you," became for years an impelling force, the kind of +prophecy which insured its own fulfilment. + +Carlyle was susceptible to praise, though few readers had the +temerity to offer it. We find him, after the publication of the +"French Revolution," writing urbanely to a young and unknown +admirer; "I do not blame your enthusiasm." But when a less +happily-minded youth sent him some suggestions for the reformation +of society, Carlyle, who could do all his own grumbling, returned +his disciple's complaints with this laconic denial: "A pack of damned +nonsense, you unfortunate fool." It sounds unkind; but we must +remember that there were six posts a day in London, that "each post +brought its batch of letters," and that nine tenths of these +letters--so Carlyle says--were from strangers, demanding autographs, +and seeking or proffering advice. One man wrote that he was +distressingly ugly, and asked what should he do about it. "So +profitable have my epistolary fellow creatures grown to me in these +years," notes the historian in his journal, "that when the postman +leaves nothing, it may well be felt as an escape." + +The most patient correspondent known to fame was Sir Walter Scott, +though Lord Byron surprises us at times by the fine quality of his +good nature. His letters are often petulant,--especially when Murray +has sent him tragedies instead of tooth-powder; but he is perhaps +the only man on record who received with perfect equanimity the +verses of an aspiring young poet, wrote him the cheerfullest of +letters, and actually invited him to breakfast. The letter is still +extant; but the verses were so little the precursor of fame that the +youth's subsequent history is to this day unknown. It was with truth +that Byron said of himself: "I am really a civil and polite person, +and do hate pain when it can be avoided." + +Scott was also civil and polite, and his heart beat kindly for every +species of bore. As a consequence, the world bestowed its tediousness +upon him, to the detriment of his happiness and health. Ingenious +jokers translated his verses into Latin, and then wrote to accuse +him of plagiarizing from Vida. Proprietors of patent medicines +offered him fabulous sums to link his fame with theirs. Modest ladies +proposed that he should publish their effusions as his own, and share +the profits. Poets demanded that he should find publishers for their +epics, and dramatists that he should find managers for their plays. +Critics pointed out to him his anachronisms, and well-intentioned +readers set him right on points of morality and law. When he was old, +and ill, and ruined, there was yet no respite from the curse of +correspondents. A year before his death he wrote dejectedly in his +journal:--"A fleece of letters which must be answered, I suppose; +all from persons--my zealous admirers, of course--who expect me to +make up whatever losses have been their lot, raise them to a desirable +rank, and stand their protector and patron. I must, they take it for +granted, be astonished at having an address from a stranger. On the +contrary, I should be astonished if one of these extravagant epistles +came from anybody who had the least title to enter into +correspondence." + +And there are people who believe, or who pretend to believe, that +fallen human nature can be purged and amended by half-rate telegrams, +and a telephone ringing in the hall. Rather let us abandon illusions, +and echo Carlyle's weary cry, when he heard the postman knocking at +his door: "Just Heavens! Does literature lead to this!" + + + + +The Benefactor + + "He is a good man who can receive a gift well."--EMERSON. + + +There is a sacredness of humility in such an admission which wins +pardon for all the unlovely things which Emerson has crowded into +a few pages upon "Gifts." Recognizing that his own goodness stopped +short of this exalted point, he pauses for a moment in his able and +bitter self-defence to pay tribute to a generosity he is too honest +to claim. After all, who but Charles Lamb ever _did_ receive gifts +well? Scott tried, to be sure. No man ever sinned less than he against +the law of kindness. But Lamb did not need to try. He had it in his +heart of gold to feel pleasure in the presents which his friends took +pleasure in giving him. The character and quality of the gifts were +not determining factors. We cannot analyze this disposition. We can +only admire it from afar. + +"I look upon it as a point of morality to be obliged to those who +endeavour to oblige me," says Sterne; and the sentiment, like most +of Sterne's sentiments, is remarkably graceful. It has all the +freshness of a principle never fagged out by practice. The rugged +fashion in which Emerson lived up to his burdensome ideals prompted +him to less engaging utterances. "It is not the office of a man to +receive gifts," he writes viciously. "How dare you give them? We wish +to be self-sustained. We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that +feeds us is in some danger of being bitten." + +Carlyle is almost as disquieting. He searches for, and consequently +finds, unworthy feelings both in the man who gives, and holds himself +to be a benefactor, and in the man who receives, and burdens himself +with a sense of obligation. He professes a stern dislike for presents, +fearing lest they should undermine his moral stability; but a man +so up in morals must have been well aware that he ran no great risk +of parting with his stock in trade. He probably hated getting what +he did not want, and finding himself expected to be grateful for it. +This is a sentiment common to lesser men than Carlyle, and as old +as the oldest gift-bearer. It has furnished food for fables, +inspiration for satirists, and cruel stories at which the +light-hearted laugh. Mr. James Payn used to tell the tale of an +advocate who unwisely saved a client from the gallows which he should +have graced; and the man, inspired by the best of motives, sent his +benefactor from the West Indies a case of pineapples in which a colony +of centipedes had bred so generously that they routed every servant +from the unfortunate lawyer's house, and dwelt hideously and +permanently in his kitchen. "A purchase is cheaper than a gift," says +a wily old Italian proverb, steeped in the wisdom of the centuries. + +The principle which prompts the selection of gifts--since selected +they all are by some one--is for the most part a mystery. I never +but once heard any reasonable solution, and that was volunteered by +an old lady who had been listening in silence to a conversation on +the engrossing subject of Christmas presents. It was a conversation +at once animated and depressing. The time was at hand when none of +us could hope to escape these tokens of regard, and the elaborate +and ingenious character of their unfitness was frankly and fairly +discussed. What baffled us was the theory of choice. Suddenly the +old lady flooded this dark problem with light by observing that she +always purchased her presents at bazaars. She said she knew they were +useless, and that nobody wanted them, but that she considered it her +duty to help the bazaars. She had the air of one conscious of +well-doing, and sure of her reward. It did not seem to occur to her +that the reward should, in justice, be passed on with the purchases. +The necessities of charitable organizations called for a sacrifice, +and, rising to the emergency, she sacrificed her friends. + +A