society” believe in any movement to enlarge the rights or duties of
women. In a community of more marked social gradations than our own,
this assertion, if true, might be very important; and even here it is
worth considering, because it leads the way to a little social
philosophy. Let us, for the sake of argument, begin by accepting the
assumption that there is an inner circle, at least in our large cities,
which claims to be “society,” _par excellence_. What relation has this
favored circle, if favored it be, to any movement relating to women?
It has, to begin with, the same relation that “society” has to every
movement of reform. The proportion of smiles and frowns offered from
this quarter to the woman-suffrage movement, for instance, is about that
offered to the anti-slavery agitation: I see no great difference. In
Boston, for example, the names contributed by “society” to the
woman-suffrage festivals are about as numerous as those formerly
contributed to the anti-slavery bazaars; no more, no less. Indeed, they
are very often the same names; and it has been curious to see, for
nearly fifty years, how radical tendencies have predominated in some of
the wellknown Boston families, and conservative tendencies in others.
The traits of blood seem to outlast successive series of special
reforms. Be this as it may, it is safe to assume, that, as the
anti-slavery movement prevailed with only a moderate amount of sanction
from “our best society,” the woman-suffrage movement, which has at least
an equal amount, has no reason to be discouraged.
But on looking farther, we find that not reforms alone, but often most
important and established institutions, exist and flourish with only
incidental aid from those “in society.” Take, for instance, the whole
public-school system of our larger cities. Grant that out of twenty
ladies “in society,” taken at random, not more than one would personally
approve of women’s voting: it is doubtful whether even that proportion
of them would personally favor the public-school system so far as to
submit their children, or at least their girls, to it. Yet the public
schools flourish, and give a better training than most private schools,
in spite of this inert practical resistance from those “in society.” The
natural inference would seem to be, that if an institution so well
established as the public schools, and so generally recognized, can
afford to be ignored by “society,” then certainly a wholly new reform
must expect no better fate.
As a matter of fact, I apprehend that what is called “society,” in the
sense of the more fastidious or exclusive social circle in any
community, exists for one sole object,—the preservation of good manners
and social refinements. For this purpose it is put very largely under
the sway of women, who have, all the world over, a better instinct for
these important things. It is true that “society” is apt to do even this
duty very imperfectly, and often tolerates, and sometimes even
cultivates, just the rudeness and discourtesy that it is set to cure.
Nevertheless, this is its mission; but so soon as it steps beyond this,
and attempts to claim any special weight outside the sphere of good
manners, it shows its weakness, and must yield to stronger forces.
One of these stronger forces is religion, which should train men and
women to a far higher standard than “society” alone can teach. This
standard should be embodied, theoretically, in the Christian Church; but
unhappily “society” is too often stronger than this embodiment, and
turns the church itself into a mere temple of fashion. Other opposing
forces are known as science and common-sense, which is only science
written in short-hand. On some of these various forces all reforms are
based, the woman-suffrage reform among them. If it could really be shown
that some limited social circle was opposed to this, then the moral
would seem to be, “So much the worse for the social circle.” It used to
be thought in anti-slavery days that one of the most blessed results of
that agitation was the education it gave to young men and women who
would otherwise have merely grown up “in society,” but were happily
taken in hand by a stronger influence. It is Goethe who suggests, when
discussing Hamlet in “Wilhelm Meister,” that, if an oak be planted in a
flower-pot, it will be worse in the end for the flower-pot than for the
tree. And to those who watch, year after year, the young human seedlings
planted “in society,” the main point of interest lies in the discovery
which of these are likely to grow into oaks.
