I have often wondered what the world would be without woman: whether, if
it were without her, man would care longer to live in it; or whether he
would then find it just the place he has been all his life longing for,
and would wish never to leave it. I have wondered and pondered upon
this point, until speculation became lost in obscurity. It is, perhaps,
the most interesting philosophical question of our existence--its most
important one; and yet no philosopher, as far as I know, has given a
satisfactory answer to it.
I am aware of the two theories that have been propounded--to one another
opposite as are the poles. One makes woman the sole object of, our
existence--her smile its only blessing. For her we work and watch, we
dig and delve, we fight and write, we talk and strive. Without her we
would do none of these things; in short, do nothing, since there would
be no motive for doing. "What then?" say the advocates of this theory.
"Would existence be tolerable without a motive? Would it be possible?"
For our part we can only give the interrogative answer of the phlegmatic
Spaniard, "_Quien sabe_?"--no answer at all. The other theory is, that
woman, instead of being life's object and blessing, is but its
distraction and curse. The supporters of this hypothesis make no
pretence to gallantry, but simply point to experience. Without her, say
they, the world would be happy, and they triumphantly add, "what is it?"
Perhaps the only way to reconcile the two theories is to steer midway
between them; to regard both as wrong, and both as right; to hold woman
in this world as being alike a blessing and a bane; or rather that there
are two sorts of women in it, one born to bless, the other to curse--
mankind.
It grieves me to class Belle Mainwaring with the latter: for she was
beautiful, and might have belonged to the former. I knew her myself--if
not well, at least sufficiently to give her correct classification.
Perhaps I, too, might have fallen under her fascinations, had I not
discovered that she was false, and this discovery protected me.
I made my discovery just in time, though by accident. It was in a
ball-room. Belle liked dancing, as do most young ladies of the
attractive kind; and there were but few balls in the county, public or
private, civilian or military, where you might not see her. I met her
at the hunt ball of B--. It was the first time I had seen her. I was
introduced by one of the stewards who chanced to have an impediment in
his speech. It was of the nasal kind, caused by a split lip. In
pronouncing the word "captain" the first syllable came out sounding as
"count." There was then a break, and the second, "ain," might have been
taken, or _mis-taken_, for the prefix "von." My Christian and baptismal
names, slurred together as they were by the stammering steward, might
have passed muster as Germanic; at all events, for some time
afterwards--before I could find an opportunity to rectify the error--I
was honoured by Miss Mainwaring with a title that did not belong to me.
I was further honoured by having it inscribed upon her dancing card much
oftener than I, in my humility, had any right to expect. We danced
several measures together, round and square. I was pleased, flattered--
something more--charmed and delighted. Who would not, at being so
signalised by one of the belles of the ball-room? And she was one.
I began to fancy that it was all up with me--that I had found not only
an agreeable partner for the night, but for life. I was all the better
satisfied to see scowling faces around me, and hear whispered
insinuations, that I was having more than my share of the charming
creature. It was the pleasantest hunt ball I had ever attended.
So far up to a certain hour. Then things became less agreeable. I had
deposited my partner on a couch, alongside a stately dame, introduced to
me as her mother. I saw that this lady did not take kindly to me; but,
on the contrary, sat stiff, frigid, and uncommunicative. Failing to
thaw her, I made my bow and sauntered off among the crowd, promising to
return to Miss Mainwaring for still another dance, for which I had
succeeded in engaging her. Not being able to find any comfort apart
from her, I soon returned, and sat down on a chair close to the couch
occupied by mother and daughter. As they were engaged in close
conversation, neither of them saw me, and of course I did not intrude.
But, as their voices were above a whisper, I could not help hearing
them; and the mention of my own name made it difficult for me to
withdraw.
"A count!" said the mother; "you are beside yourself, my child."
"But Mr Southwick introduced me to him as such, and he has all the air
of it."
All the air of it!--I liked that.
"Count Fiddlestrings. Mr Southwick is a fool and an ass. He's only a
paltry captain--on half-pay at that, without the shadow of an
expectation. Lady C--has been telling me all about him."
"Indeed!"
I thought there was a sigh, but I could not be sure of it. I should
have liked it very much; but then what came after would, or should, have
rendered me indifferent to it.
"And you've engaged yourself to him for another dance, while young Lord
P--has been twice here to ask for you--absolutely on his knees for me to
intercede for him!"
"What's to be done?"
"Done! throw him over. Tell him you forgot that you had a previous
engagement with Lord P--."
"Very well, mamma, if you say so, I'll do that. I'm so sorry it should
have happened."
There was no sigh this time, else I might have held my peace, and stolen
quietly away. But I found I could not retreat without being discovered.
In fact, I was at that moment discovered, and determined on making a
clean breast of it.
"I should be sorry, Miss Mainwaring," I said, addressing myself directly
to the daughter, and without heeding the confusion of herself or her
mother, "to stand in the way of a previous engagement, and rather than
Lord P--should get on his knees for the third time, I beg to release you
from that you have made with a paltry captain."
With a bow, which I considered suitable to the circumstances, I parted
from the Mainwarings, and did my best to get rid of my chagrin by
dancing with any girl who would accept for her partner a captain on
half-pay! Fortunately, before the ball was over, I found one who caused
me to forget my _contretemps_ with Miss Belle Mainwaring. I often met
this lady afterwards, but never spoke to her, except by that silent
speech of the eyes that may sometimes say a good deal.