good many years have passed over our heads since Thackeray launched +his invectives at the Christmas tributes he held in heartiest +hatred,--the books which every season brought in its train, and which +were never meant to be read. Their mission was fulfilled when they +were sent by aunt to niece, by uncle to nephew, by friend to hapless +friend. They were "gift-books" in the exclusive sense of the word. +Thackeray was wont to declare that these vapid, brightly bound +volumes played havoc with the happy homes of England, just as the +New Year bonbons played havoc with the homes of France. Perhaps, of +the two countries, France suffered less. The candy soon disappeared, +leaving only impaired digestions in its wake. The books remained to +encumber shelves, and bore humanity afresh. + + "Mol, je dis que les bonbons + Valent mieux que la raison"; + +and they are at least less permanently oppressive. "When thou makest +presents," said old John Fuller, "let them be of such things as will +last long; to the end that they may be in some sort immortal, and +may frequently refresh the memory of the receiver." But this +excellent advice--excellent for the simple and spacious age in which +it was written--presupposes the "immortal" presents to wear well. +Theologians teach us that immortality is not necessarily a blessing. + +A vast deal of ingenuity is wasted every year in evoking the +undesirable, in the careful construction of objects which burden +life. Frankenstein was a large rather than an isolated example. The +civilized world so teems with elaborate and unlovely inutilities, +with things which seem foreign to any reasonable conditions of +existence, that we are sometimes disposed to envy the savage who +wears all his simple wardrobe without being covered, and who sees +all his simple possessions in a corner of his empty hut. What pleasant +spaces meet the savage eye! What admirable vacancies soothe the +savage soul! No embroidered bag is needed to hold his sponge or his +slippers. No painted box is destined for his postal cards. No +decorated tablet waits for his laundry list. No ornate wall-pocket +yawns for his unpaid bills. He smokes without cigarette-cases. He +dances without cotillion favours. He enjoys all rational diversions, +unfretted by the superfluities with which we have weighted them. Life, +notwithstanding its pleasures, remains endurable to him. + +Above all, he does not undermine his own moral integrity by vicarious +benevolence, by helping the needy at his friend's expense. The great +principle of giving away what one does not want to keep is probably +as familiar to the savage as to his civilized, or semi-civilized +brother. That vivacious traveller, Pere Huc, tells us he has seen +a Tartar chief at dinner gravely hand over to an underling a piece +of gristle he found himself unable to masticate, and that the gift +was received with every semblance of gratitude and delight. But there +is a simple straightforwardness about an act like this which commends +it to our understanding. The Tartar did not assume the gristle to +be palatable. He did not veil his motives for parting with it. He +did not expand with the emotions of a philanthropist. And he did not +expect the Heavens to smile upon his deed. + +One word must be said in behalf of the punctilious giver, of the man +who repays a gift as scrupulously as he returns a blow. He wants to +please, but he is baffled by not knowing, and by not being sympathetic +enough to divine, what his inarticulate friend desires. And if he +does know, he may still vacillate between his friend's sense of the +becoming and his own. The "Spectator," in a mood of unwonted subtlety, +tells us that there is a "mild treachery" in giving what we feel to +be bad, because we are aware that the recipient will think it very +good. If, for example, we hold garnets to be ugly and vulgar, we must +not send them to a friend who considers them rich and splendid. "A +gift should represent common ground." + +This is so well said that it sounds like the easy thing it isn't. +Which of us has not nobly striven, and ignobly failed, to preserve +our honest purpose without challenging the taste of our friends? It +is hard to tell what people really prize. Heine begged for a button +from George Sand's trousers, and who shall say whether enthusiasm +or malice prompted the request? Mr. Oscar Browning, who as Master +at Eton must have known whereof he spoke, insisted that it was a +mistake to give a boy a well-bound book if you expected him to read +it. Yet binding plays a conspicuous part in the selection of +Christmas and birthday presents. Dr. Johnson went a step farther, +and said that nobody wanted to read _any_ book which was given to +him;--the mere fact that it was given, instead of being bought, +borrowed, or ravished from a friend's shelves, militated against its +readable qualities. Perhaps the Doctor was thinking of authors' +copies. Otherwise the remark is the most discouraging one on record. + +Yet when all the ungracious things have been said and forgotten, when +the hard old proverbs have exhausted their unwelcome wisdom, and we +have smiled wearily over the deeper cynicisms of Richelieu and +Talleyrand, where shall we turn for relief but to Emerson, who has +atoned in his own fashion for the harshness of his own words. It is +not only that he recognizes the goodness of the man who receives a +gift well; but he sees, and sees clearly, that there can be no +question between friends of giving or receiving, no possible room +for generosity or gratitude. "The gift to be true must be the flowing +of the giver unto me, correspondent to my flowing unto him. When the +waters are at a level, then my goods pass to him, and his to me. All +his are mine, all mine, his." + +Critics have been disposed to think that this is an elevation too +lofty for plain human beings to climb, an air too rarified for them +to breathe; and that it ill befitted a man who churlishly resented +the simple, stupid kindnesses of life, to take so sublime a tone, +to claim so fine a virtue. We cannot hope to scale great moral heights +by ignoring petty obligations. + +Yet Emerson does not go a step beyond Plato in his conception of the +"level waters" of friendship. He states his position lucidly, and +with a rational understanding of all that it involves. His vision +is wide enough to embrace its everlasting truth. Plato says the same +thing in simpler language. He offers his truth as self-evident, and +in no need of demonstration. When Lysis and Menexenus greet Socrates +at the gymnasia, the philosopher asks which of the two youths is the +elder. + +"'That,' said Menexenus, 'is a matter of dispute between us.' + +"'And which is the nobler? Is that also a matter of dispute?' + +"'Yes, certainly.' + +"'And another disputed point is which is the fairer?' + +"The two boys laughed. + +"'I shall not ask which is the richer, for you are friends, are you +not?' + +"'We are friends.' + +"'And friends have all things in common, so that one of you can be +no richer than the other, if you say truly that you are friends.' + +"They assented, and at that moment Menexenus was called away by some +one who came and said that the master of the gymnasia wanted him."