THE TRUTH ABOUT WOMEN THAT NOBODY TELLS
(_Extracts from Penelope's Diary_)
_Two Years Later._
A woman who has been saved, as I have been, from a fate worse than death
must be grateful, and ready to show her gratitude by helping others,
especially other women. I have a message of hope for those who have
heard the Voices, for those who have gone down into the Black Valley,
where I was--_they can come back into the sunshine of happiness. The
powers of Light are stronger than the powers of Darkness, and Love
conquers Fear always in those who cleanse their souls of evil._
And I have a warning for thousands and tens of thousands of women who
have not yet glimpsed the Gates of Despair, but are drifting towards
them and will surely pass through them, as I did, unless they understand
the perils that surround and beset their lives.
With my husband's assistance and approval, I have selected from my diary
parts that bear on the emotional problems of women today. Christopher
says I have told the truth about women that nobody tells, and he wants
me to make it known, so that others, being enlightened, may avoid the
mistakes I made and be spared the consequences of these mistakes. Dear
Chris! His judgment encourages me, and yet--
How fully shall I speak, so that my words may do good, not harm?
I can only have faith in my honesty of purpose, and hold to my belief
that, in spite of my limitations, I have a message to deliver that will
be helpful. Yes, I must deliver this message. God will not allow so
sincere a motive to fail. Perhaps the reason for all my sufferings and
mistakes, the reason for my existence was that I should deliver this
message.
ARE CERTAIN WOMEN PREDESTINED TO UNHAPPINESS THROUGH THE INFLUENCE OF
THE STARS?
Soon after my deliverance from evil, Seraphine cast my horoscope (I
wonder why she never did this before?), and now much that was previously
inexplicable in my life is made clear to me. She says that astrology is
not a cheap form of trickery, but a recognized field of knowledge and
investigation.
From the earliest times wise men have emphasized the influence of the
stars upon human lives--for good or ill. I like to believe this. It
gives one a broader and more charitable view of one's fellow creatures,
of their sins and weaknesses, to realize the presence about us of these
vast and mysterious forces.
My horoscope, with its queer phraseology, reads:
"Your Neptune is in evil aspect to your Venus, which makes you attract
men almost irresistibly."
This was the case, Seraphine says, with Georges Sand, George Eliot and
various women in history who were the favorites of kings, although some
of them had little beauty. They were dowered, however, with this
terrific magnetism for the opposite sex.
I remember, even as a school girl, how the boys used to fight over me,
while they scarcely noticed prettier and brighter girls. I never
understood this, any more than they did, for I was rather indifferent to
them. There was one girl in our set who attracted the boys as much as I
did, but she was also drawn to them. When this girl was about eighteen
her father began to receive anonymous notes telling of his daughter's
escapades and warning him to guard her more carefully. Finally there
came an open scandal when the girl ran away with a married man. At the
time I thought myself a better and stronger character than she, since I
resisted temptation, but my horoscope shows that I had "in beneficent
aspect" certain planets that were "evilly aspected" for my friend, and
this made her temptations greater than mine.
Seraphine says that the horoscope, wisely used, is like an automobile
light in the darkness--it reveals dangers in the road that may be
avoided. "_The stars incline, but do not compel_," she always tells her
clients and assures them that, by power of the will, we can overcome any
influence of the stars, strengthening the good and weakening the evil
aspects. That is a blessed thought.
When I was a trained nurse I received many confidences from women and
some confessions of an intimate nature. At one time I took care of a
married woman in Washington, a neurasthenic case, and this woman told me
that she had several times tried to kill herself because of a curse that
seemed to be hanging over her. Twice, following an irresistible impulse,
she had left her husband with another man for whom she had no particular
affection. It was a kind of recurrent madness which she did not
understand except that _she was positive that it had something to do
with the phases of the moon_. During about ten days of the month when
the moon was "dark," she was perfectly normal, but when a new moon
appeared she was conscious of a vague uneasiness that increased and
finally became acute when the moon was full, this being her time of
peril.
Venus in conjunction with Mars, Seraphine says, brings love at first
sight, but in evil aspect to Mars it makes one liable to sex-excesses.
She says that a good Neptune in the 5th house, the house of Romance, or
in the 7th house, the house of Marriage, brings an ideal and spiritual
attachment; but in evil aspect in either of these houses it brings an
immoral relationship or a marriage to one who is morally or physically
deformed. This was the condition in my own horoscope and certainly poor
Julian was deformed morally.
What a strange and fascinating light all this throws upon human
behavior! How it clears up mysterious infatuations and explains
incredible follies! Seraphine knows a woman of fifty--she is a
grandmother and a most estimable person--who has always had and still
has this power of attracting men violently to her. On one occasion this
woman was in a railway station in New York, waiting for her son, when a
fine looking man approached her and, lifting his hat, asked if she could
direct him to the train that would soon leave for Chicago. She told him
in her well-bred way, and he left her; but a few minutes later he
returned and said with intense feeling that he had never believed in
love at first sight, but now he did. He was compelled to believe in it
now.
When she drew back he told her that he was a widower, a man of means,
living in the West, that he could give her the best references and--the
point was that his infatuation for her was so great that he begged her
to consider whether she would be willing to marry him. He would do
everything in his power to make her happy, but declared that he could
not and would not try to live without her another day.
Knowing her horoscope the woman did not get angry at this presumption,
but gently declined the offer, and begged the man to leave her. He bowed
and withdrew, but came back once again after she had joined her son and
explained to the astonished young man his hopes and aspirations toward
the mother. Whereupon, as the woman still refused, he finally left, to
all appearances broken-hearted.
I have had one experience of this sort myself that shows how even the
noblest man may suddenly suffer an infatuation capable of sweeping him
on to disaster. It was at the time of my husband's death--during days
when he lay half conscious in the hospital following his automobile
accident. A distinguished clergyman, Dr. B----, who had known Julian
slightly, visited him here and in this way made my acquaintance. And he
fell violently in love with me.
For months during my early widowhood he saw me almost every day and
wrote me impassioned letters, declaring that I was the only woman in the
world for him, I was his true mate, he could not live without me, he was
ready to give up everything for me, to go away with me to some distant
city--any city--and begin life all over again.