But the truth is, that the very use of the word “society” in this sense
is narrow and misleading. We Americans are fortunate enough to live in a
larger society, where no conventional position or family traditions
exert an influence that is to be in the least degree compared with the
influence secured by education, energy, and character. No matter how
fastidious the social circle, one is constantly struck with the
limitations of its influence, and with the little power exerted by its
members as compared with that which may easily be wielded by tongue and
pen. No merely fashionable woman in New York, for instance, has a
position sufficiently important to be called influential compared with
that of a woman who can speak in public so as to command hearers, or can
write so as to secure readers. To be at the head of a normal school, or
to be a professor in a college where co-education prevails, is to have a
sway over the destinies of America which reduces all mere “social
position” to a matter of cards and compliments and page’s buttons.
XLII.
THE BATTLE OF THE CARDS.
The great winter’s contest of the visiting-cards recommences at the end
of every autumn. Suspended during the summer, or only renewed at Newport
and such thoroughbred and thoroughly sophisticated haunts, it will set
in with fury in the habitable regions of our cities once more. Now will
the atmosphere around Fifth Avenue in New York be darkened—or
whitened—at the appointed hour by the shower of pasteboard transmitted
from dainty kid-gloved hands to the cotton-gloved hands of “John,”
through him to reach the possibly gloveless hands of some other John,
who stands obsequious in the doorway. Now will every lady, after John
has slammed the door, drive happily on to some other door, re-arranging,
as she goes, her display of cards, laid as if for a game on the opposite
seat of her carriage, and dealt perhaps in four suits,—her own cards,
her daughters’, her husband’s, her “Mr. and Mrs.” cards, and who knows
how many more? With all this ammunition, what a very _mitrailleuse_ of
good society she becomes; what an accumulation of polite attentions she
may discharge at any door! That one well-appointed woman, as she sits in
her carriage, represents the total visiting power of self, husband,
daughters, and possibly a son or two beside. She has all their
counterfeit presentments in her hands. How happy she is! and how happy
will the others be on her return, to think that dear mamma has disposed
of so many dear, beloved, tiresome, social foes that morning! It will be
three months at least, they think, before the A’s and the B’s and the
C’s will have to be “done” again.
Ah! but who knows how soon these fatiguing letters of the alphabet,
rallying to the defence, will come, pasteboard in hand, to return the
onset? In this contest, fair ladies, “there are blows to take, as well
as blows to give,” in the words of the immortal Webster. Some day, on
returning, you will find a half-dozen cards on your own table that will
undo all this morning’s work, and send you forth on the war-path again.
Is it not like a campaign? It is from this subtle military analogy,
doubtless, that when gentlemen happen to quarrel, in the very best
society, they exchange cards as preliminary to a duel; and that, when
French journalists fight, all other French journalists show their
sympathy for the survivor by sending him their cards. When we see,
therefore, these heroic ladies riding forth in the social battle’s
magnificently stern array, our hearts render them the homage due to the
brave. When we consider how complex their military equipment has grown,
we fancy each of these self-devoted mothers to be an Arnold Winkelried,
receiving in her martyr-breast the points of a dozen different cards,
and shouting, “Make way for liberty!” For is it not securing liberty to
have cleared off a dozen calls from your list, and found nobody at home?
If this sort of thing goes on, who can tell where the paper warfare
shall end? If ladies may leave cards for their husbands, who are never
seen out of Wall Street, except when they are seen at their clubs; or
for their sons, who never forsake their billiards or their books,—why
can they not also leave them for their ancestors, or for their remotest
posterity? Who knows but people may yet drop cards in the names of the
grandchildren whom they only wish for, or may reconcile hereditary feuds
by interchanging pasteboard in behalf of two hostile grandparents who
died half a century ago?