[1] + +[Footnote 1: Lysis. Translated by Jowett.] + +This is all. To Plato's way of thinking, the situation explained +itself. The two boys could not share their beauty nor their strength, +but money was a thing to pass from hand to hand. It was not, and it +never could be, a matter for competition. The last lesson taught an +Athenian youth was the duty of outstripping his neighbour in the hard +race for wealth. + +And where shall we turn for a practical illustration of friendship, +as conceived by Emerson and Plato? Where shall we see the level waters, +the "mine is thine" which we think too exalted for plain living? No +need to search far, and no need to search amid the good and great. +It is a pleasure to find what we seek in the annals of the flagrantly +sinful, of that notorious Duke of Queensberry, "Old Q," who has been +so liberally and justly censured by Wordsworth and Burns, by Leigh +Hunt and Sir George Trevelyan, and who was, in truth, gamester, +roue,--and friend. In the last capacity he was called upon to listen +to the woes of George Selwyn, who, having lost at Newmarket more money +than he could possibly hope to pay, saw ruin staring him in the face. +There is in Selwyn's letter a note of eloquent misery. He was, save +when lulled to sleep in Parliament, a man of many words. There is +in the letter of Lord March (he had not yet succeeded to the +Queensberry title and estates) nothing but a quiet exposition of +Plato's theory of friendship. Selwyn's debts and his friend's money +are intercommunicable. The amount required has been placed that +morning at the banker's. "I depend more," writes Lord March, "upon +the continuance of our friendship than upon anything else in the +world, because I have so many reasons to know you, and I am sure I +know myself. _There will be no bankruptcy without we are bankrupt +together._" + +Here are the waters flowing on a level, flowing between two men of +the world; one of them great enough to give, without deeming himself +a benefactor, and the other good enough to receive a gift well. + + + + +The Condescension of Borrowers + +"Il n'est si riche qui quelquefois ne doibve. Il n'est si pauvre de +qui quelquefois on ne puisse emprunter."--_Pantagruel_. + + +"I lent my umbrella," said my friend, "to my cousin, Maria. I was +compelled to lend it to her because she could not, or would not, leave +my house in the rain without it. I had need of that umbrella, and +I tried to make it as plain as the amenities of language permitted +that I expected to have it returned. Maria said superciliously that +she hated to see other people's umbrellas littering the house, which +gave me a gleam of hope. Two months later I found my property in the +hands of her ten-year-old son, who was being marshalled with his +brothers and sisters to dancing-school. In the first joyful flash +of recognition I cried, 'Oswald, that is my umbrella you are +carrying!' whereupon Maria said still more superciliously than +before, 'Oh, yes, don't you remember?' (as if reproaching me for my +forgetfulness)--'you gave it to me that Saturday I lunched with you, +and it rained so heavily. The boys carry it to school. Where there +are children, you can't have too many old umbrellas at hand. They +lose them so fast.' She spoke," continued my friend impressively, +"as if she were harbouring my umbrella from pure kindness, and +because she did not like to wound my feelings by sending it back to +me. She made a virtue of giving it shelter." + +This is the arrogance which places the borrower, as Charles Lamb +discovered long ago, among the great ones of the earth, among those +whom their brethren serve. Lamb loved to contrast the "instinctive +sovereignty," the frank and open bearing of the man who borrows with +the "lean and suspicious" aspect of the man who lends. He stood lost +in admiration before the great borrowers of the world,--Alcibiades, +Falstaff, Steele, and Sheridan; an incomparable quartette, to which +might be added the shining names of William Godwin and Leigh Hunt. +All the characteristic qualities of the class were united, indeed, +in Leigh Hunt, as in no other single representative. Sheridan was +an unrivalled companion,--could talk seven hours without making even +Byron yawn. Steele was the most lovable of spendthrifts. Lending to +these men was but a form of investment. They paid in a coinage of +their own. But Leigh Hunt combined in the happiest manner a readiness +to extract favours with a confirmed habit of never acknowledging the +smallest obligation for them. He is a perfect example of the +condescending borrower, of the man who permits his friends, as a +pleasure to themselves, to relieve his necessities, and who knows +nothing of gratitude or loyalty. + +It would be interesting to calculate the amount of money which Hunt's +friends and acquaintances contributed to his support in life. +Shelley gave him at one time fourteen hundred pounds, an amount which +the poet could ill spare; and, when he had no more to give, wrote +in misery of spirit to Byron, begging a loan for his friend, and +promising to repay it, as he feels tolerably sure that Hunt never +will. Byron, generous at first, wearied after a time of his position +in Hunt's commissariat (it was like pulling a man out of a river, +he wrote to Moore, only to see him jump in again), and coldly withdrew. +His withdrawal occasioned inconvenience, and has been sharply +criticised. Hunt, says Sir Leslie Stephen, loved a cheerful giver, +and Byron's obvious reluctance struck him as being in bad taste. His +biographers, one and all, have sympathized with this point of view. +Even Mr. Frederick Locker, from whom one would have expected a +different verdict, has recorded his conviction that Hunt had +probably been "sorely tried" by Byron. + +It is characteristic of the preordained borrower, of the man who +simply fulfils his destiny in life, that not his obligations only, +but his anxieties and mortifications are shouldered by other men. +Hunt was care-free and light-hearted; but there is a note akin to +anguish in Shelley's petition to Byron, and in his shamefaced +admission that he is himself too poor to relieve his friend's +necessities. The correspondence of William Godwin's eminent +contemporaries teem with projects to alleviate Godwin's needs. His +debts were everybody's affair but his own. Sir James Mackintosh wrote +to Rogers in the autumn of 1815, suggesting that Byron might be the +proper person to pay them. Rogers, enchanted with the idea, wrote +to Byron, proposing that the purchase money of "The Siege of Corinth" +be devoted to this good purpose. Byron, with less enthusiasm, but +resigned, wrote to Murray, directing him to forward the six hundred +pounds to Godwin; and Murray, having always the courage of his +convictions, wrote back, flatly refusing to do anything of the kind. +In the end, Byron used the money to pay his own debts, thereby +disgusting everybody but his creditors. + +Six years later, however, we find him contributing to a fund which +tireless philanthropists were raising for Godwin's relief. On this +occasion all men of letters, poor as well as rich, were pressed into +active service. Even Lamb, who had nothing of his own, wrote to the +painter, Haydon, who had not a penny in the world, and begged him +to beg Mrs. Coutts to pay Godwin's rent. He also confessed that he +had sent "a very respectful letter"--on behalf of the rent--to Sir +Walter Scott; and he explained naively that Godwin did not concern +himself personally in the matter, because he "left all to his +Committee,"--a peaceful thing to do. + +But how did Godwin come to have a "committee" to raise money for him, +when other