Until the beginning of this century men played the _beau rôle_ in life’s
comedy. As in the rest of the animal world, our males were the brilliant
members of the community, flaunting their gaudy plumage at home and
abroad, while the women-folk remained in seclusion, tending their
children, directing the servants, or ministering to their lords’ comfort.
In those happy days the husband ruled supreme at his own fireside,
receiving the homage of the family, who bent to his will and obeyed his
orders.
During the last century, however, the “part” of better half has become
less and less attractive in America, one prerogative after another having
been whisked away by enterprising wives. Modern Delilahs have yearly
snipped off more and more of Samson’s luxuriant curls, and added those
ornaments to their own _coiffures_, until in the majority of families the
husband finds himself reduced to a state of bondage compared with which
the biblical hero enjoyed a pampered idleness. Times have indeed changed
in America since the native chief sat in dignified repose bedizened with
all the finery at hand, while the ladies of the family waited tremblingly
upon him. To-day it is the American husband who turns the grindstone all
the year round, and it is his pretty tyrant who enjoys the elegant
leisure that a century ago was considered a masculine luxury.
To America must be given the credit of having produced the model husband,
a new species, as it were, of the _genus homo_.
In no rôle does a compatriot appear to such advantage as in that of
Benedict. As a boy he is often too advanced for his years or his
information; in youth he is conspicuous neither for his culture nor his
unselfishness. But once in matrimonial harness this untrained animal
becomes bridle-wise with surprising rapidity, and will for the rest of
life go through his paces, waltzing, kneeing, and saluting with hardly a
touch of the whip. Whether this is the result of superior
horse-womanship on the part of American wives or a trait peculiar to sons
of “Uncle Sam,” is hard to say, but the fact is self-evident to any
observer that our fair equestrians rarely meet with a rebellious mount.
Any one who has studied marital ways in other lands will realize that in
no country have the men effaced themselves so gracefully as with us. In
this respect no foreign production can compare for a moment with the
domestic article. In English, French, and German families the husband is
still all-powerful. The house is mounted, guests are asked, and the year
planned out to suit his occupations and pleasure. Here papa is rarely
consulted until such matters have been decided upon by the ladies, when
the head of the house is called in to sign the checks.
I have had occasion more than once to bewail the shortcomings of the
American man, and so take pleasure in pointing out the modesty and good
temper with which he fills this role. He is trained from the beginning
to give all and expect nothing in return, an American girl rarely
bringing any _dot_ to her husband, no matter how wealthy her family may
be. If, as occasionally happens, an income is allowed a bride by her
parents, she expects to spend it on her toilets or pleasures. This
condition of the matrimonial market exists in no other country; even in
England, where _mariages de convenance_ are rare, “settlements” form an
inevitable prelude to conjugal bliss.
The fact that she contributes little or nothing to the common income in
no way embarrasses an American wife; her pretensions are usually in an
inverse proportion to her personal means. A man I knew some years ago
deliberately chose his bride from an impecunious family (in the hope that
her simple surroundings had inculcated homely taste), and announced to an
incredulous circle of friends, at his last bachelor dinner, that he
intended, in future, to pass his evenings at his fireside, between his
book and his pretty spouse. Poor, innocent, confiding mortal! The wife
quickly became a belle of the fastest set in town. Having had more than
she wanted of firesides and quiet evenings before her marriage, her idea
was to go about as much as possible, and, when not so occupied, to fill
her house with company. It may be laid down as a maxim in this
connection that a man marries to obtain a home, and a girl to get away
from one; hence disappointment on both sides.
The couple in question have in all probability not passed an evening
alone since they were married, the lady rarely stopping in the round of
her gayeties until she collapses from fatigue. Their home is typical of
their life, which itself can be taken as a good example of the existence
that most of our “smart” people lead. The ground floor and the first
floor are given up to entertaining. The second is occupied by the
spacious sitting, bath, and sleeping rooms of the lady. A ten-by-twelve
chamber suffices for my lord, and the only den he can rightly call his
own is a small room near the front door, about as private as the
sidewalk, which is turned into a cloak-room whenever the couple receive,
making it impossible to keep books or papers of value there, or even to
use it as a smoking-room after dinner, so his men guests sit around the
dismantled dining-table while the ladies are enjoying a suite of parlors
above.