And there is another social observance in which the introduction of the
card system may yet be destined to save much labor,—the attendance on
fashionable churches. Already, it is said, a family may sometimes
reconcile devout observance with a late breakfast, by stationing the
family carriage near the church-door—empty. Really, it would not be a
much emptier observance to send the cards alone by the footman; and
doubtless, in the progress of civilization, we shall yet reach that
point. It will have many advantages. The _effete_ of society, as some
cruel satirist has called them, may then send their orisons on
pasteboard to as many different shrines as they approve; thus insuring
their souls, as it were, at several different offices. Church
architecture may be simplified, for it will require nothing but a
card-basket. The clergyman will celebrate his solemn ritual, and will
then look in that convenient receptacle for the names of his fellow
worshippers, as a fine lady, after her “reception,” looks over the cards
her footman hands her, to know which of her dear friends she has been
welcoming. Religion as well as social proprieties will glide smoothly
over a surface of glazed pasteboard; and it will be only very humble
Christians indeed who will do their worshipping in person, and will hold
to the worn-out and obsolete practice of “No Cards.”
XLIII.
SOME WORKING-WOMEN.
It is almost a stereotyped remark, that the women of the more
fashionable and worldly class, in America, are indolent, idle,
incapable, and live feeble and lazy lives. It has always seemed to me
that, on the contrary, they are compelled, by the very circumstances of
their situation, to lead very laborious lives, requiring great strength
and energy. Whether many of their pursuits are frivolous, is a different
question; but that they are arduous, I do not see how any one can doubt.
I think it can be easily shown that the common charges against American
fashionable women do not hold against the class I describe.
There is, for instance, the charge of evading the cares of housekeeping,
and of preferring a boarding-house or hotel. But no woman with high aims
in the world of fashion can afford to relieve herself from household
cares in this way, except as an exceptional or occasional thing. She
must keep house in order to have entertainments, to form a circle, to
secure a position. The law of give and take is as absolute in society as
in business; and the very first essential to social position in our
larger cities is a household and a hospitality of one’s own. It is far
more practicable for a family of high rank in England to live
temporarily in lodgings in London, than for any family with social
aspirations to do the same in New York. The married woman who seeks a
position in the world of society, must, therefore, keep house.
And, with housekeeping, there comes at once to the American woman a
world of care far beyond that of her European sisters. Abroad, every
thing in domestic life is systematized; and services of any grade, up to
that of housekeeper or steward, can be secured for money, and for a
moderate amount of that. The mere amount of money might not trouble the
American woman; but where to get the service? Such a thing as a trained
housekeeper, who can undertake, at any salary, to take the work off the
shoulders of the lady of the house,—such a thing America hardly affords.
Without this, the multiplication of servants only increaseth sorrow; the
servants themselves are commonly an undisciplined mob, and the lady of
the house is like a general attempting to drill his whole command
personally, without the aid of a staff-officer or so much as a sergeant.
For an occasional grand entertainment, she can, perhaps, import a
special force; some fashionable sexton can arrange her invitations, and
some genteel caterer her supper. But for the daily routine of the
household—guests, children, door-bell, equipage—there is one vast,
constant toil every day; and the woman who would have these things done
well must give her own orders, and discipline her own retinue. The
husband may have no “business,” his wealth may supersede the necessity
of all toil beyond daily billiards; but for the wife wealth means
business, and, the more complete the social triumph, the more
overwhelming the daily toil.
For instance, I know a fair woman in an Atlantic city who is at the head
of a household including six children and nine servants. The whole
domestic management is placed absolutely in her hands: she engages or
dismisses every person employed, incurs every expense, makes every
purchase, and keeps all the accounts; her husband only ordering the
fuel, directing the affairs of the stable, and drawing checks for the
bills. Every hour of her morning is systematically appropriated to these
things. Among other things, she has to provide for nine meals a day; in
dining-room, kitchen, and nursery, three each. Then she has to plan her
social duties, and to drive out, exquisitely dressed, to make her calls.
Then there are constantly dinner-parties and evening entertainments; she
reads a little, and takes lessons in one or two languages. Meanwhile her
husband has for daily occupation his books, his club, and the
above-mentioned light and easy share in the cares of the household. Many
men in his position do not even keep an account of personal
expenditures.
