EXPRESSION

In the chapter on the nose reference was made to our disposition to

seize upon any sensation experienced inside the mouth and label it as a

“taste,” whereas psychologic analysis shows that in most cases the sense

of smell (excited during _exhalation_) has more to do with our enjoyment

of food than taste; and that the nerves of temperature and touch

likewise come into play in the case of peppermint, pungent condiments,

alcohol, etc. We are also in the habit of including in the term

“feeling” or “touch” the entirely distinct sensations of temperature,

tickling, and some other sensations, to the separate study of which

physiologists are only now beginning to devote special attention.

Similarly with the eyes. Being the most fascinating part of the face, on

which we habitually fix our attention while talking, they are credited

with various expressions that are really referable to other features,

which we rapidly scan and then transfer their language to the eyes. Nor

is this all. Most persons habitually attribute to the varying lustre of

the eyeball diverse “soulful” expressions which, as physiologic analysis

shows, are due to the _movements_ of the eyeball, the eyebrows, and

lashes. The poets, who have said so many beautiful things about the

eyes, are rarely sufficiently definite to lay themselves open to the

charge of inaccuracy. But there can be little doubt that the popular

opinion concerning the all-importance of the eyeball is embodied in such

expressions as these: “Love, anger, pride, and avarice all visibly move

in those little orbs” (Addison). “Her eye in silence has a speech which

eye best understands” (Southwell). “An eye like Mars to threaten or

command.” “The heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, ’gainst which the world

cannot hold argument.” “Behold the window of my heart, mine eye.”

“Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages.” “For

shame, lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.” “If mine eyes can

wound, now let them kill thee.” “There’s an eye wounds like a leaden

sword.” The last three of these Shaksperian lines were evidently echoing

in Emerson’s mind when he wrote that “Some eyes threaten like a loaded

and levelled pistol, and others are as insulting as hissing or kicking;

some have no more expression than blueberries, while others as deep as a

well which you can fall into.” “Glances are the first _billets-doux_ of

love,” says Ninon de L’Enclos.

In order to make perfectly clear the mechanism by which the eye becomes

an organ of speech, it is advisable to consider separately these six

factors, which are included in it—(_a_) Lustre; (_b_) Colour of the

Iris; (_c_) Movements of the Iris or Pupil; (_d_) Movements of the

Eyeball; (_e_) Movements of the Eyelids; (_f_) Movements of the

Eyebrows.

(_a_) _Lustre._—"The physiological problem whether the surface of the

eyeball, independent of the muscles that cover and surround it, can

express emotion, a near study of the American girl seems to answer quite

in the affirmative." Dr. G. M. Beard remarks, without, however,

endeavouring to specify what emotions the surface of the eyeball

expresses, or in what manner it does express them.

Dr. Magnus, on the other hand, who has made a more profound study of

this question than any other writer, is emphatic in his conviction that

“the eyeball takes no active part in the expression of emotions, which

is entirely accomplished by the muscles and soft parts surrounding it.”

His view is supported by the fact that although some of the ancient

sculptors endeavoured by the use of jewels or by chiselling semi-lunar

or other grooves into the eyeball to simulate its lustre by means of

shadows, yet as a rule sculptors and painters strangely neglect the

careful elaboration of the eyeball; and in the Greek works of the best

period, including those of Phidias, the eyeball was left smooth and

unadorned, the artists relying especially on the careful chiselling of

the lids and brows for the attainment of the particular characteristic

expression desired.

Nevertheless Dr. Magnus goes too far in denying that ocular lustre can

be directly expressive of mental states without the assistance of the

movements of the eyebrows and lids. His own observations show that he

has overstated his thesis. We can indeed, he says, infer from the

appearance of the eyeball, “whether the soul is agitated or calm, but we

have to rely on the facial muscles to specify the emotion. This is the

reason why we can never judge the sentiments of one who is masked; for

the fire in his eye can only indicate to us his greater or less

agitation, but not its special character. _That_ we could only read in

the features which the mask conceals. It is for this reason that the

orthodox Mahometan makes his women cover up their face with a veil which

leaves nothing exposed but the eyes, because these cannot, without the

constant play of the facial muscles, indicate the emotional state. The

lustre of the corneal mirror therefore indicates to us only the

quantity, but never the quality of emotional excitement.”