At first the idea of such an unequal division of the house shocks our
sense of justice, until we reflect that the American husband is not
expected to remain at home. That’s not his place! If he is not down
town making money, fashion dictates that he must be at some club-house
playing a game. A man who should remain at home, and read or chat with
the ladies of his family, would be considered a bore and unmanly. There
seems to be no place in an American house for its head. More than once
when the friend I have referred to has asked me, at the club, to dine
informally with him, we have found, on arriving, that Madame, having an
evening off, had gone to bed and forgotten to order any dinner, so we
were obliged to return to the club for our meal. When, however, his wife
is in good health, she expects her weary husband to accompany her to
dinner, opera, or ball, night after night, oblivious of the work the
morrow holds in store for him.
In one family I know, paterfamilias goes by the name of the “purse.” The
more one sees of American households the more appropriate that name
appears. Everything is expected of the husband, and he is accorded no
definite place in return. He leaves the house at 8.30. When he returns,
at five, if his wife is entertaining a man at tea, it would be considered
the height of indelicacy for him to intrude upon them, for his arrival
would cast a chill on the conversation. When a couple dine out, the
husband is always _la bête noire_ of the hostess, no woman wanting to sit
next to a married man, if she can help it.
The few Benedicts who have had the courage to break away from these
conditions and amuse themselves with yachts, salmon rivers, or
“grass-bachelor” trips to Europe, while secretly admired by the women,
are frowned upon in society as dangerous examples, likely to sow the
seeds of discontent among their comrades; although it is the commonest
thing in the world for an American wife to take the children and go
abroad on a tour.
Imagine a German or Italian wife announcing to her spouse that she had
decided to run over to England for a year with her children, that they
might learn English. The mind recoils in horror from the idea of the
catastrophe that would ensue.
Glance around a ball-room, a dinner party, or the opera, if you have any
doubts as to the unselfishness of our married men. How many of them do
you suppose are present for their own pleasure? The owner of an opera
box rarely retains a seat in his expensive quarters. You generally find
him idling in the lobbies looking at his watch, or repairing to a
neighboring concert hall to pass the weary hours. At a ball it is even
worse. One wonders why card-rooms are not provided at large balls (as is
the custom abroad), where the bored husbands might find a little solace
over “bridge,” instead of yawning in the coat-room or making desperate
signs to their wives from the doorway,—signals of distress, by the bye,
that rarely produce any effect.
It is the rebellious husband who is admired and courted, however. A
curious trait of human nature compels admiration for whatever is harmful,
and forces us, in spite of our better judgment, to depreciate the useful
and beneficent. The coats-of-arms of all countries are crowded with
eagles and lions, that never yet did any good, living or dead; orators
enlarge on the fine qualities of these birds and beasts, and hold them up
as models, while using as terms of reproach the name of the goose or the
cow, creatures that minister in a hundred ways to our wants. Such a
spirit has brought helpful, productive “better halves” to the humble
place they now occupy in the eyes of our people.
As long as men passed their time in fighting and carousing they were
heroes; as soon as they became patient bread-winners all the romance
evaporated from their atmosphere. The Jewish Hercules had his revenge in
the end and made things disagreeable for his tormentors. So far,
however, there are no signs of a revolt among the shorn lambs in this
country. They patiently bend their necks to the collar—the kindest, most
loving and devoted helpmates that ever plodded under the matrimonial
yoke.
When in the East, one watches with admiration the part a donkey plays in
the economy of those primitive lands. All the work is reserved for that
industrious animal, and little play falls to his share. The camel is
always bad-tempered, and when overladen lies down, refusing to move until
relieved of its burden. The Turk is lazy and selfish, the native women
pass their time in chattering and giggling, the children play and
squabble, the ubiquitous dog sleeps in the sun; but from daybreak to
midnight the little mouse-colored donkeys toil unceasingly. All burdens
too bulky or too cumbersome for man are put on his back; the provender
which horses and camels have refused becomes his portion; he is the first
to begin the day’s labor, and the last to turn in. It is impossible to
live long in the Orient or the south of France without becoming attached
to those gentle, willing animals. The rôle which honest “Bourico” fills
so well abroad is played on this side of the Atlantic by the American
husband.
I mean no disrespect to my married compatriots; on the contrary, I admire
them as I do all docile, unselfish beings. It is well for our women,
however, that their lords, like the little Oriental donkeys, ignore their
strength, and are content to toil on to the end of their days, expecting
neither praise nor thanks in return.