This clergyman was a man of fifty, a brilliant preacher, widely honored
and loved, who had never in his life, he assured me, committed any
deliberately sinful act such as this would be, for he was married to a
fine woman who had been his faithful companion for many years and had
borne him two children--two boys. All this he was ready to renounce for
me--reputation, honor, duty. He said it was fate. His desire for me was
too strong to be resisted. The sin, the disgrace, the pain that he would
cause--none of these could keep back this man of God from his evil
purpose.
ARE WOMEN DISLOYAL TO OTHER WOMEN?
In many pages of my diary (written sincerely at the time) I present the
conventional view of sex offences, the comforting view to women.
_But--_
When I search deep into my soul with an honest desire to find the truth,
I am not sure that women are as blameless in the sex struggle with men
as I would like to believe. Very often they are less pursued than
pursuing. Every man of the world can recall the cases where women have
played the rôle of temptress, using their charms against unwilling
victims, notably husbands of other women. _I am afraid the rule is that
women are disloyal to other women where there is any serious emotional
conflict._
The editor of a popular magazine told me once about a prize contest that
they had for the best essay on a woman's sex solidarity union--they
called it the W.S.S.U. The idea was that if women would stand together
against men they could get anything in the world they wanted--equal
rights and privileges, equal wages, fair treatment in every department
of life; and do away with evils of ignorance and poverty, child labor
evils, prostitution evils. We could have an ideal world if women, using
their sex power, would only stand together against men.
Hundreds of letters were received from women, who thought this a
wonderful idea; but they all agreed that it was impossible to carry it
out, because women would never be loyal to one another.
That is true; I know it, and every woman knows it--women are disloyal to
other women whenever it becomes a question of men. They might agree on a
W.S.S.U. program, but they would never stick to it, poor things, because
every blessed one of them who was at all good looking would be ready to
go over to the opposition at the first favorable opportunity. Only the
homely women would be loyal!
ARE WOMEN GREATER HYPOCRITES THAN MEN?
In all my troubles I kept at least to the form of religious belief,
although I missed the substance, namely, that any life can be made
happy, even glorious, if it is founded on purity of soul and unselfish
love and service. I was selfish--even in my love; therefore I brought
upon myself the fruits of selfishness which are ill health, inefficiency
and unhappiness. _The beauty of a selfish woman fades quickly._
Once I wrote this in my diary:
"Alas, how soon love passes! Ten or fifteen years and the best of it is
gone. After that the dregs! A woman of thirty! Ugh! I shall be thirty
next year. A woman of forty! No wrinkles at forty, says the beauty
advertisement, but that is a lie. A woman of forty is a pitiful, tragic
figure, especially if she is a little beautiful. No man wants her any
more."
I was mistaken. The beauty of unselfish love never passes. There are
sisters of charity whose faces are exquisitely beautiful at fifty.
Seraphine is forty-five and her face shines with heavenly radiance. Her
skin is as smooth as a girl's and free from lines because she thinks
good thoughts and does kind acts. The greatest beauty tonic in the world
is the habit of kindness.
In one place I find this:
"Women are naturally religious, especially women with a strong sex
nature; they believe in God, in spiritual mysteries; they are deeply
stirred by religious music and by the ritual of worship; they love the
architectural impressiveness of a church, the stained glass windows far
up among majestic arches, the candles, the incense, the far-away
chanting.
"I was brought up an Episcopalian, but when I am tired or discouraged I
often go into St. Patrick's Cathedral--it is so beautiful--and say my
prayers there. At any hour I find others praying, men and women--they
come in off Fifth Avenue quite naturally and cross themselves and bow to
the Altar and kneel straight up--they don't just lean forward the way we
do. I love to imitate them--cross myself and go down on one knee and dip
my fingers in the font of Holy Water as I come away. _Sometimes I wish I
was a Catholic and could confess my sins. It might help me._
"I do not think religion keeps women back very much from doing what they
want to do or have resolved to do in love affairs. It is a comfort, an
emotional satisfaction rather than a restraint. They come tripping in on
their high heels with all their smiles and finery, and they trip out
again, unchanged in their sentimental natures. A woman will go to church
in the afternoon and flirt with another woman's husband in the evening.
She will respond devoutly after the Commandments 'Lord have mercy upon
us, and incline our hearts to keep this law,' even though she knows that
her heart is inclined to break one of these laws."
This is true in the main, although I believe now that women, because
they are highly emotional, are sincere for the moment when they kneel
down to say their prayers and confess their sins, even if they half know
that they may continue in wrong-doing. I suppose women are less logical
here than men who will often stay away from church entirely when they
are breaking the moral law and when they know that they intend to go on
breaking it. I am sure it is better, however, for men and women to go to
church, even at the risk of a little hypocrisy, than not to go at all.
ARE WOMEN DISINGENUOUS IN SENTIMENTAL AFFAIRS?
I suppose we must admit that there are many women, in all classes of
society--not mercenary women--who extend to men a certain measure of sex
complaisance and feel no deep regret for this behavior, so long as
things go well.
Once I wrote in my diary:
"Of course women will not admit sex indiscretions--wild horses could not
drag the truth out of them. The attractive ones, those who have had
emotional experiences with men, will hide them, following the feminine
free masonry of centuries. And unattractive women will call high heaven
to witness that nothing of that sort has ever happened to them. They
have always found men respectful and considerate."
I asked Julian about this one day when he was in a penitential mood and
he said:
"Of course you are right, the indiscretions of women are numerous,
inevitable; but it is the fault of men. The evidence is all about us.
Any woman may ascertain this from her husband, her father, her
grandfather, or her great-grandfather, if she can persuade one of these
gentlemen to be honest with her."
The ghastly truth is--this is the truth that has filled the world with
tears--that the average full-blooded male citizen is polygamous in his
instinct and to some extent in his practice.
Every reasonably attractive woman who has been called upon to face the
facts of life knows that men are impelled towards women by a force of
desire that they call over-powering. It is not over-powering, as
thousands of clean-minded men have proved, it is no more over-powering
than the desire to gamble or the desire to take drugs; it can be
conquered as these other desires have been conquered; but centuries of
wayward living under relaxed standards (the double standard) have made
men believe that it is over-powering and they act accordingly. And women
yield on one pretense or another, smilingly or tearfully--_how can they
resist the dominant will of half the human race?_
I find this in my diary heavily underscored:
"_How can the same act be a sin for half the race and not a sin for the
other half? For centuries men have proclaimed that women must not give
themselves to men, but men may give themselves to women. Is there any
greater absurdity? Wine may mix with water, but water must not mix with
wine._"
If these sex-complaisant women were really filled with remorse, burdened
with a sense of shame, we should all know it. Their eyes, their voices,
their daily lives would reveal it. Could a million women be in physical
pain, say from starvation, without all the world knowing it? Is pain of
the soul less torturing than pain of the body? The fact is that these
women are not in spiritual pain. They regard what they have done (often
regretfully) as a result of impossible conditions in the world today, a
world controlled by men.
