in our mothers; that it is in all the sacrifices and noble deeds of
silent women, as well as in those of celebrated women, like Elizabeth
Fry or Mrs. Browning; that it is in the acts of all those who make
the ordinary home "like the shadow of a rock in a weary land," and
a "light as of a Pharos in the stormy sea." If we are impressed with
the remembrance that womanliness is in such and such characters, we
shall try harder to imitate them; we shall be more thankful we are
women, and more grateful that it belongs to us especially to impart
what man lacks, and what he must depend on us to supply.
Here, again, I want to emphasize the fact that womanliness does not
require a girl to abandon merriment, vigorous exercise of the body,
or brain, or heart, freedom in sports, and "a jolly good time." But
let us have every thing in its place. Kid-gloved hands in a huckleberry
pasture, or on a row-boat, would be as unbecoming to a girl, you will
agree, as a soiled collar in the school-room, or a dusty jacket in
church. We do not object to boys sitting astride a fence: it is rather
manly than otherwise, if they do not concoct a plan to tear their
clothes; but it does seem a bit out of the womanly way for a girl.
To be sure, there is not much difference between climbing fences and
many of the gymnastic performances for girls; but time and place must
be regarded. I should not frown if I heard a girl whistling, under
two conditions,--she must be a good whistler, and confine her musical
exercise to the woods. I think it is fine to see a girl go over a fence
without sticking between the bars, and it really is too bad to have
to be pulled through by an "I told you so!" It is fine to see a girl
play ball or tennis; to see her row or ride, or climb a tree when there
is need. But all this climbing, and striding, and shouting, womanly
enough at times, become most unwomanly under certain circumstances,
especially in the home.
Such indications go far to pronounce us loose in manner, immodest in
deportment, coarse and vulgar, where we are not understood. No girl
can afford to wilfully bring upon herself the criticism of bad manners.
She can afford to do right when she feels the world is wrong; but she
is accountable for her example, and the influence she exerts upon those
not as strong as she is. Beyond this lies the fact that womanliness
is opposed to mannishness, and that unwomanliness grows faster than
its virtuous opposite. "Ill weeds grow apace," says a German proverb.
One plantain in a garden will eat out not only the flowers in the plats,
but the very grass in the borders. Any thing that takes away from
modesty, refinement, gentleness, takes away from womanliness. Says
Beaconsfield, "The girl of the period,--she sets up to be natural, and
is only rude; mistakes insolence for innocence; says every thing that
comes first to her lips, and thinks she is gay when she is only giddy."
I sometimes think, girls, it is the motherliness in some of you that
often makes you womanly; not altogether the quality that makes little
folks hug their dolls,--not altogether that,--though, in their gentle
cares, their tender caresses and assumed anxieties, they are little
women in themselves; but I mean, too, the motherliness that makes girls
careful of others. It is an all-sheltering fondness; it is a delicate
superintendence over the comforts of another; it is a brooding thought
about the nestlings of one's heart, hearth, or associations; it is
a cultivated instinct that smooths out difficulties, and steps right
along beside purity and loveliness.
This characteristic of womanliness is not that weak, unsubstantial
quality which we sometimes associate with effeminacy.
I would not imply that womanliness does not exist in those women whom
superior talents have raised above the average man. A great lecturer,
after holding her audience long by her eloquent appeals for reforms,
stepped down into the crowd slowly departing, and earnestly inquired
after this sick friend, that poor one, and the prosperity of another.
The marvel of her womanliness was even more striking than the power
of her oratory.
As I said at first, girls, girlishness, while inferior to womanliness,
is no hindrance to it. It is most proper for girls to discuss tucks
and ruffles, gloves and boots, bangs and twists. They think about these
things properly enough, too, or they would not make such good use of
them. They are in no danger of becoming less worthy women, provided
they do not exclude thoughts on higher things. But girlishness,
construed to mean just a love of dress and finery, does not make
womanliness. If it did, every well-clothed girl on the street would be
virtuous. I confess, however, that it would require a good deal of
persuasion to make me believe that untidy skirts, buttons clinging by a
thread, or utter inattention to style, to neatness and wholeness, were
traits in a womanly woman.
