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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f83a8f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69440 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69440) diff --git a/old/69440-0.txt b/old/69440-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1196780..0000000 --- a/old/69440-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4162 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Letters to a daughter, by Hubert Bland - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Letters to a daughter - -Author: Hubert Bland - -Release Date: November 28, 2022 [eBook #69440] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Carlos Colon, the University of Wisconsin and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This - book was produced from images made available by the - HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS TO A DAUGHTER *** - - - - - - -LETTERS TO A DAUGHTER - - - - - THIRD AND POPULAR EDITION - - LETTERS - TO A DAUGHTER - - BY - HUBERT BLAND - (“HUBERT” OF THE “SUNDAY CHRONICLE”) - - Author of “With the Eyes of a Man” - - [Illustration] - - T. WERNER LAURIE - CLIFFORD’S INN - LONDON - - - - -TO - -ROSAMUND - - “More dear to me than are the ruddy drops - That visit my sad heart.” - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - ON LIFE AT LARGE 1 - - ON GOING TO CHURCH 15 - - ON BEING DELIGHTFUL 27 - - THE GLAMOUR OF THE FOOTLIGHTS 39 - - THE RUDENESS OF WOMEN 51 - - DRESS AND FASHION 65 - - A MORAL QUESTION 79 - - THE LIMITS OF FLIRTATION 91 - - MEN’S LOVE 107 - - THE MAN’S POINT OF VIEW 121 - - THE DOMESTIC HEARTH 135 - - THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE 149 - - THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN 163 - - MODERN MARRIAGE 179 - - THE SUBTLE SOMETHING 195 - - - - -LETTERS TO A DAUGHTER - - - - -ON LIFE AT LARGE - - - _Oct. 17, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -You asked me to write to you while you were away—“long letters,” you -said; and the request set me wondering a little. I think I understand -now. Comprehension came to me in a flash as I was stropping my razor this -morning: the sharpening of one thing helped to sharpen another—my wits. -You felt, didn’t you, that as I am a writing sort of man, I might, in -long letters, find it possible to say things that an impalpable something -had hitherto made it difficult for me to say when you and I were face to -face? I think, perhaps, you were right; these long letters will show. All -the same, we have been as intimate as most fathers and daughters; more -intimate, I fondly think. - -I should like to write at length to-day; about 2000 words—forgive the -jargon of the trade—on the relations of father and grown-up daughter, but -you asked for letters, not essays. Still, I might point out this, in case -it has not occurred to you before:—Those relations are peculiar, more -than that, unique. His daughter is the only woman in all the world for -whom a man five-and-twenty years her senior can feel no stir of passion, -no trace of that complex emotion that modern novelists and people of that -sort are so pleased to call sex-love; the only woman from whom he cannot -possibly evoke passion in return. That fact of itself gives his daughter -a chamber all to herself in the man’s heart, a chamber guarded by an -angel with a flaming sword. - -To talk of love is the next thing to making love, they say, or something -like that. It is probably not quite true; but now that I come to think of -it, when I have talked of love to women whom I knew well, after a quarter -of an hour or so a certain tartness, a certain uncomfortableness has come -into the talk, also one felt oneself becoming just a trifle artificial, -less entirely frank, less spontaneous, than one likes to be. Such talks -have ended not infrequently in tears and temper. I need not assure you, -Alexa, that the tears were not mine: as for the temper! And when I have -talked of love to women whom I have not known well I have sensed a sort -of agitation on both sides which seemed to portend danger in the not dim -distance. One never felt quite sure as to what might happen in the next -five minutes. Of course, all this refers to a long time ago. You will -understand that. There is some truth in the old saying evidently. You -might remember it. But the point of these remarks, as Mr. Bunsby says (it -is one of your merits that you are not ashamed to love Dickens), lies in -the application of them. His daughter is the one young woman to whom a -man can talk of love quit of the faintest fear of being led into making -it. I probably shall talk of love in these long letters you asked me to -write. I am not sure but what, in any other mood and on any other day -but this, I should have said that between men and women there is nothing -else worth talking about. But if I said that now, I should be insincere, -for I don’t feel it. This autumn weather, this dismal lingering death -of summer, oppress my soul, and one should be in high fettle to talk -intelligently of love. Now I am not that to-day as I look out of the -library window and see those big funereal cedars lords of all, the whole -garden subdued to their sombre humour. Day and night the piteous leaves -of all the other trees are falling, falling like slow rain-drops; and -at twilight