Old Maids.--Rarely to be found in France.--The reasons for
this.
Several years ago, while passing a few weeks in Paris, I had a
conversation with a Frenchman upon the subject of old maids, which,
though so long past, I refer to now for the sake of the sequel, which
has just reached me.
We were, I well remember, parading in the Gardens of the Luxembourg;
and as we paced up and down its long alleys, the "miserable fate," as
he called it, of single women in England was discussed and deplored by
my companion as being one of the most melancholy results of faulty
national manners that could be mentioned.
"I know nothing," said he with much energy, "that ever gave me more
pain in society, than seeing, as I did in England, numbers of unhappy
women who, however well-born, well-educated, or estimable, were
without a position, without an _état_ and without a name, excepting
one that they would generally give half their remaining days to get
rid of."
"I think you somewhat exaggerate the evil," I replied: "but even if it
were as bad as you state it to be, I see not why single ladies should
be better off here."
"Here!" he exclaimed, in a tone of horror: "Do you really imagine that
in France, where we pride ourselves on making the destiny of our women
the happiest in the world,--do you really imagine that we suffer a set
of unhappy, innocent, helpless girls to drop, as it were, out of
society into the _néant_ of celibacy, as you do? God keep us from such
barbarity!"
"But how can you help it? It is impossible but that circumstances must
arise to keep many of your men single; and if the numbers be equally
balanced, it follows that there must be single women too."
"It may seem so; but the fact is otherwise: we have no single women."
"What, then, becomes of them?"
"I know not; but were any Frenchwoman to find herself so
circumstanced, depend upon it she would drown herself."
"I know one such, however," said a lady who was with us: "Mademoiselle
Isabelle B*** is an old maid."
"Est-il possible!" cried the gentleman, in a tone that made me laugh
very heartily. "And how old is she, this unhappy Mademoiselle
Isabelle?"
"I do not know exactly," replied the lady; "but I think she must be
considerably past thirty."
"C'est une horreur!" he exclaimed again; adding, rather mysteriously,
in a half-whisper, "Trust me, she will not bear it long!"
* * * * *
I had certainly forgotten Mademoiselle Isabelle and all about her,
when I again met the lady who had named her as the one sole existing
old maid of France. While conversing with her the other day on many
things which had passed when we were last together, she asked me if I
remembered this conversation. I assured her that I had forgotten no
part of it.
"Well, then," said she, "I must tell you what happened to me about
three months after it took place. I was invited with my husband to pay
a visit at the house of a friend in the country,--the same house where
I had formerly seen the Mademoiselle Isabelle B*** whom I had named
to you. While playing _écarté_ with our host in the evening, I
recollected our conversation in the Gardens of the Luxembourg, and
inquired for the lady who had been named in it.
"'Is it possible that you have not heard what has happened to her?' he
replied.
"'No, indeed; I have heard nothing. Is she married, then?'
"'Married!... Alas, no! she has _drowned herself_!'"
Terrible as this dénouement was, it could not be heard with the solemn
gravity it called for, after what had been said respecting her. Was
ever coincidence more strange! My friend told me, that on her return
to Paris she mentioned this catastrophe to the gentleman who had
seemed to predict it; when the information was received by an
exclamation quite in character,--"God be praised! then she is out of
her misery!"
This incident, and the conversation which followed upon it, induced me
to inquire in sober earnest what degree of truth there might really be
in the statement made to us in this well-remembered conversation; and
it certainly does appear, from all I can learn, that the meeting a
single woman past thirty is a very rare occurrence in France. The
arranging _un mariage convenable_ is in fact as necessary and as
ordinary a duty in parents towards a daughter, as the sending her to
nurse or the sending her to school. The proposal for such an alliance
proceeds quite as frequently from the friends of the lady as from
those of the gentleman: and it is obvious that this must at once very
greatly increase the chance of a suitable marriage for young women;
for though we do occasionally send our daughters to India in the hope
of obtaining this much-desired result, few English parents have as
yet gone the length of proposing to anybody, or to anybody's son, to
take their daughter off their hands.
I have not the least doubt in the world that, were the custom
otherwise--were a young lady's claim to an establishment pointed out
by her friends, instead of being left to be discovered or undiscovered
as chance will have it,--I have no doubt in the world that in such a
case many happy marriages might be the result: and where such an
arrangement infringes on no feeling of propriety, but is adopted only
in conformity to national custom, I can well believe that the fair
lady herself may deem her having nothing to do with the business a
privilege of infinite importance to her delicacy. But would our
English girls like, for the satisfaction of escaping the chance of
being an old maid, to give up the dear right of awaiting in maiden
dignity till they are chosen--selected from out the entire world--and
then of saying yes or no, as may please their fancy best?
If I do not greatly mistake the national character of Englishwomen,
there are very few who could be found to exchange this privilege for
the most perfect assurance that could be given of obtaining a marriage
in any other way. As to which is best and which is wisest, or even
which is likely to produce, ultimately and generally, the most happy
_ménage_, I will not pretend to say; because I have heard so much
plausible, and indeed, in some respects, substantial reasoning in
favour of the mode pursued here, that I feel it may be considered as
doubtful: but as to which is and must be most agreeable to the parties
chiefly concerned at the time the connexion is formed, herein I own I
think there can be no question whatever that English men and English
women have the advantage.