Herein Dr. Magnus follows the assertion of Lebrun, a contemporary of

Louis XIV., that “the eyeball indicates by its fire and its movements in

general that the soul is passionately excited, but not in what manner.”

No doubt the Turk attains his object in leaving only the eyes of his

women open to view, for thus the passing stranger cannot tell whether

her eye flashes Love or anger. But he _can_ tell whether she is agitated

or indifferent: and is not that a language too? Do we not call music

_the_ “language of emotions,” although it can only indicate the quantity

of emotion, and rarely its precise quality—just like the eyes? Therefore

Dr. Magnus is wrong in denying to the eyeball the power of emotional

expression. Vague emotion is still emotion.

It has already been intimated in what manner emotional excitement

increases the eye’s lustre. It causes the blood-vessels in the sockets

of the eye to swell, thus increasing the tension of the conjunctiva and

the flow of the lachrymal fluid.

Besides quantitative emotion there is another thing which ocular lustre

expresses, and that is Health. It is true that consumption, fever, and

possibly other diseases may produce a peculiar temporary transparency of

complexion and ocular lustre; but, as a rule, a bright eye indicates

Health and abundant vitality.

As Health is the first condition of Love, and as the ocular lustre which

indicates Health cannot be normally secured without it, women of all

times and countries have been addicted to the habit of increasing the

eye’s sparkle artificially by applying a thin line of black paint to the

edge of the lids. The ancient Egyptians, Persians, Hindoos, Greeks, and

Romans followed this custom. But the natural sparkle which comes of

Health and Beauty-sleep [_i.e._ before midnight, with open windows] is a

thousand times preferable to such dangerous methods of tampering with

the most delicate and most easily injured organ of the body.

Still another way in which the eyeball itself can express emotion is by

the varying amount on it of the lachrymal fluid, to which, in my

opinion, its lustre is chiefly owing. There is a supreme and thrilling

sparkle of the eye which can only come of the heavenly joys of Love; but

there is also “a liquid _melancholy_” of sweet eyes, to use Bulwer’s

words. Scott remarks that “Love is loveliest when embalmed in tears;”

and Dr. Magnus attests that “especially in the eyes of lovers we often

find a slight suspicion of tears.” He traces to this fact a peculiar

charm that is to be found in the eyes of Venus, which the Greeks called

ὑγρὸν (liquid, swimming, languishing). The sculptors produced this

expression by indicating the border between the lower lid and the

eyeball but slightly, thus giving the impression as if this border were

veiled by a liquid line of tear-fluid.

What enables the lid to keep this fluid line in place is the fact that

its edge is lined with minute glands secreting an oily substance. The

presence of these glands in the upper lid, where they cannot serve to

retain lachrymal fluid, suggests the important inference that the lustre

of the eye may be partly due to a thin film of oil spread over the

cornea by the up-and-down movements of this lid. Indeed, this may

possibly be the chief cause of ocular lustre.

When the lachrymal fluid habitually present in the eye becomes too

abundant it ceases to express amorous tenderness, and becomes instead

indicative of old age, or, worse still, of intemperance. Alcoholism has

a peculiarly demoralising effect on the lower eyelid, which becomes

swollen and inflamed. This probably overstimulates the action of the oil

glands in the lids, thus accounting for the watery or blear eye,

eloquent of vice.

(_b_) _Colour of the Iris._—There is nothing in which popular

physiognomy takes so much delight as in pointing out what particular

characteristics are indicated by the different colours of eyes. All such

distinctions are the purest drivel. We have seen that differences in the

colour of eyes are entirely due to the varying amount of the same

pigmentary matter present in the iris. Now, what earthly connection

could a greater or less quantity of this colouring matter have with our

intellectual or moral traits? It is necessary thus to trace facts to

their last analysis in order to expose the absurdities of current

physiognomy.