I can speak about these things with a certain authority, since, for
years, I sympathized with the self-indulgent point of view, in fact I
lived in an artistic and Bohemian _milieu_ where many of my friends
followed the line of least resistance. I may even confess that I might
have gone with the current, had I not seen the harm and unhappiness that
resulted. _It does not pay to be self-indulgent._
"LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION"
The suspicion that many women are disingenuous in regard to these
irregularities of conduct was forced upon me some years ago in a
conversation with Kendall Brown, who, for all his eccentricities, is a
keen observer of life.
I give the conversation at some length just as I wrote it down in my
diary:
"Kendall insists that women like me--he calls me a Class A woman which
makes me furious for I'm afraid I am one--are never really on the level
in sentimental affairs. If we were on the level, he says, we would not
make such a fuss about the grand conspiracy of men against our virtue.
There would be no point to it, for our virtue would never be in any
danger unless we half-wished it to be. He says that the three great sins
mentioned in the Bible and in all religions are killing, stealing and
sex offences. Now, the attitude of the human race toward these sins, as
established by centuries of habit, makes it almost impossible for the
average citizen, man or woman, to either kill or steal. 'Isn't that
true?' he asked.
"I agreed that the thought of stealing is so abhorrent to me that I
could not imagine any temptation strong enough to make me a thief. I
might have some reserves about killing, however, in fact I have once or
twice felt a sympathy for ... well, no!
"'All right,' he went on. 'Now, if women were on the level in guarding
their virtue and always had been, just as they are on the level in
regard to stealing, don't you see that it would be utterly impossible
for any man under any circumstances (barring violence which does not
happen once in ten thousand times) to have his way with a woman? This
habit of virtue would be so deeply ground into you women, into the very
depth of your being, that nothing could overcome it. But as we look
about us and observe women in all classes of society, we see that there
is no such condition, no such habit, which proves that women are not and
never have been on the level. What do you say to that, speaking as a
pretty woman?'
"I did not say anything, I was so indignant--speechless--at his
impertinence, and while I was searching for some answer to this
outrageous statement, my poet friend proceeded:
"'You know how strong habits are, Penelope, all habits. Take smoking, or
drinking cocktails, or even coffee. I swore off coffee six weeks ago.
During the first week I was nearly crazy for it--had headaches, felt
rotten, but I stuck it out. In the second week it was much easier for me
not to take coffee. At the end of a month the habit was established and
now I have no more craving for coffee. If I leave it alone for six
months the chances are that nothing will ever make me drink coffee
again, especially if I hypnotize myself with the idea that coffee is bad
for my heart action, that I'm a nice little hero to have cut it out and
that now I am going to live to be over ninety. You see?
"'Now then, the drift of all this is that the habit of virtue in women
if it really was an on-the-level habit that they believed in with all
their souls and would fight for with all their strength, would be
utterly and absolutely unbreakable--no man could overcome it. The only
reason why men in all times and in all lands have overcome women's
virtue is because women themselves have never attached the importance to
it that they pretend to attach. That isn't a very gallant speech, but it
is true.'"
As I said, I became angry at Kendall's accusations and refused to
continue the discussion, but if I were to answer the poet now, after my
wider experience of life, especially after my sufferings, I should feel
obliged to acknowledge that he struck a hard blow at feminine
complacency. The trouble with women is that there is an increasing
tendency among them, especially among those who live in cities full of
pleasures and excitements, to compromise with evil, to go as near the
danger line as possible, so long as they do not cross it. And this
cowardly, dallying virtue is almost no virtue at all. There was a time
when women prayed sincerely: "Lead us not into temptation"; now it seems
as if they pray to be led into temptation, with just this reservation:
_that they may come out of it unscathed. Demi-vierges!_
I have watched many attractive women treading the primrose path and I
have seen that it always leads them to unhappiness. Not that they are
disgraced or openly degraded--life goes on with many of them very much
as before, but gradually their faces change, their souls change. They
could have done so much better; they could have been useful, respected
and self-respecting figures in the world _through loving service_. After
all, life is very short and the only things that really matter are the
things that happen in our own souls. _No one can fail in life who does
not fail inside, and no one can succeed in life who only succeeds
outside._ I learned that from Dr. Leroy.
IS PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP POSSIBLE TO AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN?
In telling the truth about my life and my innermost feelings I must
quote passages from my diary that were written in a light and often
flippant spirit, that being my mood at the time; but the lesson is there
just the same and in many instances tears follow close behind the
laughter. Furthermore, I thank God that my regeneration has not taken
away my sense of humor. One of the great troubles with neurasthenic
women is that they do not laugh enough.
I wrote the following about a year after my husband's death:
"We women are irrational creatures. Our emotions control us, and these
emotions change from day to day, from hour to hour. We never know how we
will act under any given circumstances--that may depend upon some man."
The truth is that the attraction which draws a man and a woman together
in what they call platonic friendship always has something of the
physical in it--on one side or the other. Or on both sides. Women will
not admit this, but it is true. They talk about the intellectual bond
that joins them to a man--what a precious interchange of thoughts! Or
the spiritual bond--such a soulful and inspiring companionship--nothing
else, my dear! I used to talk that way myself about Jimsy Brooks before
my husband died. He was my unchangeable rock of defense whenever the
subject of platonic friendship came up. Other men might fail and falter,
make fools of themselves, seek opportunities for--nonsense, but Jimsy
was Old Reliability. I could tell him everything, even my troubles with
Julian, I could trust him entirely. Alas!
One day I received this warning from Seraphine: "My beloved Penelope,
you are riding for a fall! I have had you in mind constantly since you
told me of your new friendship with Mr. R----. I know you intend to be
truly platonic and I can see you smiling as you recall your many years'
friendship with Jim Brooks to prove that such a thing is possible. But,
my dear, take warning in time. While it has apparently worked out in
that case, I am certain it is only the thought of losing 'even that that
he has' which has prevented Jimsy from telling you of his love long ago.
Your new playmate may cause you many heartaches before the game is
played out. Think it over."