With all the inclination in the world to believe that France abounds
with loving, constant, faithful wives, and husbands too, I cannot but
think that if they are so, it is in spite of the manner in which their
marriages are made, and not in consequence of it. The strongest
argument in favour of their manner of proceeding undoubtedly is, that
a husband who receives a young wife as totally without impressions of
any kind, (as a well-brought-up French girl certainly is,) has a
better chance--or rather, has more _power_ of making her heart
entirely his own, than any man can have that falls in love with a
beauty of twenty, who may already have heard as tender sighs as he can
utter breathed in her ear by some one who may have had no power to
marry her, but who might have had a heart to love her, and a tongue to
win her as well as himself.
But against this how much is to be placed! However dearly a
Frenchwoman may love her husband, he can never feel that it is a love
which has selected him; and though it may sometimes happen that a
pretty creature is applied for because of her prettiness, yet if the
application be made and answered, and no question asked as to her will
or wish in the affair, she can feel but little gratification even to
her vanity--and certainly nothing whatever approaching to a feeling of
tenderness at her heart.
The force of habit is ever so inveterate, that it is not likely either
nation can be really a fair and impartial judge of the other in a
matter so entirely regulated by it. Therefore, all that I, as English,
will venture to say farther on the subject is, that I should be sorry
on this point to see us adopt the fashion of our neighbour France.
I have reason to believe, however, that my friend of the Luxembourg
Gardens exaggerated a good deal in his statement respecting the
non-existence of single women in France. They do exist here, though
certainly in less numbers than in England,--but it is not so easy to
find them out. With us it is not unusual for single ladies to take
what is called _brevet rank_;--that is, Miss Dorothy Tomkins becomes
Mrs. Dorothy Tomkins--and sometimes _tout bonnement_ Mrs. Tomkins,
provided there be no collateral Mrs. Tomkins to interfere with her:
but upon no occasion do I remember that any lady in this predicament
called herself the widow Tomkins, or the widow anything else.
Here, however, I am assured that the case is different; and that, let
the number of spinsters be great or small, no one but the near
connexions and most intimate friends of the party know anything of the
matter. Many a _veuve respectable_ has never had a husband in her
life; and I have heard it positively affirmed, that the secret is
often so well kept, that the nieces and nephews of a family do not
know their maiden aunts from their widowed ones.
This shows, at least, that matrimony is considered here as a more
honourable state than that of celibacy; though it does not quite go
the length of proving that all single women drown themselves.
But before I quit this subject, I must say a few words to you
concerning the old maids of England. There are few things which chafe
my spirit more than hearing single women spoken of with contempt
because they are such, or seeing them treated with less consideration
and attention than those who chance to be married. The cruelty and
injustice of this must be obvious to every one upon a moment's
thought; but to me its absurdity is more obvious still.
It is, I believe, a notorious fact, that there is scarcely a woman to
be found, of any rank under that of a princess of the blood royal,
who, at the age of fifty, has not at some time or in some manner had
the power of marrying if she chose it. That many who have had this
power have been tyrannically or unfortunately prevented from using it,
is certain; but there is nothing either ridiculous or contemptible in
this.
Still less does a woman merit scorn if she has had the firmness and
constancy of purpose to prefer a single life because she has
considered it best and fittest for her: in fact, I know nothing more
high-minded than the doing so. The sneering which follows female
celibacy is so well known and so coarsely manifested, that it shows
very considerable dignity of character to enable a woman to endure it,
rather than act against her sense of what is right.
I by no means say this by way of running a-tilt against all the ladies
in France who have submitted, _bon gré, mal gré_, to become wives at
the command of their fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, and guardians:
they have done exactly what they ought, and I hope all their pretty
little quiet-looking daughters will do the same; it is the custom of
the country, and cannot discreetly be departed from. But being on the
subject, I am led, while defending our own modes of proceeding in the
important affair of marriage, to remark also on the result of them. In
permitting a young woman to become acquainted with the man who
proposes for her before she consents to pass her whole life with him,
I certainly see some advantage; but in my estimation there is more
still in the protection which our usage in these matters affords to
those who, rather than marry a man who is not the object of their
choice, prefer remaining single. I confess, too, that I consider the
class of single women as an extremely important one. Their entire
freedom from control gives them great power over their time and
resources, much more than any other woman can possibly possess who is
not a childless widow. That this power is often--very often--nobly
used, none can deny who are really and thoroughly acquainted with
English society; and if among the class there be some who love cards,
and tattle, and dress, and slander, they should be treated with just
the same measure of contempt as the married ladies who may also
occasionally be found to love cards, and tattle, and dress, and
slander,--but with no more.
It has been my chance, and I imagine that it has been the chance of
most other people, to have found my dearest and most constant friends
among single women. Of all the Helenas and Hermias that before marriage
have sat "upon one cushion, warbling of one song," even for years
together, how few are there who are not severed by marriage! Kind
feelings may be retained, and correspondence (lazily enough) kept up;
but to whom is it that the anxious mother, watching beside the sick
couch of her child, turns for sympathy and consolation?--certainly not
to the occupied and perhaps distant wedded confidante of her youthful
days, but to her maiden sister or her maiden friend. Nor is it only in
sickness that such friends are among the first blessings of life: they
violate no duty by giving their time and their talents to society; and
many a day through every house in England has probably owed some of
its most delightful hours to the presence of those whom no duty has
called
"To suckle fools or chronicle small beer,"
and whose talents, therefore, are not only at their own disposal, but
in all probability much more highly cultivated than any possessed by
their married friends.
Thus, spite of him of the Luxembourg, I am most decidedly of opinion,
that, in England at least, there is no reason whatever that an
unmarried woman should consign herself to the fate of the unfortunate
Mademoiselle Isabelle.