they sound upon the garden paths as the footsteps of ghosts -might sound—creepy, creepy. This morning I picked a rose for sheer -pity of it, and in half an hour its charm was gone; its very colour -had changed, its pink shell-like petals (it was the last of the Maman -Cochets) had turned livid as the lips of a corpse; it exhaled, not -perfume, but an odour of death. The birds flutter about aimlessly, they -seem to feel there is nothing left for them to do in a world so full of -sadness, no nests to be builded, no broods to be reared; and they haven’t -the heart to sing. To add the last touch of sable to the whole mumpish -outlook, you are away. Don’t think that insincere: it is not a bit. I -wandered moodily, and with no definite object, into your room to-day. It -was in shocking disorder, untidiness appalling, of course, or it had not -been yours; but somehow the chaos did not irritate me as it usually does. -Somehow I was glad of it. Had it been otherwise—as neat as my own study, -for instance—I had been plunged into still deeper gloom. It was like an -empty nursery in which the toys were still lying scattered all about. Oh, -the deathly chill of an empty and tidy nursery! - -Let me see, you are nineteen or a trifle more, aren’t you? And Love must -be lying in wait for you somewhere very near by. I wonder whether you -will know him when you see him. If you do, then will you be the cleverest -of your sex, and much cleverer than any one of mine. If he is anything -at all like the Love of the Christmas cards and the funny little poets -who like to display a smattering of classic knowledge—have no fear of him -whatever. He won’t hurt, that chubby child with the toy bow and arrows. -Of what drivelling folly, what stupendous ignorance were they guilty who -personified Love as a pink and pulpy baby nourished on Pott’s Emulsion! -Don’t believe them, dear. When Love’s self comes he comes always a -strong man armed—a warrior with old scars upon his forehead and dints -upon his shield. And there is another mailed adventurer, too, who may -likely spring upon you unawares. He is so like Love in his equipment and -in the manner of his attack, this one, that it is not until forty years -have passed that one can see through his disguise. He is, by the most, -held to be unmentionable between men of my age and women of yours, but -the name of him is Passion. If I were an ideal instead of a practicable, -work-a-day parent, I should warn you against him in the solemnest way, -or I should pretend that there was no such a person. But I don’t do -either; first because I know the warning and the conventional lie would -be futile, and next, because I don’t think either would be quite fair to -you. This world is an interesting place; it would be considerably less -interesting but for Passion’s vagaries, his adroit ambushes, his sudden -swift assaults, his slow retirements, and, sometimes, his unexpected -defeats. And I want you to find life interesting—you are sure not to find -it happy, folk of our temperament never do. Here I should like to drop -metaphor and dissertate for a while in the plain language of what some -modern writers call “psycho-physiology,” but I don’t want to startle -you, much less to shock, so I will reserve psycho-physiology for another -time. This, however, I may say: you will know Love from Passion just by -this—that Love wants ever to give; Passion, to take. When the two appear -as close allies—well, then you will be upon the eve of certainly the most -momentous and, perhaps, the most catastrophic event of all your life. -There is really no saying what may happen then, and you had better come -and talk it over quietly with me. Don’t be afraid of Passion because you -have heard him called by uglier names, and remember always this—that -come he by tempestuous assault or by patient siege he never wins of his -own strength alone. It is always a traitor within the gates that gives -the citadel away. That’s the one you have to keep an eye on—the traitor -inside. - -I have often heard you say (you are the only woman I have heard say it) -that you would not, if you could, be a man. I like you the better for -saying it, but you are wrong all the same; at least I think so. Whether -men or women have the better time I don’t know, but I do know that men -have the safer. They get more out of life, and they risk infinitely less -in the getting thereof. In this matter of Passion, for instance (the -metaphor’s changed now), the handicap is quite infernally unfair. It -almost makes a just man blaspheme the handicapper. It is as though the -two sexes were skating. Each equally enjoys the exhilarating exercise. -To mine a slip means, at the worst, a ridiculous posture for a moment -or two and a few bruises; to yours, the almost certainty of a compound -fracture, possibly of a broken back. But perhaps in a sporting spirit you -will reply, the deadlier peril carries with it the keener thrill; and -really there may be something in that. My observation of life, however, -convinces me to the contrary. For me the chances of the undignified -tumble and the bruises are enough. Some of your advanced sisters (you’ll -meet them presently, if not in the flesh, then in books) will tell you -that the tendencies of the times are all in favour of equalising the -chances. Maybe; but put not your trust in tendencies, Alexa. Think -what you like, but act as though the world were going to be always -just what it is now. Pioneers are always uncomfortable, and for that -reason, mostly unpleasant. Your business is to make life interesting, -and in so far as you do that you yourself will be an interesting woman. -At the same time, an you love me, don’t imagine that I am counselling -cowardice or even prudence. If cowardice be a positive vice, prudence -is but a negative virtue, and the line that divides the two is so thin -as to be often imperceptible. As you travel through life you will find -the negative virtues, the cloistered virtues, as Milton, I think it is, -calls them, about the least amiable and the most irritating things you -will encounter. No, don’t be a coward. No woman with a chin like yours, -and the brain I feel sure you have inherited, need be that. No end of -obstacles and hindrances will go down before that chin of yours if only -you thrust it forward at the exactly right moment; realities as well as -unrealities, your living fellow creatures and the ghosts of dead ideas. -Before such a chin many a seeming lion in the path will turn into naught -more fearsome than a spitting kitten after all; still kittens, it is -worth remembering, can scratch. And scratches disfigure. - -Try to avoid scratches: they smart, and there is no honour in the scars -thereof. Make the world interesting to yourself, as I charged you before, -and make it comfortable. To do that is about the most one can hope to do -’twixt swaddling clothes and shroud. I don’t ask you to venerate other -people’s prejudices—scorn them as much as you like; but I do advise you -to respect their power. Bow reverentially in the House of Rimmon. Try -to imagine yourself (the effort will not be very great after you have -looked around you for a while) a civilised being cast among savages. The -savages have, of course, some rigid rules of conduct, of the origin of -which they know nothing and which, for that very reason, they hold in the -deeper awe. The breaking of a rule involves a slow scraping to death with -oyster shells, and yet such breaking gives a good deal of comfort and -satisfaction to you; there is a thrill about it somewhere. “_Que faire_” -then? Stick to the rules like the most besotted savage of them all? Not a -bit of it; break them just when and how it suits you and then use your -superior intelligence. You will get a poignant and penetrating pleasure -from the mere exercise of your higher faculty. I am not sure but that -that alone will not be reward sufficient. All this sounds like a lengthy -way of restating the old eleventh commandment, I know; but, indeed, it is -something more than that, it is rather an intelligent criticism of some -of the ten and a reasonable justification of that odd one. - -My advice assumes, of course, that you are a Superior Person. I think -I have noted certain traits in you which convince me that that is -rather your view of yourself. Well, even so, you probably know little -of yourself, but yet more than any one else knows of you. You see you -are the one most nearly interested in the diagnosis. Time will test the -correctness of your judgment; but when he has had long enough to form an -opinion it will not matter much to you what his opinion is. But of Time’s -dealings with your sex I shall have something to say anon. Some one has -said that the bitterest of all regrets is that for the sins we have not -committed. That is mere cynical ineptitude. - -It is not the memory of omitted sins, but the recollection of lost -chances that writhes and rankles. - -Always, my dear Alexa, - - Your didactic but most affectionate friend and - - FATHER. - - - - -ON GOING TO CHURCH - - - - -ON GOING TO CHURCH - - - _Oct. 28, 19—_ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -Some commonplace person has said that the really important part of a -woman’s letter is always in the postscript. It pains me to recognise how -often the commonplace is also the true. It is the postscript of your -pleasant letter that I must answer to-day. “Ought I to go to church?” you -ask, and I can’t think why you say “ought.” “Ought” is a word which you -know irritates me. It suggests Ethical Societies and their preposterous -hymns. It raises questions of “right and wrong,” and I feel that at my -age one should be done with questions of that disturbing kind. And the -worst of it is I don’t quite know what you mean, for you may mean one -of two things. It may be a very little question or a very big one you -are putting. Well, I will try to deal with both. If you mean ought you -to go to church on Sunday just now, when you are staying with correct -people who go themselves, then I answer most emphatically “Yes.” To begin -with it is a mere act of politeness. You might as well ask “Ought I to -dress for dinner?” But it is something more than that. To stay away from -church when your host and his friends go is to challenge after-luncheon -controversy, to invite a religious polemic. It is to advertise in the -most vulgar and objectionable way possible your irreligion, or, if not -that exactly, at least your religious doubts. It is to make yourself -prominent and prickly. - -But I can’t believe you mean that. A child of mine may have prickles, -but I am happily confident that she would carefully conceal them. What I -think you do mean is, “Is