Dear old Seraphine! How well she knows the human soul! A month later I
wrote this in my diary:
"Seraphine was right. My bubble has vanished into thin air. Jimsy Brooks
has declared his love for me and a wonderful thing has gone out of my
life forever. I had always felt so perfectly safe with Jimsy. When I
think of the all-day picnics that we two used to go on together and the
outrageous things I have done, I blush all over.
"I remember our trip to Bear Mountain and the sparkling stream that
beckoned me into its depths. I wanted to wade in it, to sit on one of
the smooth round stones in the middle and in general to behave like a
child. All of which I did, for there was only Jimsy to see and he didn't
matter in the least. He never so much as glanced at my bare feet and
legs when I splashed through the ripples with my dress pinned up!
"I remember how I kissed his hand where a fish barb had torn it....
'Kiss it, make it well,' and all the while I must have been hurting him
cruelly. God knows I did not mean to, I would not have hurt him for the
world.
"This sort of thing is all very well from a woman's angle, but is it
well for a man? Jimsy says no, and when I remember the expression in his
eyes, I am afraid I must agree with him. I had thought of him more as I
would think of a girl chum, only infinitely more desirable, for he had
the power of really _doing_ things for me--he was a cross between a nice
old friendly dog that would fetch and carry at my bidding and a powerful
protector who could (and did) stand between me and unpleasant
happenings.
"Jimsy has gone out of my life and left a terrible loneliness. He says
that some day, when he has learned resignation, he will come back and
we can take up the threads of our friendship just where we have laid
them down ... but that can never be, you cannot build up a new
friendship on the ashes of an old one. Poor Jim Brooks! I shall never
forget what a wonderful thing he was in my life. And now that I have
learned my lesson, my new platonic friend Mr. R---- can take his
professed platonic friendship elsewhere. I am through, henceforth all
men are acquaintances ... or lovers!"
* * * * *
As I look back on my life and try to draw wisdom from my mistakes, I see
some things clearly and one is that it is impossible for a woman like me
to enjoy the close friendship of an attractive man without danger. No
matter how honorable he is or how sincere the woman is, there will be
danger. The only case where there is no danger is where there is no
physical attraction. I might have been safe enough with some anemic
saint, but not with one who had pulsing red blood in his
veins--certainly not!
* * * * *
Here is a characteristic episode written before I married Julian, during
those months of hard struggle in New York:
"Last night Kendall Brown talked to me like an angel.
"'I'll give you a case in point, Pen,' he was saying. 'A beautiful woman
like you, an exquisite, lithe creature is sitting on a sofa under a soft
light, leaning against pillows--just as you are now; and a man like me,
a poor adoring devil, a regular worm, is sitting at the other end of the
sofa looking at this woman, drinking in her loveliness, thrilling to the
mysterious lights in her eyes, the caressing tenderness of her voice and
all the rest of it. This man wants to reach out and take this woman in
his arms--draw her to him--press his lips to hers. But he doesn't do it,
because--well, she wouldn't stand for it. Besides, it isn't right.
Perhaps she is a married woman. Perhaps he is married.
"'Now what I want to know is why this chap can't behave himself and
regard his fair friend as he would an exquisite rose in a
garden--somebody else's garden. Why can't he say to himself: "This woman
is one of God's loveliest creatures, but she does not belong to me. I
can look at her, I can rejoice in her beauty, but I mustn't touch her or
try to harm her." Why can't he say that to himself? Isn't it a wicked
thing for a man to crush and bruise and destroy a lovely flower, to
scatter its color and perfume just for a wayward impulse?'
"I shall never forget the earnestness, the tenderness in the eyes and
voice of this harum scarum poet whose record in women conquests makes a
rich chapter in the annals of Greenwich Village. At this moment he was
quite sincere, or thought he was. There were tears in his eyes.
"And what did I do? I rose from my pillows and said, with a little laugh
and toss of my head: 'Very pretty, Kendall, you ought to make a poem of
it.' Then I went over to the victrola and set it going in a fox-trot,
one of my favorites. I was restless and began to move about slowly to
the music while Kendall watched me with a different light growing in his
eyes. I wore a clinging white house garment--I suppose I was at my best.
"'Let's dance it, Pen, just gently so as not to disturb the folks
downstairs,' he said. So we danced the fox-trot and my hair brushed
against his cheek--he really dances very well for a poet.
"After he had gone I sat thinking of this for a long time, puzzled about
myself and about Kendall. This afternoon I saw him again as I was
passing through the Brevoort Café. He came up to me, smiling, and drew
me aside.
"'Don't you see what a little faker you are, Pen?' he laughed. 'It's
just as I said, you are none of you on the level, you pretty women. Why
did you set that victrola going last night and tempt me to--to--yes you
did, you know darn well you did. Why did you let your cheek brush
against mine? Come, be honest, if you can. You're laughing, you adorable
little devil--you expected me to kiss you.'
"'Impertinent!' I said. 'You do yourself too much honor, sir.'
"'I say you expected me to kiss you.'
"'No.'
"'Liar!' He wrinkled up his nose amusingly.
"I suppose I was a liar. I did expect Kendall Brown to--well--not to
kiss me necessarily, but to make it perfectly clear that he wanted to.
It was a ridiculous and unnecessary bit of posing on his part to act as
if he did not want to. The French have a saying that a pretty woman
always expects a suitor to know just _when_ to be lacking in respect."
HOW SHALL A WOMAN SATISFY HER HEART'S LONELINESS?
I quote from my diary without comment another significant conversation
that took place during the early months of my widowhood. How I resented,
at this time, any suggestion that I was inclined to venture too near the
sentimental danger line!
And yet....
"Tonight I had a long talk with Kendall Brown on the same old
subject--_what is a woman to do who longs for the companionship of a
man, but does not find it?_
"Kendall always says disconcerting things, he is brutally frank; but I
like to argue with him because I find him stimulating, and he does know
a lot about life.
"'The trouble with women like you, Pen,' he said, 'is that you are not
honest with yourselves. You pretend one thing and end by doing something
quite different; then you say that you never intended to do this thing.
Why can't you be consistent?'
"'Like men?'
"'Well, at least men know what they are going after, and when they have
done a certain thing, they don't waste time regretting it or insisting
that they meant to do something else.'
"'You think women are hypocrites?'
"'Yes.'