Inasmuch as black-eyed southern nations are, on the whole, more

impulsive than northern races, it may be said in a vague, general way

that a black eye indicates a passionate disposition. But there are

countless exceptions to this rule—apathetic black-eyed persons, as well

as, conversely, fiery blue-eyed individuals. Nor is this at all strange;

for the black colour is not stored up in some mysterious way as a result

of a fiery temperament, but is simply accumulated in the iris through

Natural Selection, as a protection against glaring sunlight.

Although, therefore, the brilliancy of the eye may vary with its colour,

the colour itself does not express emotion, either qualitatively or

quantitatively. In reading character no assistance is given us by the

fact that eyes are “of unholy blue,” “darkly divine,” “gray as glass,”

or “green as leeks.” Shakspere calls Jealousy a “green-eyed monster”;

and the green iris has indeed such a bad reputation that blondes in

search of a compliment commonly abuse their “green” eyes, to exercise

your Gallantry, and give you a chance to defend their “celestial blue”

or “divine violet.”

Dr. Magnus suggests that the reason why we dislike decidedly green or

yellow eyes is simply because they are of rare occurrence, and therefore

appear anomalous; for in animals we do not hesitate to pronounce such

eyes beautiful. He also explains ingeniously why it is that we are apt

to attribute moral shortcomings to persons whose eyes are of a vague,

dubious colour. Such eyes displease our æsthetic sense, and this

displeasure we transfer to the moral sense, and thus confound and

prejudice our judgment. In the same way our dislike of unusual green

eyes disposes us to accuse their owners of irregularities of conduct.

Moral: Keep your æsthetic and ethical judgments apart.

Conversely, in the case of snakes, our fear and horror make it difficult

for us to appreciate the æsthetic charm of their colours. And all these

cases show that the æsthetic sense, if properly understood and

specialised, is independent of moral and utilitarian considerations:

which knocks the bottom out of the theory of Alison, Jeffrey, and Co.

One more abnormality of colour in the iris must be referred to. It

happens not infrequently that the colour of the two eyes is not alike,

one being brown, the other blue or gray. In such cases, though each eye

may be perfect in itself, we dislike the combination. What is the ground

of this æsthetic dislike? Simply the fact that the dissimilarity of the

eyes violates one of the fundamental laws of Beauty—the law of Symmetry,

which demands that corresponding parts on the two sides of the body

should harmonise.

(_c_) _Movements of the Iris._—The jetblack pupil of the eye, as already

noted, is not always of the same size. It becomes smaller if an excess

of light causes the iris to relax, larger if diminution of light makes

the iris contract its fibres. Another way of altering the size of the

pupil is by gazing at a distant object, which causes it to enlarge,

while gazing at a near object makes it smaller. According to Gratiolet

and some other writers, there is still another way in which the pupil is

affected, namely, through emotional excitement. Great fear, for

instance, enlarges the pupil, according to Gratiolet. Dr. Magnus,

however, remarks that, apart from the fact that some observers have

denied that the pupil is affected by emotions, the alterations in its

size are as a rule too insignificant to be noted by any but a trained

observer; so that they could not play any important physiognomic _rôle_.

Yet a large pupil is everywhere esteemed a great beauty, and is often

credited with a special power of amorous expression. “Widened pupils,”

says Kollmann, “give the eye a tender aspect; they seem to increase its

depth, and fascinate the spectator by the strangeness this imparts to

the gaze. Oriental women put atropine into their eyes, which enlarges

the pupil. They do this in order to give their eyes the soulful

expression which they believe is imparted by large pupils, distinctly

foreshadowing the joys of love.”

Whether emotionally expressive or not, so much is certain that large

pupils are more beautiful than small ones, for the same reason that

large eyes are more beautiful than small ones, _i.e._ because we cannot

have too much of a thing of Beauty.

Finally, there is this to be said regarding the lustre, colour, and size

of pupil and iris, that they emphasise the language of the eye. If we

play a love-song on the piano, we may admire it; but if it is sung or

played on the violoncello, it makes a doubly deep impression; and why?

Because the superior sensuous beauty of the voice, or the amorous

tone-colour of the ’cello, paints and gilds the bare fabric of the song.