it wise, in order to make the best of life, to -cultivate the religious emotions?” That was it, wasn’t it? “Ought I to go -to church?” was only your succinct and symbolical way of putting it. It -was neatly put, and I congratulate you, Alexa. - -Well, it is a big question, as I said, but one that is comparatively -easy to answer, for the answer is obvious. It may take a long time -answering but that is the worst of the obvious: it always does take such -a long time stating, whereas the non-obvious may generally be put into an -epigram. Who are the nicest people you know, Alexa; the people you like -best to talk to; the people whose judgment you most rely on; the gayest -people; the people who have the art of treating serious things lightly -and light things with a becoming seriousness; the _all round_ people; the -people whose opinion you would most value of a poem, a novel, a symphony, -a landscape; the people whose taste you trust? Think now, are they not -in almost every case people with some sort of religious belief? Or, to -put it otherwise, have you ever met a really delightful Atheist, man or -woman? You have met many worthy Atheists, I know, persons whose moral -code was as conspicuous as a red nose, whose admirable qualities stuck -out of them like hat-pins, persons you are almost bound in common decency -to respect; but have they been delightful? Were you not always conscious -of a _want_ in them somewhere, just as you are conscious of something -lacking in a person who has no ear for music, or who does not like olives? - -The religious instinct, the craving to get into touch with something -outside the material world, beyond _the things we see_ or apprehend -with any of our five senses is born in us just like any other instinct. -The history of mankind is proof positive of the fact. We have never -yet caught a primitive man—most savages are degenerates they say; but, -depend upon it, if ever we do we shall find him going “to church,” as you -would put it. Even if we didn’t, even if it could be demonstrated beyond -possibility of doubt that our arboreal ancestor knew naught of religious -emotion, but was contented with his wives and his cocoanuts, it would be -no disproof of my assertion that _we_, the people of 19—, are born with -the religious instinct. There are exceptions of course, freaks, just -as there are unfortunates born without drums to their ears and without -a liking for the scent of tonkin beans; but we need not bother about -them. You, my child, have drums to your ears, you keep a tonkin bean in -your glove-box, and you have the religious instinct. The question I am -answering, remember, is: ought _you_, Alexa, to go to church? In other -words, then, it amounts to this: ought you to suppress an instinct? It -is a question surely which answers itself. The pleasures of life consist -in the gratification of instincts, either inherited or cultivated. To -suppress an instinct, then, or to allow it to atrophy by disuse, is to -shut oneself off from an opportunity of pleasure, to narrow the range -of one’s emotions and one’s intellect, to diminish the number of one’s -sensations; it is to be incomplete, and if you are incomplete, you cannot -be delightful, Alexa. Your favourite Heine says somewhere that a charming -woman without religion is like a beautiful flower without perfume. He was -always right when he wrote of women. So am I. - -But I think I hear you asking, is it true that the religious emotions are -necessarily always pleasurable? Was it pleasure that St Simeon Stylites -felt upon his pillar? Does the missionary experience a delightful thrill -while the savage is skinning him alive? Well, I am not sure. I am -inclined to think that St Simeon did enjoy that cold eminence of his, -at any rate more than he was capable of enjoying anything else. As for -the missionary, I did meet one once who had been partially skinned, and -strangely enough, he was just on the eve of starting to pay another visit -to the interesting island folk who had flayed him; so we must presume -it was not so bad after all. But even were it otherwise, my reply would -be that persons like St Simeon have cultivated their religious emotions -overmuch, and have paid insufficient attention to the other sides of -their nature. They are like gluttons, or drunkards, or profligates, or -the musically mad. They are religious debauchees. To spend all one’s -time in religious exercises is as bad, and as foolish in its way, as to -be perpetually playing the piano: it is wasting your own life and making -yourself a nuisance to your neighbours. Prayer is good, my child, but -really I think I would as soon see you always on your head as always on -your knees. There is a line of a hymn which speaks of Heaven as a place - - “Where congregations ne’er break up - And Sabbaths have no end.” - -but that was written, we may be sure, by a religious debauchee. He was -a glutton, that fellow. Now, in this, as in all other things, I would -have my daughter be an epicure—not a greedy pig. Talking of Epicurus, -by the way, I feel sure that if Epicurus were alive in London to-day -he would attend the services in the Chapter House of the New Cathedral -almost daily. Yes, and not as a mere listener to music: he would absorb -the atmosphere of the place; he would be of the most devout. After all, -the proof of the pudding is in the eating, isn’t it?