"'If women are hypocrites, if women are afraid to tell the truth about
sentimental things, it is because you men have made them so,' I replied
with feeling.
"Kendall answered good-naturedly that he held no brief for his own sex,
he acknowledged that men treat women abominably--lie to them, abandon
them, and so on; but he kept to his point that women create many of
their troubles by drifting back and forth aimlessly on the changing tide
of their emotions instead of establishing some definite goal for their
lives.
"'Women yield to every sentimental impulse--that is why they weep so
easily. Watch them at a murder trial--they weep for the victim, then
they weep for the murderer. Half their tears are useless. If women would
put into constructive thinking some of the vital power they waste in
weeping and talking they could revolutionize the world.'
"'Could they reform the men?' I retorted, but when he tried to answer I
stopped him. What was the use? I knew what he would say about this, and
I really wanted to get his ideas on the other point.
"'Come back to the question,' I said. 'Take the case of a well-bred
woman surrounded by stifling, conventional influences of family and
friends, who sees lonely years slipping by while nothing comes that
satisfies her womanhood. She may have money enough, comforts, even
luxuries, but she longs for the companionship of a man. What is she to
do?'
"He answered with his usual positiveness:
"'She must take the initiative. She must go after what she supremely
wants, just as a man would, using her power--I assume that she is
reasonably attractive. She must break through restraints, and drive
ahead towards the particular kind of emotional happiness that suits her.
That is what God created her for, to achieve by her own efforts this
emotional happiness. If she wants it enough she can get it. We can all
of us do anything, have anything on condition that we want it enough to
pay the price for it. The price is usually the elimination of other
things that interfere.'
"'Suppose a woman wants a husband? Suppose she is forty--and not rich?
Do you mean to say she can get a husband?'
"Here my poet, blazing with conviction, leaned towards me, pointing an
emphatic forefinger.
"'I tell you, Penelope Wells, it is possible for any reasonably
attractive woman _up to forty-five_ to get a reasonably satisfactory
husband if she will work to get him as a man works to make money. She
can't sit on a chair and twirl her thumbs and wait for a husband to drop
into her lap out of the skies like a ripe plum. She must bend destiny to
her purposes. She must make sacrifices, create opportunities, move
about, use the intelligence that God has given her. The world is full of
men who are half ready to marry--_she must turn the balance!_
"'Listen! If I were a lonely woman yearning for matrimony I would pick
out one of these eligible males and make him my own. I would make him
feel that the thing he wanted above all other things was to have me for
his wife. How would I do this? I would study his desires, his needs, his
weaknesses; I would make myself so necessary to him--as necessary as a
mother is to a child--that he couldn't get along without me. I tell you
it can be done, Pen, by the resistless power of the human will. The
trouble with most of us is that we don't want things hard enough. _If a
woman wants a husband hard enough she will get him--nothing can prevent
it!_'
"I smiled at these fantastic views, although I admit, that we women
ought to be more masters of our fates than we are. In my own case I
suppose it would have been better if I had left Julian of my own
volition, because it was right to leave him, instead of waiting for an
automobile accident to separate us.
"'Please be sensible, Kendall,' I protested. 'Give me thoughts that
apply to the world as it is, not extravagant fancies. You know perfectly
well that there are thousands, tens of thousands, of fairly attractive
women in all classes of society, especially in the wage earning class,
who have no chance to marry the kind of man they wish to marry. Besides,
there are a million more women than men in American. They can't all get
husbands, can they? There aren't enough men to go around. And there are
other thousands of wretched women tied to husbands who will not consent
to a divorce. What are all these unhappy women to do?'
"'Can't they get along without men?' he laughed.
"'Can men get along without women?' I answered, rather annoyed. Kendall
saw that I was serious and changed his tone.
"'Let me get this straight, Pen. If a woman longs for the companionship
of a man--you mean the intimate companionship? You are not talking about
platonic friendship?'
"'No, I mean the intimate companionship.'
"'And she cannot marry? Then what is she to do? Is that what you mean?'
"'Yes.'
"'Ah! Now we come to the heart of the discussion. You want to know if
there are cases where self-respecting women enter into irregular love
affairs and never regret it? Is it possible for a woman to break the
moral law without suffering disastrous consequences? Are there cases
where a girl or a woman yields to the desperate cry of her soul for a
mate without degradation and without loss of her self-respect? Can such
things be? Do you want my honest opinion?' The poet's eyes challenged
me.
"'Yes, that is exactly what I want, I want the truth.'
"Whereupon Kendall Brown assured me that he has known a number of rather
fine women, self-supporting and self-respecting, the kind of women who
say their prayers at night and try to be kind, who, nevertheless, have
had _liaisons_ that have not resulted in shame and sorrow or in any
moral or material disaster.
"'Are you sure of this? How can you be sure?'
"'Because I have talked frankly with these women. Sometimes I was in a
position where I could, and, anyhow, women tell me things. They know it
is my business to study life, to glimpse the heights and depths of human
nature. I would be a poor poet if I couldn't do that.'
"'And these women told you that they have never felt regrets?'
"'Practically that--yes; several of them said that they would do the
same thing over again if they had to relive their lives. They have been
happier, more efficient in their work, they have had better health,
calmer nerves, a more serene attitude towards life because of these love
affairs.'
"'I don't believe it,' I declared. 'These women lied to you. They kept
something back. The thing is wrong, abominable, and nothing can make it
right or decent. I would rather die of loneliness.'
"I shall never forget Kendall's superior smile as he answered me:
"'Oh, the inconsistency of a woman! She will not marry, she will not
have an _affaire_, yet she longs for the intimate companionship of a
man. She wants to go swimming, but insists upon keeping away from the
water.'
"I bit my lip in vexation of spirit.
"'Dear friend, don't be annoyed with me,' my poet continued with a quick
change to gentleness. 'I didn't make the world or put these troublesome
desires and inconsistencies into the hearts of women. Listen! I'll give
you my best wisdom now: If a woman cannot marry and will not have a
lover, then she must stop all stimulation of her emotions, she must put
men out of her thoughts, out of her life and concentrate on something
worth while that will not harm her. Let her take up the purely
intellectual life, some cultural effort--history, art, municipal reform,
anything, and absorb herself in it. Or let her follow the old path that
has led thousands of women to peace of mind--let her seek the comforts
of religion.' Then smiling, he added: 'You might become a missionary,
Pen, in China or Armenia. I'll bet you'd be flirting with some mandarin
or pasha before you got through.'