We are told that true manliness and true womanliness are one and the
same. At some points, these qualities meet and mingle. In the strongest
parts of character, men and women are the same. In trying moments,
in hours of great interest, in times of rare experience, men and women
do the same work in the same way, and then the high quality which
ennobles their characters is human kindness. It is well that great
artists have painted the face of Christ so that it is as womanly as it
is manly. It is a beautiful way some persons have of thinking of God as
father and mother too.
But with all these resemblances of manliness to womanliness, there
is a difference which all may recognize if they will. Allow a boy to
stretch out his legs, climb spouts, jump gutters,--he is still perfectly
manly; but a girl cannot do these things in a community without censure,
unless necessity requires. I know that the custom which demands
different decorum for a girl is arbitrary, and not of divine origin. To
go unveiled is not allowed in some countries. But conformity is surely
enjoined upon us; and that, so far as it is reasonably observed, is
a really womanly trait. I cannot help thinking that girls are made
of finer material than boys, but of stuff that will wear just as well
as the stockier goods in boys. Inasmuch as a girl has more confided
to her keeping than a boy has, she ought to be so much the more
watchful. A girl ought to guard purity, modesty, patience, hope, trust,
because she has had these things given her in large measure.
What can there be more beautiful than womanliness! The next time you
see the Sistine Madonna, look behind all the mother in the lovely face
for the woman in it. Then see if you do not remark the same in Raphael's
St. Cecilia, and in the Venus de Milo, Wherever masters have succeeded
in painting the Virgin, notice, aside from the holy look,--if any thing
can be aside from that,--the womanly look. What is it which makes us
love some women's faces the moment we see them? Sometimes it is because
the loveliness of their character beautifies most ordinary features.
Sometimes it is because we expect them to do some very womanly deed,--to
heal us of diseases, to right wrongs, to defend causes, to uplift the
fallen. Girls are not all weak and uncertain, because they are girls.
No; they are strong and brave, and reliable in danger. The boiler of
a steam-yacht exploded; several girls were on board; the crew were
busy saving themselves; the girls, with an electric shock of
mother-care, jumped to save one another. They neither fainted nor
screamed, with one exception, which was a somewhat feeble serving-girl,
who was stoutly shaken and told to faint if she dared.
Perhaps you think that refinement and good education produce greater
womanliness than ignorance and low surroundings. So they do; but the
worst of circumstances, as we have already shown, cannot crush it.
There is much to be feared from over-refinement, or, rather, superficial
cultivation, which breeds selfishness, vitiates strength, encourages
false pride, enervates the whole life of a girl. Look at the girl half
clad, sleeping in the lazy sun that falls across her narrow doorway,
droning out life; now and then, in an hour of wakefulness, muttering
some coarse word. And then regard the over-cultured, the wrongly-bred
girl; the peevish, dictatorial, selfish, haughty miss of a certain
other door-way,--a parlor-way. The womanliness in both would not amount
to so much as is in one bright gleam from the eye of an Evangeline.
We cannot tell so much what womanliness _is_ in girls as what it _does_.
It lies mostly in the little acts they perform,--those things which are
so often done that we neglect to speak of their worth, and yet should
feel most sad without them. The humblest deeds, the oft-repeated ones,
form the beauty of characters and faces. They put beautiful lights into
girls' eyes, softness into their cheeks, and winsomeness into the whole
face. Then, too, deference to the feelings and notions of others has
much to do with the sweetness of womanhood. It cannot be wrong to read a
letter on the street, to shout to one's friend on the opposite side of
the way, to whistle to a horse-car driver; but, so long as these offend
preconceived notions of good manners, deference to the opinions of
others should forbid such habits.
Now let us see, just once more, what we mean by a womanly girl. Exact
attention to points of etiquette, gracefulness, accomplishments, proper
subservience to the will of others, do not of themselves make
womanliness; many more than these characteristics, and greater, are
needful. First of all, a girl must feel she is a woman, with a heart
to cultivate in its affections, restrain in its desires, curb in its
selfishness; with a mind to enrich by such means as shall promote its
best peculiarities, and supply its needs; with a soul to enlarge into
more generous impulses, and into the performance of more worthy deeds.