poor devils had to raise it for themselves, or do without? +He was not well-beloved. On the contrary, he bored all whom he did +not affront. He was not grateful. On the contrary, he held gratitude +to be a vice, as tending to make men "grossly partial" to those who +have befriended them. His condescension kept pace with his demands. +After his daughter's flight with Shelley, he expressed his just +resentment by refusing to accept Shelley's cheque for a thousand +pounds unless it were made payable to a third party, unless he could +have the money without the formality of an acceptance. Like the great +lords of Picardy, who had the "right of credit" from their loyal +subjects, Godwin claimed his dues from every chance acquaintance. +Crabb Robinson introduced him one evening to a gentleman named Rough. +The next day both Godwin and Rough called upon their host, each man +expressing his regard for the other, and each asking Robinson if he +thought the other would be a likely person to lend him fifty pounds. + +There are critics who hold that Haydon excelled all other borrowers +known to fame; but his is not a career upon which an admirer of the +art can look with pleasure. Haydon's debts hunted him like hounds, +and if he pursued borrowing as a means of livelihood,--more lucrative +than painting pictures which nobody would buy,--it was only because +no third avocation presented itself as a possibility. He is not to +be compared for a moment with a true expert like Sheridan, who +borrowed for borrowing's sake, and without any sordid motive +connected with rents or butchers' bills. Haydon would, indeed, part +with his money as readily as if it belonged to him. He would hear +an "inward voice" in church, urging him to give his last sovereign; +and, having obeyed this voice "with as pure a feeling as ever animated +a human heart," he had no resource but immediately to borrow another. +It would have been well for him if he could have followed on such +occasions the memorable example of Lady Cook, who was so impressed +by a begging sermon that she borrowed a sovereign from Sydney Smith +to put into the offertory; and--the gold once between her +fingers--found herself equally unable to give it or to return it, +so went home, a pound richer for her charitable impulse. + +Haydon, too, would rob Peter to pay Paul, and rob Paul without paying +Peter; but it was all after an intricate and troubled fashion of his +own. On one occasion he borrowed ten pounds from Webb. Seven pounds +he used to satisfy another creditor, from whom, on the strength of +this payment, he borrowed ten pounds more to meet an impending bill. +It sounds like a particularly confusing game; but it was a game played +in dead earnest, and without the humorous touch which makes the charm +of Lady Cook's, or of Sheridan's methods. Haydon would have been +deeply grateful to his benefactors, had he not always stood in need +of favours to come. Sheridan might perchance have been grateful, +could he have remembered who his benefactors were. He laid the world +under tribute; and because he had an aversion to opening his +mail,--an aversion with which it is impossible not to +sympathize,--he frequently made no use of the tribute when it was +paid. Moore tells us that James Wesley once saw among a pile of papers +on Sheridan's desk an unopened letter of his own, containing a +ten-pound note, which he had lent Sheridan some weeks before. Wesley +quietly took possession of the letter and the money, thereby raising +a delicate, and as yet unsettled, question of morality. Had he a right +to those ten pounds because they had once been his, or were they not +rather Sheridan's property, destined in the natural and proper order +of things never to be returned. + +Yet men, even men of letters, have been known to pay their debts, +and to restore borrowed property. Moore paid Lord Lansdowne every +penny of the generous sum advanced by that nobleman after the +defalcation of Moore's deputy in Bermuda. Dr. Johnson paid back ten +pounds after a lapse of twenty years,--a pleasant shock to the +lender,--and on his death-bed (having fewer sins than most of us to +recall) begged Sir Joshua Reynolds to forgive him a trifling loan. +It was the too honest return of a pair of borrowed sheets (unwashed) +which first chilled Pope's friendship for Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. +That excellent gossip, Miss Letitia Matilda Hawkins, who stands +responsible for this anecdote, lamented all her life that her father, +Sir John Hawkins, could never remember which of the friends borrowed +and which lent the offending sheets; but it is a point easily settled +in our minds. Pope was probably the last man in Christendom to have +been guilty of such a misdemeanour, and Lady Mary was certainly the +last woman in Christendom to have been affronted by it. Like Dr. +Johnson, she had "no passion for clean linen." + +Coleridge, though he went through life leaning his inert weight on +other men's shoulders, did remember in some mysterious fashion to +return the books he borrowed, enriched often, as Lamb proudly records, +with marginal notes which tripled their value. His conduct in this +regard was all the more praiseworthy inasmuch as the cobweb statutes +which define books as personal property have never met with literal +acceptance. Lamb's theory that books belong with the highest +propriety to those who understand them best (a theory often advanced +in defence of depredations which Lamb would have scorned to commit), +was popular before the lamentable invention of printing. The library +of Lucullus was, we are told, "open to all," and it would be +interesting to know how many precious manuscripts remained +ultimately in the great patrician's villa. + +Richard Heber, that most princely of collectors, so well understood +the perils of his position that he met them bravely by buying three +copies of every book,--one for show, one for use, and one for the +service of his friends. The position of the show-book seems rather +melancholy, but perhaps, in time, it replaced the borrowed volume. +Heber's generosity has been nobly praised by Scott, who contrasts +the hard-heartedness of other bibliophiles, those "gripple +niggards" who preferred holding on to their treasures, with his +friend's careless liberality. + + "Thy volumes, open as thy heart, + Delight, amusement, science, art, + To every ear and eye impart. + Yet who, of all who thus employ them, + Can, like the owner's self, enjoy them?" + +The "gripple niggards" might have pleaded feebly in their own behalf +that they could not all afford to spend, like Heber, a hundred +thousand pounds in the purchase of books; and that an occasional +reluctance to part with some hard-earned, hard-won volume might be +pardonable in one who could not hope to replace it. Lamb's books were +the shabbiest in Christendom; yet how keen was his pang when Charles +Kemble carried off the letters of "that princely woman, the thrice +noble Margaret Newcastle," an "illustrious folio" which he well knew +Kemble would never read. How bitterly he bewailed his rashness in +extolling the beauties of Sir Thomas Browne's "Urn Burial" to a guest +who was so moved by this eloquence that he promptly borrowed the +volume. "But so," sighed Lamb, "have I known a foolish lover to praise +his mistress in the presence of a rival more qualified to carry her +off than himself." + +Johnson cherished a dim conviction that because he