"Again I bit my lip, for I knew very well that the religious life would
never satisfy me. If I entered a convent I should probably run away from
it in despair. What a horrible situation to want to do right and long to
do wrong at the same time!
"Kendall Brown must have read my thoughts.
"'There is one thing you self-pitying ladies must learn,' he went on,
'that is to play the game of life according to the rules. You can't have
your cake and eat it. You can't amuse yourselves with fire without
getting burned.'
"I was silent.
"'You must stop flirting with temptation--that's what you all do, you
pretty women, fascinating women. You can't deny it.'
"'I do deny it,' I said weakly.
"'Oh come now! How about dancing--when a woman has a sinuous, clinging
body and wears no corsets and--you know what I mean. Isn't that
temptation?'
"'It's horrid of you, Kendall Brown, to suggest such things. Only a
person with evil thoughts--'
"His eyes twinkled at me good-humoredly but I refused to be conciliated.
"'And how about the ancient and honorable practice of kissing?' he
persisted. 'Of course it is not done any more, I realize that. No pretty
woman in these austere days ever thinks of allowing a man to kiss
her--except her husband, but--seriously, isn't kissing a temptation?
Isn't it, Pen?'
"By this time my nerves were decidedly ruffled.
"'You are too foolish!' I stormed. 'I wish you would go home. I am tired
of your ex-cathedra statements and your self-sufficiency.'
"'No,' he flung back, studying me with his keen gray eyes, 'you are
tired of the truth.'"
CONCERNING THE DOUBLE STANDARD
With great diffidence I venture to say a word about the most perplexing
and embarrassing question in the world:
_Shall men be allowed to do certain things without any particular
punishment or social condemnation, while women are punished mercilessly
for doing these same things--things that men compel them to do?_
The double standard!
Shall women try to change this standard, and, if so, in which
direction--up or down?
Is it desirable that the weaker sex be given more liberty in emotional
matters, or that the stronger sex be given less liberty?
I know that some distinguished women, great artists, stage favorites and
others have succeeded brilliantly in spite of sex irregularities; but
this proves nothing. These women succeeded because they had genius or
talent, not because they were immoral, just as certain men of genius
have succeeded in spite of an addiction to various evil practices. They
would probably have achieved more splendid careers had they been able to
conquer these weaknesses. Besides, we are considering what is best for
the majority of men and women, not for an exceptional few.
I have a friend, a public school teacher in Chicago,--Miss Jessie G----,
who holds advanced views on these matters and admits that she herself
has been a sex transgressor. She has never been sordid or mercenary,
she has always believed that she was actuated by sincere affection, but
the fact remains that she has had several affairs with men. She has
broken the moral law. And while she professes not to regret this and
insists that she would repeat these affairs if she had to live her life
over again, yet, I have felt in talking with her that this cannot
possibly be true.
Miss G---- has fine instincts, is fond of music, is proud of her
profession and shrinks from the thought that she might be considered
_déclassée_; at the same time she _knows_ that on more than one occasion
she has been treated coldly by men and women familiar with the facts of
her life. For example, at summer hotels, in spite of her good looks and
apparent respectability, she has been denied introductions to charming
women who would disapprove of her behavior.
_That hurts!_
Even the bravest of our advanced women thinkers know in their hearts
that they writhe under the pity or scorn of their sister women.
It is certain that a decent woman who enters into irregular relations
with a man whom she loves must endure great distress of mind; her
relations with this man are at best unsatisfactory. She accepts the
disadvantages of wifehood and foregoes the advantages. She can see her
adored one only with difficulty at uncertain times and places. She lives
in constant fear of discovery. She is doomed to torturing loneliness
for, in the nature of things, she cannot have her lover with her
whenever she longs to have him, there must be days and weeks of the
inevitable separation. Nor dare she write to him freely, lest the
letters fall into wrong hands. In no way may she reveal her love, the
proudest treasure in her life, but must hide it like a thing of shame.
"My poor child," I would say to such a woman, if I might, "remember that
the hard test comes when things go wrong, when money fails, when beauty
fades. Suppose your beloved falls ill. You cannot go to him, speak to
him, minister to him on his bed of pain, though your heart is breaking.
Even if he is dying, you can only wait ... wait in anguish of soul for
some cold or covert message. You have no rights at his side that the
family respect--_his_ family. Who are you? Are you his wife? No! Then
you are nothing, less than nothing; you are the temptress, _the
mistress_! You love him? Bah! Can such a woman love?"
Miss G---- once acknowledged to me that while she has enjoyed the
companionship of superior men whom she would never have known but for
her moral laxity, yet she has paid a heavy price here, since she no
longer values the acquaintance of men in her own sphere of life. From
two such men (excellent, average men) she has received offers of
marriage that she refused because their society no longer satisfied her
after that of others more brilliant and highly placed; but she might
easily have been happy with one of these two, had not her ideals been
raised to a level beyond her legitimate attainment.
I might present other difficulties that must be faced by a woman who
says she is tired of the old standards of virtue and will live her life
as a man lives his, but I need not detail these difficulties. In her
deepest soul every woman knows that the thought of a wayward existence
is abhorrent to her better nature. She hates the double standard, she
knows it has worked only evil in the world--it is a debasement of all
that is noblest, a betrayal of all that is most beautiful. _The double
standard has done more harm to the human race than all the wars of
history._
Women know this, but they are afraid to speak out, they are afraid to
fight for their ideals, and passing years find men clinging to hideous
sex privileges--one law of morality for men and another law for women.
I believe that American women could change all this, they could abolish
the wicked double standard, as they have abolished saloons and houses of
degradation, if they would face the facts of life instead of ignoring
them. It is merely a matter of courage and organization. Suppose a
hundred women in a single city should pledge themselves to bar from
their homes and acquaintance notorious sex offenders--men offenders? And
to question clean-minded men of their acquaintance, influential men,
about these things and to get honest answers? And to have these answers
openly discussed--perhaps in the churches? Why not? What are churches
for except to fight evil?