There is nothing exceptional in this lady’s case, except that the work
may be better done than usual: the husband could not well contribute
more than his present share without hurting domestic discipline; nor
does the wife do all this from pleasure, but in a manner from necessity.
It is the condition of her social position: to change it, she must
withdraw herself from her social world. A few improvements, such as
“family hotels,” are doing something to relieve this class to whom
luxury means labor. The great under-current which is sweeping us all
toward some form of associated life is as obvious in this new
improvement in housekeeping, as in co-operative stores or trades-unions;
but it will nevertheless be long before the “women of society” in
America can be any thing but a hard-working class.
The question is not whether such a life as I have described is the ideal
life. My point is that it is, at any rate, a life demanding far more of
energy and toil, at least in America, than the men of the same class are
called upon to exhibit. There is growing up a class of men of leisure in
America; but there are no women of leisure in the same circle. They hold
their social position on condition of “an establishment,” and an
establishment makes them working-women. One result is the constant
exodus of this class to Europe, where domestic life is just now easier.
Another consequence is, that you hear woman suffrage denounced by women
of this class, not on the ground that it involves any harder work than
they already do, but on the ground that they have work enough already,
and will not bear the suggestion of any more.
XLIV.
THE EMPIRE OF MANNERS.
I was present at a lively discourse, administered by a young lady just
from Europe to a veteran politician. “It is of very little consequence,”
she said, “what kind of men you send out as foreign ministers. The thing
of real importance is that they should have the right kind of wives. Any
man can sign a treaty, I suppose, if you tell him what kind of treaty it
must be. But all his social relations with the nations to which you send
him will depend on his wife.” There was some truth, certainly, in this
audacious conclusion. It reminded me of the saying of a modern thinker,
“The only empire freely conceded to women is that of manners—but it is
worth all the rest put together.”
Every one instinctively feels that the graces and amenities of life must
be largely under the direction of women. The fact that this feeling has
been carried too far, and has led to the dwarfing of women’s intellect,
must not lead to a rejection of this important social sphere. It is too
strong a power to be ignored. George Eliot says well that “the commonest
man, who has his ounce of sense and feeling, is conscious of the
difference between a lovely, delicate woman, and a coarse one. Even a
dog feels a difference in their presence.” At a summer resort, for
instance, one sees women who may be intellectually very ignorant and
narrow, yet whose mere manners give them a social power which the
highest intellects might envy. To lend joy and grace to all one’s little
world of friendship; to make one’s house a place which every guest
enters with eagerness, and leaves with reluctance; to lend encouragement
to the timid, and ease to the awkward; to repress violence, restrain
egotism, and make even controversy courteous,—these belong to the empire
of woman. It is a sphere so important and so beautiful, that even
courage and self-devotion seem not quite enough, without the addition of
this supremest charm.
This courtesy is so far from implying falsehood, that its very best
basis is perfect simplicity. Given a naturally sensitive organization, a
loving spirit, and the early influence of a refined home, and the
foundation of fine manners is secured. A person so favored may be reared
in a log-hut, and may pass easily into a palace; the few needful
conventionalities are so readily acquired. But I think it is a mistake
to tell children, as we sometimes do, that simplicity and a kind heart
are absolutely all that are needful in the way of manners. There are
persons in whom simplicity and kindness are inborn, and who yet never
attain to good manners for want of refined perceptions. And it is
astonishing how much refinement alone can do, even if it is not very
genuine or very full of heart, to smooth the paths and make social life
attractive.
All the acute observers have recognized the difference between the
highest standard, which is nature’s, and that next to the highest, which
is art’s. George Eliot speaks of that fine polish which is “the
expensive substitute for simplicity,” and Tennyson says of manners,—
“Kind nature’s are the best: those next to best
That fit us like a nature second-hand;
Which are indeed the manners of the great.”