read, and Garrick +did not, the proper place for Garrick's books was on +his--Johnson's--bookshelves; a point which could never be settled +between the two friends, and which came near to wrecking their +friendship. Garrick loved books with the chilly yet imperative love +of the collector. Johnson loved them as he loved his soul. Garrick +took pride in their sumptuousness, in their immaculate, virginal +splendour. Johnson gathered them to his heart with scant regard for +outward magnificence, for the glories of calf and vellum. Garrick +bought books. Johnson borrowed them. Each considered that he had a +prior right to the objects of his legitimate affection. We, looking +back with softened hearts, are fain to think that we should have held +our volumes doubly dear if they had lain for a time by Johnson's +humble hearth, if he had pored over them at three o'clock in the +morning, and had left sundry tokens--grease-spots and spatterings +of snuff--upon many a spotless page. But it is hardly fair to censure +Garrick for not dilating with these emotions. + +Johnson's habit of flinging the volumes which displeased him into +remote and dusty corners of the room was ill calculated to inspire +confidence, and his powers of procrastination were never more marked +than in the matter of restoring borrowed books. We know from +Cradock's "Memoirs" how that gentleman, having induced Lord +Harborough to lend him a superb volume of manuscripts, containing +the poems of James the First, proceeded to re-lend this priceless +treasure to Johnson. When it was not returned--as of course it was +not--he wrote an urgent letter, and heard to his dismay that Johnson +was not only unable to find the book, but that he could not remember +having ever received it. The despairing Cradock applied to all his +friends for help; and George Steevens, who had a useful habit of +looking about him, suggested that a sealed packet, which he had +several times observed lying under Johnson's ponderous inkstand, +might possibly contain the lost manuscript. Even with this ray of +hope for guidance, it never seemed to occur to any one to storm +Johnson's fortress, and rescue the imprisoned volume; but after the +Doctor's death, two years later, Cradock made a formal application +to the executors; and Lord Harborough's property was discovered +under the inkstand, unopened, unread, and consequently, as by a happy +miracle, uninjured. + +Such an incident must needs win pardon for Garrick's churlishness +in defending his possessions. "The history of book-collecting," says +a caustic critic, "is a history relieved but rarely by acts of pure +and undiluted unselfishness." This is true, but are there not virtues +so heroic that plain human nature can ill aspire to compass them? + +There is something piteous in the futile efforts of reluctant lenders +to save their property from depredation. They place their reliance +upon artless devices which never yet were known to stay the +marauder's hand. They have their names and addresses engraved on +foolish little plates, which, riveted to their umbrellas, will, they +think, suffice to insure the safety of these useful articles. As well +might the border farmer have engraved his name and address on the +collars of his grazing herds, in the hope that the riever would +respect this symbol of authority. The history of book-plates is +largely the history of borrower versus lender. The orderly mind is +wont to believe that a distinctive mark, irrevocably attached to +every volume, will insure permanent possession. Mr. Gosse, for +example, has expressed a touching faith in the efficacy of the +book-plate. He has but to explain that he "makes it a rule" never +to lend a volume thus decorated, and the would-be borrower bows to +this rule as to a decree of fate. "To have a book-plate," he joyfully +observes, "gives a collector great serenity and confidence." + +Is it possible that the world has grown virtuous without our +observing it? Can it be that the old stalwart race of book-borrowers, +those "spoilers of the symmetry of shelves," are foiled by so +childish an expedient? Imagine Dr. Johnson daunted by a scrap of +pasted paper! Or Coleridge, who seldom went through the formality +of asking leave, but borrowed armfuls of books in the absence of their +legitimate owners! How are we to account for the presence of +book-plates--quite a pretty collection at times--on the shelves of +men who possess no such toys of their own? When I was a girl I had +access to a small and well-chosen library (not greatly exceeding +Montaigne's fourscore volumes), each book enriched with an +appropriate device of scaly dragon guarding the apples of Hesperides. +Beneath the dragon was the motto (Johnsonian in form if not in +substance), "Honour and Obligation demand the prompt return of +borrowed Books." These words ate into my innocent soul, and lent a +pang to the sweetness of possession. Doubts as to the exact nature +of "prompt return" made me painfully uncertain as to whether a month, +a week, or a day were the limit which Honour and Obligation had set +for me. But other and older borrowers were less sensitive, and I have +reason to believe that--books being a rarity in that little Southern +town--most of the volumes were eventually absorbed by the gaping +shelves of neighbours. Perhaps even now (their generous owner long +since dead) these worn copies of Boswell, of Elia, of Herrick, and +Moore, may still stand forgotten in dark and dusty corners, like gems +that magpies hide. + +It is vain to struggle with fate, with the elements, and with the +borrower; it is folly to claim immunity from a fundamental law, to +boast of our brief exemption from the common lot. "Lend therefore +cheerfully, O man ordained to lend. When thou seest the proper +authority coming, meet it smilingly, as it were halfway." Resistance +to an appointed force is but a futile waste of strength. + + + + +The Grocer's Cat + +"Of all animals, the cat alone attains to the Contemplative +Life."--ANDREW LANG. + + +The grocer's window is not one of those gay and glittering enclosures +which display only the luxuries of the table, and which give us the +impression that there are favoured classes subsisting exclusively +upon Malaga raisins, Russian chocolates, and Nuremberg gingerbread. +It is an unassuming window, filled with canned goods and breakfast +foods, wrinkled prunes devoid of succulence, and boxes of starch and +candles. Its only ornament is the cat, and his beauty is more apparent +to the artist than to the fancier. His splendid stripes, black and +grey and tawny, are too wide for noble lineage. He has a broad +benignant brow, like Benjamin Franklin's; but his brooding eyes, +golden, unfathomable, deny benignancy. He is large and sleek,--the +grocery mice must be many, and of an appetizing fatness,--and I +presume he devotes his nights to the pleasures of the chase. His days +are spent in contemplation, in a serene and wonderful stillness, +which isolates him from the bustling vulgarities of the street. + +Past the window streams the fretful crowd; in and out of the shop +step loud-voiced customers. The cat is as remote as if he were +drowsing by the waters of the Nile. Pedestrians pause to admire him, +and many of them endeavour, with well-meant but futile familiarity, +to win some notice in return. They tap on the window pane, and say, +"Halloo, Pussy!" He does not turn his head, nor lift his lustrous +eyes. They tap harder, and