What would the average man say to a woman whom he respected and trusted
if she asked him to tell her, on his honor as a good citizen, whether he
believes that the double standard is helpful or harmful to the women of
America? Helpful or harmful to the children of America? To the manhood
of America? Whether he is glad or sorry to think of the effects that his
double-standard pleasures have had upon American women? Whether he would
wish his sons to follow in his double-standard footsteps? Whether he
would be willing to give up his double-standard privileges, if by so
doing, he could save ten American women like his mother or his daughter
from destruction? Would he be willing to do that? _Will he give his
pledge to do that?_
Think how such a leaven of decency and clean manhood might spread
throughout the land! It might start a single-standard revival that would
sweep the world. _By the power of courage and faith and the love of
God!_
SHALL A WIFE FORGIVE HER HUSBAND FOR UNFAITHFULNESS?
I have thought deeply about this, remembering what I suffered with
Julian. It is terribly hard to tell the truth; a woman is filled with
shame for herself and for her whole sex when she tries to tell the truth
about the unfaithfulness of husbands.
_How long shall a wife forgive? How much shall she deliberately ignore?_
Many women say: "I would never forgive my husband if he deceived me."
Others say: "I would never forgive my husband if I _knew_ that he had
deceived me." And still others say: "If my husband must deceive me, I
hope he will never let me know it."
The tragic truth is (as all women vaguely suspect) that thousands of
devoted husbands, hundreds of thousands of average husbands have at one
time or another fallen from grace. Julian used to say that if all the
men in America who have broken the seventh commandment were sent away to
do penance on lonely mountain tops, we should run short of mountains.
He told me also that a man can love his wife so sincerely that he would
gladly die for her, yet, in a moment of temptation, he may be untrue to
her. Julian was an impossible person, but other clean-minded men,
including my dear Christopher, have told me the same thing.
The truth is that most men have never learned to resist sex temptation;
they grow up with the knowledge that they need not resist temptation,
which is the fault of society, as now organized, the fault of wrong
teaching, of insincere preaching, of nation-wide hypocrisy.
I have come to see that women, so long as they have not set themselves
as a body against this evil system (which they might evidently change if
they would act together) have no right to complain of its inevitable
consequences. Men will abandon sex excesses, as they have abandoned
drinking excesses, gradually, through education, through reasonable
appeal, through the resistless force of public opinion intelligently
aroused and directed by devoted women. And in no other way!
Meantime, it is the duty of individual wives to be merciful, as far as
they can, towards erring husbands. The cure lies often in more love
from the wife rather than in less love.
To any tortured wife who knows or half knows certain things about her
husband, I say this--"Dear friend, as long as you love him, forgive him.
As long as he loves you, forgive him. Be patient--enduring. Make the
hard fight against sensuality with your husband, but don't let him know
you are making it. Make this fight exactly as you would a similar fight
against alcohol or drugs."
A woman must be on her guard, however, lest she hide under a cloak of
forgiveness, some base motive in her own heart. Alas! I know, better
than anyone, how easily we women can deceive ourselves.
There is an ignoble forgiveness that is based on love of material
advantages--love of money. There are women who tolerate faithless
husbands because they are too cowardly or indolent to fight the battle
of life alone. What would they do if they left their sheltered homes?
Who would provide comforts and luxuries? How would they dress
themselves? How would they live? Shall it be by working? But they hate
to work. They have never learned to work. It was partly as a defense
against this woman helplessness that I took up trained nursing while
Julian was still alive.
A still more degrading forgiveness is based on sensuality. There are
women married to brutes of husbands who will endure every humiliation,
surrendering all their fine ideals and high purposes rather than leave
these coarse mates.
I first realized this just before I went abroad to nurse the soldiers. I
had gone to the Adirondacks that summer for a rest, and one day on a
motor trip I stopped for luncheon at a farm house, and there I
recognized an old friend from my home town, Laura K----, who was to have
had a brilliant musical career. It was she who had encouraged me to
develop my voice; but I never could have been the great artist that
Laura might have been. A famous impresario had judged her voice to be so
fine--it was a glorious contralto--that he had offered to advance money
for her musical studies abroad. He assured Laura that in three years she
would be a blazing star on the grand opera stage.
That was the last I had heard of my old friend, and here suddenly I
found her, married to a hulking mountaineer, half trapper, half guide.
Here was my wonderful, burning-eyed Laura, who might have had the world
at her feet, a farm drudge taking in summer boarders! How was this
possible?
I spent the afternoon seeking an answer to this riddle. We walked out
into the forest and talked for hours, but whenever I pressed for an
explanation, she halted in confusion. Her mother was old and ill
and--she did not wish to leave her. But, I pointed out, she had never
spoken of this before, she had always cared supremely about her voice,
about her great musical triumph that was to be. Was not that true? Yes,
of course, but--the mountain air was so good for her mother. And she
made other trivial excuses.
Finally, I got the truth as we were strolling home in the twilight and
met her husband slouching along with a gun over his shoulder. As I
caught his sullen, tawny glance and sensed his superb, muscular figure,
I suddenly understood. He nodded curtly and passed on--this cave man!
"_That_ was the reason, Laura, wasn't it?" I whispered.
She looked at me in silence, biting her lips, and blushed furiously.
"Yes," she confessed, "that was the reason."
IS IT A WOMAN'S DUTY TO TELL HER HUSBAND OF PAST TRANSGRESSIONS?
I am not sure what I really believe about this in my deepest soul.
Thousands of women who long to do right will agree with me that it is a
terribly difficult question to answer.
If this were an ideal world where men and women had been purified and
spiritualized to a Christ-like loftiness of soul, one would say yes; but
it is not. A loving wife does not wish her husband to confess to her his
past transgressions, she takes him as he is and is happy to start a new
life with him, turning over a clean page. She only asks that he be loyal
and faithful in the future. And if she is ready to give him similar
loyalty and faithfulness, if she has sincerely repented of any sinful
act, is not that sufficient? Why must she risk the destruction of their
happiness by a revelation that will do no good to anyone? Why must she
give her husband needless pain?
_And yet--_
While the vast majority of women will agree that such feminine reticence
about past wrong-doing is justifiable, the truth, as I have come to see
it, is that, in so agreeing, women must subscribe to a creed of
deliberate deception. A man marries a woman whom he believes to be
virtuous, a woman whom he might refuse to marry if he knew that she were
not virtuous. And this woman does nothing to disabuse him of his error.
Is that right? She allows her husband to keep a certain good opinion of
her that is not justified. No matter how excellent her motive may be,
the fact remains that this marriage rests upon an insecure foundation,
upon an implied falsehood. Thousands of plays and stories have been
constructed on this theme, and they usually end unhappily.
Suppose a man who had been in prison should marry a woman who was
ignorant of this cloud on his life, trusting to chance that his criminal
record would never be discovered? The two cases are somewhat parallel.