A small dull-coloured eye, similarly, may speak quite as definite a

language of command or entreaty, pride or humility, as any other; but

the flashing large pupil and the lustrous deep-dyed iris intensify the

emotional impressiveness of this language a hundredfold, by adding the

incalculable power of sensuous Beauty. Thus lustre and colour are for

the _visible_ music of the spheres what orchestration is to audible

music.

(_d_) _Movements of the Eyeball._—The socket of the eye contains

(besides the fat-cushion in which the eyeball is imbedded, the

blood-vessels, and other tissues) seven muscles; one for raising the

upper lid, and six for moving the eyeball itself upwards, downwards,

inwards, outwards, or forwards and obliquely. To the action of these

muscles the eye owes much of its expressiveness.

It has been noted that elating emotions have a tendency to raise the

features, depressing emotions to depress them. The eyeball is no

exception. Persons who are elated by their real or apparent superiority

to others turn their eyes habitually from the humble things beneath

them; hence the muscle which turns the eyeball upwards has long ago

received the name of “pride-muscle”; while its antipode, the _musculus

humilis_, is so called because humility and modesty are characterised by

a downward gaze.

The muscle which turns the eyeball towards the inner corner, nosewards,

is much used by persons who are occupied with near objects. If this

convergence of the eyes is too pronounced, it gives one a stupid

expression; whereas, if moderate, the expression is one of great

intellectual penetration, as Dr. Magnus points out. He believes that the

trick, made use of by some portrait-painters, of making the eyes appear

to follow you wherever you go depends on this medium degree of

convergence of the eyes.

Slight divergence of the eyeballs, on the other hand, is characteristic

of children and of great thinkers—an item which Schopenhauer forgot to

note when he pointed out that genius always retains certain traits of

childhood. “Donders,” says Dr. Magnus, “has always observed this

divergent position of the eyes in persons who meditate deeply. And the

artists make use of this position of the eyes to give their figures the

expression of a soul averted from terrestrial affairs, and fixed on

higher spiritual objects. Thus the Sistine Madonna has this divergent

position of the eyes, as well as the beautiful boy she carries on her

arm.” It is also found in Dürer’s portrait of himself, and in a bust of

Marcus Aurelius in the Vatican.

If, however, this divergence becomes too great, it loses its charm, for

the eyes then appear to fix no object at all, and the gaze becomes

“vacant,” as in the eyes of the blind or the sick. To appreciate the

force of these remarks it must be borne in mind that there is only one

part of the retina, called the “yellow spot,” with which we can

distinctly fix an object. What we see with other parts of the retina is

indistinct, blurred.

These details are here given because many will be glad to know that by

daily exercising the muscles of the eyeballs before the mirror, they can

greatly alter and improve their looks. Every day one hears the remark,

“She has beautiful eyes, but she does not know how to use them.” When we

read of a great thinker, like Kant, fixing his gaze immovably on a tree

for an hour, we think it quite natural; nor does any one object to “the

poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,” for we all know that a poet is

merely an inspired madman. But a young lady who wishes to charm by her

Beauty must learn to fix her wandering eyes calmly on others, while

avoiding a stony stare. One of the greatest charms of American girls is

their frank, steady gaze, free from any tinge of unfeminine boldness.

Such a charming natural gaze can only be acquired in a country where

girls are taught to look upon men as gentlemen, and not as wolves,

against whom they must be guarded by dragons.

Eye-gymnastics are as important to Beauty as lung-gymnastics to Health,

and dancing-lessons to Grace. But of course there is a certain number of

fortunate girls who can dispense with such exercises, because they

gradually learn the proper use of their eyes, as well as general

graceful movements, from the example of a refined mother.

Goldsmith’s pretty line about “the bashful virgin’s sidelong looks of

love,” is not a mere poetic conceit, but a scientific _aperçu_; for, as

Professor Kollmann remarks, “the external straight muscle of the eye was

also called the lover’s muscle, _musculus amatorius_, because the

furtive side-glance is aimed at a beloved person.”