with more ostentatious friendliness. The +stone cat of Thebes could not pay less attention. It is difficult +for human beings to believe that their regard can be otherwise than +flattering to an animal; but I did see one man intelligent enough +to receive this impression. He was a decent and a good-tempered young +person, and he had beaten a prolonged tattoo on the glass with the +handle of his umbrella, murmuring at the same time vague words of +cajolery. Then, as the cat remained motionless, absorbed in revery, +and seemingly unconscious of his unwarranted attentions, he turned +to me, a new light dawning in his eyes. "Thinks itself some," he said, +and I nodded acquiescence. As well try to patronize the Sphinx as +to patronize a grocer's cat. + +Now, surely this attitude on the part of a small and helpless beast, +dependent upon our bounty for food and shelter, and upon our sense +of equity for the right to live, is worthy of note, and, to the +generous mind, is worthy of respect. Yet there are people who most +ungenerously resent it. They say the cat is treacherous and +ungrateful, by which they mean that she does not relish unsolicited +fondling, and that, like Mr. Chesterton, she will not recognize +imaginary obligations. If we keep a cat because there are mice in +our kitchen or rats in our cellar, what claim have we to gratitude? +If we keep a cat for the sake of her beauty, and because our hearth +is but a poor affair without her, she repays her debt with interest +when she dozes by our fire. She is the most decorative creature the +domestic world can show. She harmonizes with the kitchen's homely +comfort, and with the austere seclusion of the library. She gratifies +our sense of fitness and our sense of distinction, if we chance to +possess these qualities. Did not Isabella d' Este, Marchioness of +Mantua, and the finest exponent of distinction in her lordly age, +send far and wide for cats to grace her palace? Did she not instruct +her agents to make especial search through the Venetian convents, +where might be found the deep-furred pussies of Syria and Thibet? +Alas for the poor nuns, whose cherished pets were snatched away to +gratify the caprice of a great and grasping lady, who habitually +coveted all that was beautiful in the world. + +The cat seldom invites affection, and still more seldom responds to +it. A well-bred tolerance is her nearest approach to demonstration. +The dog strives with pathetic insistence to break down the barriers +between his intelligence and his master's, to understand and to be +understood. The wise cat cherishes her isolation, and permits us to +play but a secondary part in her solitary and meditative life. Her +intelligence, less facile than the dog's, and far less highly +differentiated, owes little to our tutelage; her character has not +been moulded by our hands. The changing centuries have left no mark +upon her; and, from a past inconceivably remote, she has come down +to us, a creature self-absorbed and self-communing, undisturbed by +our feverish activity, a dreamer of dreams, a lover of the mysteries +of night. + +And yet a friend. No one who knows anything about the cat will deny +her capacity for friendship. Rationally, without enthusiasm, +without illusions, she offers us companionship on terms of equality. +She will not come when she is summoned,--unless the summons be for +dinner,--but she will come of her own sweet will, and bear us company +for hours, sleeping contentedly in her armchair, or watching with +half-shut eyes the quiet progress of our work. A lover of routine, +she expects to find us in the same place at the same hour every day; +and when her expectations are fulfilled (cats have some secret method +of their own for telling time), she purrs approval of our punctuality. +What she detests are noise, confusion, people who bustle in and out +of rooms, and the unpardonable intrusions of the housemaid. On those +unhappy days when I am driven from my desk by the iron determination +of this maid to "clean up," my cat is as comfortless as I am. +Companions in exile, we wander aimlessly to and fro, lamenting our +lost hours. I cannot explain to Lux that the fault is none of mine, +and I am sure that she holds me to blame. + +There is something indescribably sweet in the quiet, self-respecting +friendliness of my cat, in her marked predilection for my society. +The absence of exuberance on her part, and the restraint I put upon +myself, lend an element of dignity to our intercourse. Assured that +I will not presume too far on her good nature, that I will not indulge +in any of those gross familiarities, those boisterous gambols which +delight the heart of a dog, Lux yields herself more and more passively +to my persuasions. She will permit an occasional caress, and +acknowledge it with a perfunctory purr. She will manifest a +patronizing interest in my work, stepping sedately among my papers, +and now and then putting her paw with infinite deliberation on the +page I am writing, as though the smear thus contributed spelt, "Lux, +her mark," and was a reward of merit. But she never curls herself +upon my desk, never usurps the place sacred to the memory of a far +dearer cat. Some invisible influence restrains her. When her tour +of inspection is ended, she returns to her chair by my side, +stretching herself luxuriously on her cushions, and watching with +steady, sombre stare the inhibited spot, and the little grey phantom +which haunts my lonely hours by right of my inalienable love. + +Lux is a lazy cat, wedded to a contemplative life. She cares little +for play, and nothing for work,--the appointed work of cats. The +notion that she has a duty to perform, that she owes service to the +home which shelters her, that only those who toil are worthy of their +keep, has never entered her head. She is content to drink the cream +of idleness, and she does this in a spirit of condescension, +wonderful to behold. The dignified distaste with which she surveys +a dinner not wholly to her liking, carries confusion to the hearts +of her servitors. It is as though Lucullus, having ordered Neapolitan +peacock, finds himself put off with nightingales' tongues. + +For my own part, I like to think that my beautiful and urbane +companion is not a midnight assassin. Her profound and soulless +indifference to mice pleases me better than it pleases my household. +From an economic point of view, Lux is not worth her salt. Huxley's +cat, be it remembered, was never known to attack anything larger and +fiercer than a butterfly. "I doubt whether he has the heart to kill +a mouse," wrote the proud possessor of this prodigy; "but I saw him +catch and eat the first butterfly of the season, and I trust that +the germ of courage thus manifested may develop with years into +efficient mousing." + +Even Huxley was disposed to take a utilitarian view of cathood. Even +Cowper, who owed to the frolics of his kitten a few hours' respite +from melancholy, had no conception that his adult cat could do better +service than slay rats. "I have a kitten, my dear," he wrote to Lady +Hesketh, "the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin. +Her gambols are incredible, and not to be described. She tumbles head +over heels several times together. She lays her cheek to the ground, +and humps her back at you with an air of most supreme disdain. From +this posture she rises to dance on her hind feet, an exercise which +she performs with