What would the woman say if she learned later that she had unwittingly
married an ex-convict? Would she not prefer that he had told her the
truth before he married her?
On the other hand it may be argued that a woman's sin, being presumably
the fault of some man, may be properly expiated, in part at least, by
some other man. But that does not dispose of the difficulty that _a
woman who conceals past indiscretions from her husband is condemned to
live a lie_.
One deception almost invariably leads to another deception until a
whole chain or net of equivocations, ruses, trickeries, is established
with the hideous possibility of some shocking divorce scandal, possibly
years later when innocent children may be the sufferers.
Even if such disaster is averted and the truth is never revealed, even
if all goes well apparently through happy married years, yet the poison
of deceit may work a spiritual disaster in this woman--such a disaster
as overwhelmed me--or it may bring about a lowering of moral standards
in a woman, a stifling of religious life, that will have sinister and
far-reaching consequences.
_The greatest need in the world today is the need of spirituality among
women, for they are the teachers of the young._
As illustrating the frightful harm that may result from such a lack of
spirituality in a woman, I quote from my diary the case of a great
English lady whom I met while I was nursing in the battle region back of
Verdun. She had come from London to be near her son, a magnificent
soldier, the handsomest Englishman I have ever seen, who had been
wounded in the Mesopotamian campaign and was now here for his
convalescence.
"Lady Maude H---- G---- is a fascinating woman," I wrote. "She must have
been a great beauty in her day, and she seems to be a figure in the
rich, smart London set. She speaks quite casually of being invited to
this or that palace for a chat and a cup of tea with one of the
princesses or even with the Queen. During hours that she spent at the
hospital she talked to me frankly and charmingly about many things
connected with her boy and his future. She is worried lest some
designing woman get him in her power, and one day she told me that she
has arranged matters for Leonard so that he will be spared certain
perils of this kind that might surround him in London. This excellent
and brilliant mother has solved her son's problem--the sex problem--in
the following extraordinary way, which proves, so she seems to think,
her love and wisdom. She has arranged matters--goodness knows how--so
that Leonard will be on excellent terms with two beautiful young matrons
in her set and in this way he will not be vamped off by any unscrupulous
chorus girl. These two beauties are to serve for the delectation of this
young warrior until he can make a suitable marriage. What a commentary
upon the morals and standards of high society!"
How can one explain such incredible baseness?
This woman is not an ignoble person. On the contrary she is kind and
generous, full of the best intentions. She has simply reached a point in
her selfish round of vanity and pleasure-seeking where she can no longer
distinguish between right and wrong. Her soul is withered, starved,
because it has been deprived of God's love and God's truth; yet the
deterioration came gradually, no doubt, beginning with petty lies and
compromises and evasions of responsibility. If _she_ had any past
transgression on her conscience it is certain she never told her husband
about it.
It is a rule among women (with few exceptions) that idleness and
uselessness make for selfishness and sensuality. Also for irreligion.
These ultra _mondaines_ think of God in an amiable, well-bred way--they
approve of God, and they say their prayers in an amiable, well-bred way;
but none of this avails to regenerate their lives or to combat the
sensuality of their self-indulgent men. Nor does it save these women
themselves from submitting to a social regime that is largely based on
indulgence of the senses and the appetites. _Il y en a, de ces femmes du
monde, qui se conduisent d'une façon pire que les filles de joie._
* * * * *
As for myself I told my husband everything. I kept back nothing of my
waywardness and sinfulness, my evil thoughts and desires. I admit that
most men would not forgive a wife or a young bride who confessed to some
sex transgression committed before her marriage. I also admit that the
chances are against a husband's discovering such a transgression, if the
wife keeps silent. It is apparently to the wife's advantage to keep
silent; it apparently pays, in this case, to live a lie; but if deeper
values are considered, if the sacredness of a woman's soul is taken into
account, then a woman will see that she must confess, regardless of
consequences. Alas, this is a very hard thing for the ordinary woman to
do--the ordinary woman who is neither a saint on a stained glass window
nor the heroine of a novel. But if she has the moral courage to confess
her sin (knowing that life is given us for something else than temporary
advantage), then, having cleansed her soul, she will be singularly
blessed with peace of mind, and will be given strength to bear whatever
comes, even loneliness. Besides, there are men who know how to forgive.
God knows most of them have need enough to be forgiven themselves.
EPILOGUE
A WOMAN'S LITANY
(_Written by Penelope Wells_)
I dedicate to other women who may have done wrong, as I did, or who may
be sorely tempted as I was, these thoughts that have comforted me--they
have been like a consecration of my life. I have had them printed on
vellum in a little red book no larger than a visiting card and so thin
that I can slip it inside my glove. This is my talisman. I read these
thoughts whenever I am wavering or discouraged, wherever I may be, in
crowds or solitude, walking in the street, sitting in a car, and they
always give me new heart and courage.
I
When I am weak or embittered, indolent, envious, I know that I can find
strength through the performance of some loving act, however small. I
can brighten the dullest sky with the sunshine of a little love. I know
that sin and evil come chiefly from selfishness and sensuality. I can
conquer selfishness by love. I can conquer sensuality by love. I can
overcome all evil, all fear, all vanity, by love. There is no death,
but the death of love. From which,
_Dear Lord, deliver me._
II
I know that pride is the worship of self: but humility is the worship of
God. Pride leads to discontent, but humility in loving service (no
matter how obscure) gives peace of mind. From all forms of pride,
_Dear Lord, deliver me._
III
I know that only harm can come to me from dwelling upon past mistakes,
follies, sins. I cannot change these so I put them out of my thoughts
and concentrate on the present, which is mine to do with as I please.
From all vain regrets,
_Dear Lord, deliver me._
IV
I know that right living comes only from right thinking. To do right
under stress of law or custom while desiring to do wrong is to make a
mockery of virtue. I must sincerely desire to do right. The forces of
life-control must act from within me, not from without. From all
hypocrisy and false pretense,
_Dear Lord, deliver me._
V
I know that a woman cannot be virtuous if she longs for sensuality, or
dallies with it, or dwells upon it in her thoughts, even though she
refrain from any sinful act. Nor can a married woman be a truly virtuous
wife if she yields to perverse revellings of the imagination which
defile body and soul--_even with her husband_! From all defilements of
love,
_Dear Lord, deliver me._
THE END