Nor is this the only way in which the movements of the eyeball are

concerned with Romantic Love. By constantly exercising certain muscles

of the eyeball in preference to others, the eyes gradually assume, when

at rest, a fixed and peculiar gaze which distinguishes them from all

other eyes. It is comparatively easy to find two pairs of eyes of the

same colour or form, but two with the same gaze, _i.e._ characteristic

position of the eyeballs, never. Hence Dr. Magnus boldly generalises

Herder’s statement that “Every great man has a look which no one but he

can give with his eyes,” into the maxim that “_Every individual_ has a

look which no one else can make with his eyes.”

Bungling photographers commonly spoil their pictures by compelling their

victims to fix their eyes in an unwonted position. The result is a

picture which bears some general resemblance to the victim, but in which

the characteristic _individual_ expression is wanting.

Our habit of masking our eyes alone when we wish to remain unrecognised,

and leaving the lower part of the face exposed, affords another proof of

the assertion that the eye is the chief seat of individuality. For

though the eyeball itself remains visible, the surrounding parts are

covered, so that its characteristic position cannot be determined.

Now we know that Individual Preference is the first and most essential

element of Romantic Love. Hence Dante was as correct in calling the eyes

“the beginning of Love,” as in terming the lips “the end of Love.” And

Shakspere agrees with Dante when he speaks of “Love first learned in a

lady’s eyes”; and again: “But for her eye I would not love her; yes, for

her two eyes.”

(_e_) _Movements of the Eyelids._—Although the foregoing pages

considerably qualify Dr. Magnus’s thesis that the eyeball owes all its

life and expressiveness to the movements of the eyelids and brows, yet

the physiognomic and æsthetic importance of lids, lashes, and brows can

hardly be too much emphasised. A very large proportion of the pleasure

we derive from beautiful eyes is due to the constant changes in the

apparent size of the eyeball, and the gradations in its lustre, produced

by the rapid movements of the upper lid. This is strikingly proved by

the fact, noted by Dr. Magnus, “that the eyes of wax figures, be they

ever so artistically finished, always give the impression of death and

rigidity,” whereas “artificial eyes, such as are often inserted by

physicians after the loss of an eye, have, thanks to the constant play

of the lids, an appearance so animated and lifelike that it requires the

trained eye of a specialist to detect the dead, lifeless glass-eye in

this apparently so animated orb.”

A complete emotional scale is symbolised in these movements of the upper

eyelids. A medium position indicates rest or indifference. Joyous and

other exciting emotions raise them, so that the whole of the lustrous

iris becomes visible. Thus we get the eye “sparkling with joy” or the

“angry flash of the eye,” as well as Cupid’s darts: “He is already dead;

stabbed with a white wench’s black eye.” “Alack, there lies more peril

in thine eye than twenty of their swords.”

But if the lids are raised too high, so that the white above the iris

becomes visible, the expression changes to one of affectation, or

maniacal wildness, or extreme terror. There are persons, says Magnus, in

whom the aperture between the lids is naturally so wide as to reveal the

upper white of the eyes; and in consequence we are apt to accuse them of

hollow pathos. I have seen not a few beautiful pairs of eyes marred by

the habitual tendency to raise the lids too much—a fault that can be

readily overcome by deliberate effort and practice before the mirror.

On the other hand, if the aperture between the lids is too small, that

is, if the lids are naturally (or only transiently) lowered too much, we

get an apathetic, drowsy expression. The Chinese eye displeases us not

only by its oblique set, and the narrowness of the lid, but also because

the natural smallness of the eyeball is exaggerated by the narrow

palpebral aperture. The negro appears more wide awake to us, because in

his eyes this aperture is wider—so wide, in fact, that he is apt to

displease us by showing too much of the white sclerotic.

A very drooping eyelid being expressive of fatigue, physical or mental,

_blasé_ persons affect it in order to indicate their _nil admirari_

attitude. But there is another secret reason why they drop their

eyelids. If we lower the head and open our eyes widely, they retire

within their sockets and appear hollow, suggesting dissipation or

disease; whereas, if we raise the head, throwing it slightly backwards,

and lowering the eyelids, we obliterate this hollow, and give the

impression of languid indifference. This, rather than the “raising of

the eyebrows,” is what constitutes the “supercilious” expression.