Such a girl looks practically, but at the same time cheerfully, on
life. She is willing to make the best and most of her lot, and, though
out of patience with it sometimes, is not always battling against
circumstances.
Discontent, to be sure, is as unmanly as it is unwomanly; but I fear
it is an ill more widely spread among girls than among boys. It is
an evil seed, and brings forth nothing but choking weeds and noxious
plants. No position, nothing that a girl can do, harms her, provided
she be womanly; therefore, choice of position cannot help, unless she
is sure she has power to do better in another place. Some servants
are more womanly than the women who employ them. We are all servants
to one another: each holds the mastery. Surely we must be novices before
we can be superiors. In one sense, servitude is an ornament; for
politeness is but a visible sign, of glad service. Surely, politeness is
a real property of womanliness.
A truly womanly girl is genuine in what she says and does. Avoiding
the bombast, the occasional coarseness of rougher natures, the self-
esteem, and the dictatorial manner, she yet says no, when she means
no. If that causes hurt, she is not slow to express her sympathy and
show her sorrow. She does not do things for effect, nor to arouse unjust
indignation.
If we were to study the points of character that have made women
celebrated, we should find them within the power of any earnest girl
to obtain through great strength of womanhood. I mean those women who
have been the bravest, truest, tenderest, most loved by the world.
Philippa pleading with bended knee before Edward III. to spare the
lives of the men of Calais, Catherine urging her suit before Henry
VIII., Madame de Stael supplicating Bonaparte for her father's liberty,
Marie Antoinette ascending the steps of the scaffold, are but few of
the women of history who furnish us examples of highest womanhood.
Literature supplies as great illustrations: Antigone going to bury
her brother's ashes in spite of the king's threat to take her life;
Zenobia in chains in the midst of a great Roman triumph,--a woman still,
with firm though downcast eyes; Rebecca, in "Ivanhoe," standing on
the tower ready to give the fatal spring the moment Bois Guilbert should
approach with dishonorable purpose,--all furnish vivid pictures of
what strength of womanliness can accomplish. Simple traits caused their
noblest actions,--love, sympathy, tenderness, purity, bravery,
resolution, endurance; but these qualities, grown almost to their
utmost, make these women dear to us. It was not intellect, it was not
pride, it was not position; but it was the womanhood perfected in them
that enabled them to do their work, and enables us to love and follow
them.
We are under the strongest obligations, girls, to our sex, ourselves,
and the world.
X.
GIRLS AND THEIR FRIENDS.
My dear girls, do not fancy that I am going to preach on friendship:
so wide a theme is beyond the scope of these little talks with you.
I simply wish to express a few old-fashioned opinions about girls and
their friends.
Though now and then I may seem to be talking about that which is less
than friendship, or that which means more, please understand I fully
recognize the fact that, though acquaintance, friendship, love, often
merge into one another by advancing steps of familiarity, they are
really three distinct qualities.--One's acquaintances are many, one's
friends comparatively few, one's lovers fewer yet,--or they ought to
be. Do you know, girls, you do suggest the most delightful subjects
for a talk! There is no such thing as resisting your attractive traits!
But I am going to say a few very plain things about what may not be
charming in you.
Girls feel very quickly. They are not in the least slow to comprehend
with the heart; in fact, it often seems as though that organ were
constructed with as much delicacy as is the Aeolian harp, which quivers
and utters sounds when the air just stirs about it. The most of you
are very emotional; and that quality of emotion, when it is pure, is
your blessing, and a part of the womanhood in you: it is the necessary
expression of your soul. I know the word emotional has not a pleasant
sound, and, in common use, implies lack of reason and want of control;
but it is a good word, and what it truly means is good. Feeling, or
the product of feeling, which is emotion, does for us what reason cannot
do,--it frequently causes faith where reason would destroy it. Do not
boast you are not emotional, and have no care nor sympathy for fine
sentiment; for this boasting is not laudable in a woman. The girl who
reasons more than she feels will make a calm philosopher, but a very
poor friend.