all the grace imaginable; and she closes these +various exhibitions with a loud smack of her lips, which, for want +of greater propriety of expression, we call spitting. But, though +all cats spit, no cat ever produced such a sound as she does. In point +of size, she is likely to be a kitten always, being extremely small +for her age; but time, that spoils all things, will, I suppose, make +her also a cat. You will see her, I hope, before that melancholy +period shall arrive; for no wisdom that she may gain by experience +and reflection hereafter will compensate for the loss of her present +hilarity. She is dressed in a tortoiseshell suit, and I know that +you will delight in her." + +Had Cowper been permitted to live more with kittens, and less with +evangelical clergymen, his hours of gayety might have outnumbered +his hours of gloom. Cats have been known to retain in extreme old +age the "hilarity" which the sad poet prized. Nature has thoughtfully +provided them with one permanent plaything; and Mr. Frederick Locker +vouches for a light-hearted old Tom who, at the close of a long and +ill-spent life, actually squandered his last breath in the pursuit +of his own elusive tail. But there are few of us who would care to +see the monumental calm of our fireside sphinx degenerate into senile +sportiveness. Better far the measured slowness of her pace, the +superb immobility of her repose. To watch an ordinary cat move +imperceptibly and with a rhythmic waving of her tail through a +doorway (while we are patiently holding open the door), is like +looking at a procession. With just such deliberate dignity, in just +such solemn state, the priests of Ra filed between the endless rows +of pillars into the sunlit temple court. + +The cat is a freebooter. She draws no nice distinctions between a +mouse in the wainscot, and a canary swinging in its gilded cage. Her +traducers, indeed, have been wont to intimate that her preference +is for the forbidden quarry; but this is one of many libellous +accusations. The cat, though she has little sympathy with our vapid +sentiment, can be taught that a canary is a privileged nuisance, +immune from molestation. The bird's shrill notes jar her sensitive +nerves. She abhors noise, and a canary's pipe is the most piercing +and persistent of noises, welcome to that large majority of mankind +which prefers sound of any kind to silence. Moreover, a cage presents +just the degree of hindrance to tempt a cat's agility. That Puss +habitually refrains from ridding the household of canaries is proof +of her innate reasonableness, of her readiness to submit her finer +judgment and more delicate instincts to the common caprices of +humanity. + +As for wild birds, the robins and wrens and thrushes which are +predestined prey, there is only one way to save them, the way which +Archibald Douglas took to save the honour of Scotland,--"bell the +cat." A good-sized sleigh-bell, if she be strong enough to bear it, +a bunch of little bells, if she be small and slight,--and the +pleasures of the chase are over. One little bell is of no avail, for +she learns to move with such infinite precaution that it does not +ring until she springs, and then it rings too late. There is an +element of cruelty in depriving the cat of sport, but from the bird's +point of view the scheme works to perfection. Of course rats and mice +are as safe as birds from the claws of a belled cat, but, if we are +really humane, we will not regret their immunity. + +The boasted benevolence of man is, however, a purely superficial +emotion. What am I to think of a friend who anathematizes the family +cat for devouring a nest of young robins, and then tells me exultingly +that the same cat has killed twelve moles in a fortnight. To a pitiful +heart, the life of a little mole is as sacred as the life of a little +robin. To an artistic eye, the mole in his velvet coat is handsomer +than the robin, which is at best a bouncing, bourgeois sort of bird, +a true suburbanite, with all the defects of his class. But my friend +has no mercy on the mole because he destroys her garden,--her garden +which she despoils every morning, gathering its fairest blossoms to +droop and wither in her crowded rooms. To wax compassionate over a +bird, and remain hard as flint to a beast, is possible only to +humanity. The cat, following her predatory instincts, is at once more +logical and less ruthless, because the question of property does not +distort her vision. She has none of the vices of civilization. + + "Cats I scorn, who, sleek and fat, + Shiver at a Norway rat. + Rough and hardy, bold and free, + Be the cat that's made for me; + He whose nervous paw can take + My lady's lapdog by the neck, + With furious hiss attack the hen, + And snatch a chicken from the pen." + +So sang Dr. Erasmus Darwin's intrepid pussy (a better poet than her +master) to the cat of Miss Anna Seward, surely the last lady in all +England to have encouraged such lawlessness on the part of +a--presumably--domestic animal. + +For the cat's domesticity is at best only a presumption. It is one +of life's ironical adjustments that the creature who fits so +harmoniously into the family group should be alien to its influences, +and independent of its cramping conditions. She seems made for the +fireside she adorns, and where she has played her part for centuries. +Lamb, delightedly recording his "observations on cats," sees only +their homely qualities. "Put 'em on a rug before the fire, they wink +their eyes up, and listen to the kettle, and then purr, which is +_their_ music." The hymns which Shelley loved were sung by the +roaring wind, the hissing kettle, and the kittens purring by his +hearth. Heine's cat, curled close to the glowing embers, purred a +soft accompaniment to the rhythms pulsing in his brain; but he at +least, being a German, was not deceived by this specious show of +impeccability. He knew that when the night called, his cat obeyed +the summons, abandoning the warm fire for the hard-frozen snow, and +the innocent companionship of a poet for the dancing of witches on +the hill-tops. + +The same grace of understanding--more common in the sixteenth than +in the nineteenth century--made the famous Milanese physician, +Jerome Cardan, abandon his students at the University of Pavia, in +obedience to the decision of his cat. "In the year 1552," he writes +with becoming gravity, "having left in the house a little cat of +placid and domestic habits, she jumped upon my table, and tore at +my public lectures; yet my Book of Fate she touched not, though it +was the more exposed to her attacks. I gave up my chair, nor returned +to it for eight years." Oh, wise physician, to discern so clearly +that "placid and domestic habits" were but a cloak for mysteries too +deep to fathom, for warnings too pregnant to be disregarded. + +The vanity of man revolts from the serene indifference of the cat. +He is forever lauding the dog, not only for its fidelity, which is +a beautiful thing, but for its attitude of humility and abasement. +A distinguished American prelate has written some verses on his dog, +in which he assumes that, to the animal's eyes, he is as God,--a being +whose word is law, and from whose sovereign hand flow all life's +countless benefactions. Another complacent enthusiast describes +_his_ dog as sitting motionless in his presence, "at once tranquil +and attentive, as a saint should be in the presence of God. He is +happy with