It cannot be said that a supercilious appearance is specially

attractive, yet the obliteration of the eyes’ hollowness is an

advantage; and it may be added that, since perfect health is not a

superabundant phenomenon, the same reasoning explains why many faces are

so much more fascinating in a reclining or semi-reclining position than

when upright. Fashion, of course, being the handmaid of ugliness, does

not object to hollow eyes encircled by blue rings, but even cultivates

them. Yet in her heart of hearts every fashionable woman knows that

nothing so surely kills masculine admiration—not to speak of Love—as

sunken eyes with blue rings.

A slight drooping of the eyelids, on the other hand, gives a pleasing

expression of amorous languor. The lid, with its lashes, in this case,

coyly veils the lustre of the eye, without extinguishing it. Hence, in

the words of Dr. Magnus, the sculptors of antiquity made use of this

slight lowering of the lid to express sensuous love; and accordingly it

was customary to chisel the eyes of Venus with drooping lids and a small

aperture.

In their task of moderating and varying the lustre of the eyeball, the

lids are greatly assisted by the lashes. An eye with missing or too

short lashes is apt to appear too fiery, glaring, or “stinging.” Long

dark eyelashes are of all the means of flirtation the most irresistible.

Note yonder artful maiden. How modestly and coyly she droops her eyes,

till suddenly the fringed curtain is raised and a glorious symphony of

colour and lustre is flashed on her poor companion’s dazed vision! No

wonder he staggers and falls in love at first sight.

“White lashes and eyebrows are so disagreeably suggestive,” we read in

the _Ugly Girl Papers_, “that one cannot blame their possessor for

disguising them by a harmless device. A decoction of walnut juice should

be made in season, and kept in a bottle for use the year round. It is to

be applied with a small hair-pencil to the brows and lashes, turning

them to a rich brown, which harmonises with fair hair.” Another recipe

given, by a good authority, is as follows: “Take frankincense, resin,

pitch, of each one half ounce; gum mastic, quarter of an ounce; mix and

drop on red-hot charcoals. Receive the fumes in a large funnel, and a

black powder will adhere to its sides. Mix this with fresh juice of

alderberries (or Cologne water will do), and apply with a fine

camel-hair brush.”

Those who wish to make their lashes longer and more regular may find the

following suggestions, by Drs. Brinton and Napheys, of use: “The

eyelashes should be examined one by one, and any which are split, or

crooked, or feeble, should be trimmed with a pair of sharp scissors. The

base of the lashes should be anointed nightly with a minute quantity of

oil of cajuput on the top of a camel-hair brush, and the examination and

trimming repeated every month. If this is sedulously carried out for a

few months the result will be gratifying.”

All such operations should be performed by another person, for the eye

is a most delicate organ. Yet, not even this organ has been spared by

deforming Fashion. The fact that some Africans colour their eyelids

black may have a utilitarian rather than a cosmetic reason. But what

shall we say to the Africans who eradicate their eyebrows, and the

Paraguayans, who remove their eyelashes because they “do not wish to be

like horses?”

Twin sisters ever are Fashion and Idiocy.

(_f_) _Movements of the Eyebrows._—Herder called the arched eyebrow the

rainbow of peace, because if it is straightened by a frown it portends a

storm. In plain prose, the eyebrow partakes of the general upward

movement from joyous excitement, and the downward movement in grief. If

the eyebrows are too bushy, they overshadow the eye and produce a gloomy

or even ferocious appearance. The Chinese, possibly from an instinctive

perception that their eyes are not too large or bright, shave their

eyebrows, leaving only a narrow fringe. Dr. Broca also notes that the

eyebrow adds to the oblique appearance of the Chinese eye through a

particular movement, the two internal thirds of the eyebrows being

lower, and the external third higher than with us.

Though not, perhaps, directly concerned in the expression of Love, the

eyebrow is not to be under-rated. No detail of Beauty escapes Cupid’s

eyes; for do we not read of “the lover, sighing like furnace, with a

woeful ballad made to his mistress’s eyebrows”?