Though we are not to speak so much about God's highest gift to us,--
the power of loving,--I would like to show you just what feeling is
capable of doing. You know most girls have an affection for somebody
or something, and if that love is not bestowed on a friend, it will
be on a cause, an ambition, an absorbing desire. Hypatia, Joan of Arc,
Charlotte Corday, Florence Nightingale, Harriet Hosmer, Rosa Bonheur,
Mrs. Siddons, represent as much love for the causes they lived or live
for as did Vittoria Colonna for her husband, Hester and Vanessa for
Swift, Heloise for Abelard, Marguerite for Faust, Ophelia for Hamlet,
Desdemona for Othello, or Juliet for Romeo. These last, I repeat, were
bound in the cause of love not less than the former; and they all owed
their endeavors--their success, if they gained it--to the feelings
and emotions of their natures.
But the trouble is, girls, you do lack judgment in the management of
your feelings. It has been suggested by an able philosopher that persons
differ from one another principally in the amount of judgment they
possess. Really, you do not always bestow your friendship worthily,
but too often let your emotions master instead of guide you; then your
eyes become blind to every thing that is best for yourselves and your
friends: you get selfish, passionate, and demoralized.
Hold the reins of feeling in obedience to what is good and right, no
matter what the suffering is which follows. Do you remember how Irma
loved the king in that grand struggle for character which Auerbach
paints "On the Heights," where the full, rich nature of Irma, so capable
of loving, so prone to err, yearns for the fulfilment of her longing,
yet will not yield an inch of conscience when once she knows it is
wrong for her to love? You know she dies struggling, but it is on the
heights, where, Goethe tells us, "lies repose." There are many and
many women martyrs who go to their graves unknown, suffering no pangs
of the Inquisition, the gallows, or the guillotine, but tortured by
unrequited affections,--by a love which it was not possible to gratify
without a loss of principle or a sacrifice of conscience. Is it not
better to break one's heart than to break one's soul?
My dear girls,--I would not say it were I not obliged to do so,--you
seem the least conscientious in making friends, rarely thinking how
grave and yet how sweet a joy a friendship is. In the first place,
you seize upon a friendship as though it were something to be worn
already made, like a new bonnet which pleases you. No matter what the
girl is, she suits your present whims; so your swear an eternal
friendship with her, when you do not begin to realize that real
friendship depends upon time and growth,--that it consists largely in a
mutual finding out of two persons.
Then, again, you frequently choose friends for some material advantage
to yourselves. Do you think you ought to do that? You see something
in a girl which you believe will promote your interests: perhaps she
is in society a good deal; maybe she is very bright and sharp at
repartee; possibly she is stylish, and absorbed in dress; perhaps her
father has money, or she has an eligible brother,--at any rate, she can
advance your purposes in one way or another, so you presume to make her
your friend. Now you know you ought to value friendship for just its
sake alone. If you are to make a friend, do so because you cannot
honestly help it, and no strong reason exists why you should help it.
Naturally, like chooses like: some point of beauty, some mark of
excellence, some trait of character, will draw us to another, because
these things exist in ourselves, though undeveloped, or because we
wish them to so exist; so friendship will spring up and flourish till
it ripens into love. This is the best and most loyal way of making
friends; and, if this be called choice, indulge in it, though not from
any material profit you are to get, but simply because you are fond
of one who is worthy of the best you can give her.
Then you will see that, if a girl and her traits were lovable when
she and you were school-mates, they deserve to be loved still: then
a year after graduation you will know the girl when you meet her on
the street, and recognize her as you did in school. Girls and boys
do not change so completely after leaving school. Eleanor, though in
plain clothes washing up the kitchen-floor, is Eleanor still; and Frank,
though only patching fences, is still Frank. Changes in circumstances
and in ourselves sometimes prevent the keeping of a friend, and we
no longer find friendship in the places where we used to seek for it;
but inconstancy in ourselves is a greater enemy to the holding of a
friendship than any external circumstance.