In our own national history, we have learned to recognize that the
personal demeanor of women may be a social and political force. The
slave-power owed much of its prolonged control at Washington, and the
larger part of its favor in Europe, to the fact that the manners of
Southern women had been more sedulously trained than those of Northern
women. Even at this moment, one may see at any watering-place that the
relative social influence of different cities does not depend upon the
intellectual training of their women, so much as on the manners. And,
even if this is very unreasonable, the remedy would seem to be, not to
go about lecturing on the intrinsic superiority of the Muses to the
Graces, but to pay due homage at all the shrines.
It is a great deal to ask of reformers, especially, that they should be
ornamental as well as useful; and I would by no means indorse the views
of a lady who once told me that she was ready to adopt the most radical
views of the women-reformers if she could see one well-dressed woman who
accepted them. The place where we should draw the line between
independence and deference, between essentials and non-essentials,
between great ideas and little courtesies, will probably never be
determined—except by actual examples. Yet it is safe to fall back on
Miss Edgeworth’s maxim in “Helen,” that “Every one who makes goodness
disagreeable commits high treason against virtue.” And it is not a
pleasant result of our good deeds, that others should be immediately
driven into bad deeds by the burning desire to be unlike us.
XLV.
“GIRLSTEROUSNESS.”
They tell the story of a little boy, a young scion of the house of
Beecher, that, on being rebuked for some noisy proceeding, in which his
little sister had also shared, he claimed that she also should be
included in the indictment. “If a boy makes too much noise,” he said,
“you tell him he mustn’t be boisterous. Well, then, when a girl makes
just as much noise, you ought to tell her not to be _girlsterous_.”
I think that we should accept, with a sense of gratitude, this addition
to the language. It supplies a name for a special phase of feminine
demeanor, inevitably brought out of modern womanhood. Any transitional
state of society develops some evil with the good. Good results are
unquestionably proceeding from the greater freedom now allowed to women.
The drawback is, that we are developing, here and now, more of
“girlsterousness” than is apt to be seen in less-enlightened countries.
The more complete the subjection of woman, the more “subdued” in every
sense she is. The typical woman of savage life is, at least in youth,
gentle, shy, retiring, timid. A Bedouin woman is modest and humble; an
Indian girl has a voice “gentle and low.” The utmost stretch of the
imagination cannot picture either of them as “girlsterous.” That
perilous quality can only come as woman is educated, self-respecting,
emancipated. “Girlsterousness” is the excess attendant on that virtue,
the shadow which accompanies that light. It is more visible in England
than in France, in America than in England.
It is to be observed, that, if a girl wishes to be noisy, she can be as
noisy as anybody. Her noise, if less clamorous, is more shrill and
penetrating. The shrieks of schoolgirls, playing in the yard at
recess-time, seem to drown the voices of the boys. As you enter an
evening party, it is the women’s tones you hear most conspicuously.
There is no defect in the organ, but at least an adequate vigor. In
travelling by rail, when sitting near some rather under-bred party of
youths and damsels, I have commonly noticed that the girls were the
noisiest. The young men appeared more regardful of public opinion, and
looked round with solicitude, lest they should attract too much
attention. It is “girlsterousness” that dashes straight on, regardless
of all observers.
Of course reformers exhibit their full share of this undesirable
quality. Where the emancipation of women is much discussed in any
circle, some young girls will put it in practice gracefully and with
dignity, others rudely. Yet even the rudeness may be but a temporary
phase, and at last end well. When women were being first trained as
physicians, years ago, I remember a young girl who came from a Southern
State to a Northern city, and attended the medical lectures. Having
secured her lecture-tickets, she also bought season-tickets to the
theatre and to the pistol-gallery, laid in a box of cigars, and began
her professional training. If she meant it as a satire on the pursuits
of the young gentlemen around her, it was not without point. But it was,
I suppose, a clear case of “girlsterousness;” and I dare say that she
sowed her wild oats much more innocently than many of her male
contemporaries, and that she has long since become a sedate matron. But
I certainly cannot commend her as a model.