the happiness which we perhaps shall never know, since +it springs from the smile and the approval of a life incomparably +higher than his own." + +Of course, if we are going to wallow in idolatry like this, we do +well to choose the dog, and not the cat, to play the worshipper's +part. I am not without a suspicion that the dog is far from feeling +the rapture and the reverence which we so delightedly ascribe to him. +What is there about any one of us to awaken such sentiments in the +breast of an intelligent animal? We have taught him our vices, and +he fools us to the top of our bent. The cat, however, is equally free +from illusions and from hypocrisy. If we aspire to a petty +omnipotence, she, for one, will pay no homage at our shrine. +Therefore has her latest and greatest defamer, Maeterlinck, branded +her as ungrateful and perfidious. The cat of "The Blue Bird" fawns +and flatters, which is something no real cat was ever known to do. +When and where did M. Maeterlinck encounter an obsequious cat? That +the wise little beast should resent Tyltyl's intrusion into the +ancient realms of night, is conceivable, and that, unlike the dog, +she should see nothing godlike in a masterful human boy, is hardly +a matter for regret; but the most subtle of dramatists should better +understand the most subtle of animals, and forbear to rank her as +man's enemy because she will not be man's dupe. Rather let us turn +back and learn our lesson from Montaigne, serenely playing with his +cat as friend to friend, for thus, and thus only, shall we enjoy the +sweets of her companionship. If we want an animal to prance on its +hind legs, and, with the over-faithful Tylo, cry out, "little god, +little god," at every blundering step we take; if we are so +constituted that we feel the need of being worshipped by something +or somebody, we must feed our vanity as best we can with the society +of dogs and men. The grocer's cat, enthroned on the grocer's +starch-box, is no fitting friend for us. + +As a matter of fact, all cats and kittens, whether royal Persians +or of the lowliest estate, resent patronage, jocoseness (which they +rightly hold to be in bad taste), and demonstrative +affection,--those lavish embraces which lack delicacy and reserve. +This last prejudice they carry sometimes to the verge of unkindness, +eluding the caresses of their friends, and wounding the spirits of +those who love them best. The little eight-year-old English girl who +composed the following lines, when smarting from unrequited +affection, had learned pretty much all there is to know concerning +the capricious nature of cats:-- + + "Oh, Selima shuns my kisses! + Oh, Selima hates her missus! + I never did meet + With a cat so sweet, + Or a cat so cruel as this is." + +In such an instance I am disposed to think that Selima's coldness +was ill-judged. No discriminating pussy would have shunned the +kisses of such an enlightened little girl. But I confess to the +pleasure with which I have watched other Selimas extricate +themselves from well-meant but vulgar familiarities. I once saw a +small black-and-white kitten playing with a judge, who, not +unnaturally, conceived that he was playing with the kitten. For a +while all went well. The kitten pranced and paddled, fixing her +gleaming eyes upon the great man's smirking countenance, and pursued +his knotted handkerchief so swiftly that she tumbled head over heels, +giddy with her own rapid evolutions. Then the judge, being but human, +and ignorant of the wide gap which lies between a cat's standard of +good taste and the lenient standard of the court-room, ventured upon +one of those doubtful pleasantries which a few pussies permit to +privileged friends, but which none of the race ever endure from +strangers. He lifted the kitten by the tail until only her forepaws +touched the rug, which she clutched desperately, uttering a loud +protesting mew. She looked so droll in her helplessness and wrath +that several members of the household (her own household, which +should have known better) laughed outright,--a shameful thing to do. + +Here was a social crisis. A little cat of manifestly humble origin, +with only an innate sense of propriety to oppose to a coarse-minded +magistrate, and a circle of mocking friends. The judge, +imperturbably obtuse, dropped the kitten on the rug, and prepared +to resume their former friendly relations. The kitten did not run +away, she did not even walk away; that would have been an admission +of defeat. She sat down very slowly, as if first searching for a +particular spot in the intricate pattern of the rug, turned her back +upon her former playmate, faced her false friends, and tucked her +outraged tail carefully out of sight. Her aspect was that of a cat +alone in a desert land, brooding over the mystery of her nine lives. +In vain the handkerchief was trailed seductively past her little nose, +in vain her contrite family spoke words of sweetness and repentance. +She appeared as aloof from her surroundings as if she had been wafted +to Arabia; and presently began to wash her face conscientiously and +methodically, with the air of one who finds solitude better than the +companionship of fools. Only when the judge had put his silly +handkerchief into his pocket, and had strolled into the library under +the pretence of hunting for a book which he had never left there, +did the kitten close her eyes, lower her obdurate little head, and +purr herself tranquilly to sleep. + +A few years afterwards I was permitted to witness another silent +combat, another signal victory. This time the cat was, I grieve to +say, a member of a troupe of performing animals, exhibited at the +Folies-Bergere in Paris. Her fellow actors, poodles and monkeys, +played their parts with relish and a sense of fun. The cat, a thing +apart, condescended to leap twice through a hoop, and to balance +herself very prettily on a large rubber ball. She then retired to +the top of a ladder, made a deft and modest toilet, and composed +herself for slumber. Twice the trainer spoke to her persuasively, +but she paid no heed, and evinced no further interest in him nor in +his entertainment. Her time for condescension was past. + +The next day I commented on the cat's behaviour to some friends who +had also been to the Folies-Bergere on different nights. "But," said +the first friend, "the evening I went, that cat did wonderful things; +came down the ladder on her ball, played the fiddle, and stood on +her head." + +"Really," said the second friend. "Well, the night _I_ went, she did +nothing at all except cuff one of the monkeys that annoyed her. She +just sat on the ladder, and watched the performance. I presumed she +was there by way of decoration." + +All honour to the cat, who, when her little body is enslaved, can +still preserve the freedom of her soul. The dogs and the monkeys +obeyed their master; but the cat, like Montaigne's happier pussy long +ago, had "her time to begin or to refuse," and showman and audience +waited upon her will. + + + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Americans and Others, by Agnes Repplier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICANS AND OTHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 16722.txt or 16722.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/7/2/16722/ + +Produced by Ron Swanson + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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