One great reason why certain girls of good parts remain in the same
position in which their ancestors had lived--struggling with poverty,
with bad tempers, with an indifferent lot, and wrestling with a savage
discontent--is because they are not encouraged to any thing better
when they get out of school. The free institutions of learning in the
United States begin a noble work of co-education and co-friendship;
but, when these are passed, there remains nothing to continue the work.
A black pall falls between the past and the future, and strives to
cover the very memory of bygone school years. Money, influence,
position, make havoc, striving in the freest land to set up classes and
aristocracies separated from what is common by impassable barriers,--as
though there were any other aristocracy than that of character and
personal worth!
Ought girls to have intimate friends? How carelessly we use that word
"intimate." Well, this is a very trying question, and needs a careful
answer. Says Mr. Alger, "School-girl friendships are a proverb in all
mouths. They form one of the largest classes of those human attachments
whose idealizing power and sympathetic interfusions glorify the world,
and sweeten existence. With what quick trust and ardor, what eager
relish, these susceptible creatures, before whom heavenly illusions
float, surrender themselves to each other, taste all the raptures of
confidential conversation, lift veil after veil, till every secret
is bare, and, hand in hand, with glowing feet, tread the paths of
Paradise!" But what do you mean by "intimate"? If you understand by
that word entire confidence in another under all circumstances; an
unbosoming of every thought and feeling; a complete surrender to your
friend, or mastery over her; a slavish adoration of her, and hearty
concordance in all she does,--do not, then, indulge in an intimate
friendship. The majority of women who have passed middle life will
utter, out of their own experience, the truth that such confidence,
such intercourse and familiarity, cause regret; and that such
friendships are seriously detrimental to human happiness, wearing the
mind, grieving the spirit; they cannot continue for many years. Our
elders go even beyond that, and say that woman cannot love woman as
woman can love man. Why is it that the friendships of boys usually last
longer than those of girls? I cannot believe it is because girls are
less constant or less friendly: I know they _are_ not. Can it be because
boys are less sensitive, and more sufficient for themselves? or is it
because they are less intense, less confidential, and move along more
slowly and suspiciously? Does it ever come from peculiarity of
temperament in the case of both boys and girls, there being girl-boys
and boy-girls? I am inclined to think that, because a boy is a boy, and
a girl is a girl, the characteristics of both are required to make a
perfect friendship. Of course there are broad exceptions to this
opinion.
Can you have more than one intimate friend among the girls? That
depends, too, on the nature and degree of closeness in the friendship.
It requires a large amount of generosity on the part of several when
two persons are close friends of a third. That blissful "_solitude
a deux_" becomes misery _a trois_. The world is indeed beautiful, and
the best part of it all is the people in it. We are to love as many of
them as we can, but are called upon to reveal our inmost selves to few,
very few, friends.
Valuing friendship more than any other earthly blessing, I think it
wrong for girls to encourage that moodiness which flatters them they
can do without friends, especially of their own sex. Nothing can conduce
more to happiness: nothing is brighter, more charming, more helpful
than the interchange of friendship among young women. Who wouldn't
be a girl always if she could be sure all the other girls would stay
so too, and go on in that delightful exchange of affection and fine
feeling which is the very ecstacy of living?
Now, what does a girl prize most in another girl whose friendship she
enjoys? or, rather, what should she value in her most? In the first
place, constancy,--a knowledge that her friend will always be hers;
and then honesty,--a feeling that, if she says, "Now, don't you tell,"
the friend won't tell. By the way, this binding to secrecy is a very
bad practice, however delightful. It places too great a responsibility
on one's friend, leads her into temptation, makes her curious, and,
in nine times out of ten, one has no right to tell one's self, or one
would not be so cautious.
Honesty implies more than this, however: it demands that your friend
shall not herald abroad your mistakes or improprieties, though she
may disapprove of them. It means that she shall treat you with the
same kindness on all occasions, and that she shall resent wrong done
you by another.