—and in the eupeptic -tranquillity that follows. You can put the thing to a practical and a -personal test if you will. Go, sit as much by yourself as you can in -some great church—a cathedral for choice, of course; choose some corner -where the light is broken by a stained-glass window—the glass must not -be of date later than the end of the sixteenth century—and stay there -quietly until after the service ends. Let the music of the organ, the -clear voices of the choir boys, the penetrating odour of the incense, -work their will upon you. Surrender yourself wholly, uncritically, to -the influence of the place, and then, when it is all over, and you are -the last to leave, or the last but one, say—for it were well, it were -perfect if, as you cross the chancel, you should see one wimpled nun -“breathless in adoration” before the altar—write and ask me again, if you -can, ought you to go to church! - -Ah, but you, or some other girl who, unlike you, is a little agnostic -Philistine, might say, those emotional experiences are æsthetic, not -religious. It is the music itself that thrills, not the devotion that -the music seeks to express; it is the particles of the incense that -titillate the nostrils, not the odour of prayer that penetrates to the -soul. Not a bit of it, Alexa, that is a callow observation worthy only -a Hall of Science lecturer. Listen to exactly the same music played -by the same hands, sung by the same voices, in the Queen’s Hall, and -see if the emotional effect upon yourself is in any sense the same. It -will charm you, of course, but there will be something missing—and that -something is the satisfaction of the religious instinct, the response -of the Unseen to our craving for relations with it. Yes, but the church -itself, the building, the pointed arches, the clustered columns, the -groined roof—have not all these much to do with the psychological -effect? Of course they have. But then the church was builded of men who -had cultivated their religious instincts: men who believed, who felt: the -building fits the religious idea as perfectly as I hope your latest frock -fits your frame, my kiddie. What is a great cathedral but the religious -emotion expressed in stone? - -“And yet—it mayn’t be true,” I hear you mutter, with a little sceptical -tremor of the lips. I don’t quite know what you mean by “it,” and I don’t -greatly care. To define “it,” would require a big book, wouldn’t it? -It has already required big libraries full of big books—and still the -foolish squabble. There It is all the time. So we will let that question -pass. What is true, what is a fact as palpable as, more palpable than, -the improvement in the Strand, is the existence in us, in you, of the -religious instinct—of a craving for personal relations with the Unseen, -as I said. Not to seek to gratify that were as foolish as to refuse to -listen to a Beethoven sonata because you feel doubtful whether Beethoven -ever lived—whether all his music were not written by another gentleman of -the same name. - -Your mother asks me to tell you that she thinks you ought sometimes to -write to her. “Ought,” and again “ought” and always “ought” in this beast -of a world! - - Your devoted and truly religious - - FATHER. - - - - -ON BEING DELIGHTFUL - - - - -ON BEING DELIGHTFUL - - - _Nov. 8, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -You accuse me of perpetually charging you to be delightful, and of never -giving you any detailed and specific instructions as to how to be it. -I can’t help feeling that the accusation is more than a little unjust, -that is to say, I did suffer under a sense of injustice for a quarter -of an hour or so. It seemed to me that although I had never taught you -by way of precept, by way of example I had not failed, for I have been -extremely charming to you, Alexa. But reflection has caused me to realise -that, perhaps, nay certainly, you are right. Many of the qualities that -make a man charming are the antipodes of those which render a woman -delightful. There are a few, of course, that should be common to both, -but they are few. I will not trifle with the subject and do outrage to -your common sense by telling you that Nature herself will teach you -to be delightful, because I remember that you and I long ago, when -you were little more than a kiddie, agreed that delightfulness is the -one attribute which Nature never possesses, and, therefore, can never -transmit to her children. Nature is all sorts of pleasant things. She -is wholesome, for instance, impressive, restorative, not infrequently -magnificent—just here and now she is damp and abominably depressing—but -she is never delightful. Delightfulness is an achievement of art. One may -speak, accurately, of a delightful garden; none but an indiscriminating -idiot would talk of a delightful wilderness. An alcove decorated with -tact and lighted, or half-lighted—better—with Chinese lanterns, might -be delightful: a sunset never could be. Therefore, my daughter, if you -follow the promptings of Nature you may be, let us say, astonishing, but -you will never be delightful or anything like it. - -Personally, I think you are delightful already; but then, I am quite -conscious that that view of mine may be a paternal _parti pris_ which -other people with blunter perceptions than mine may possibly not share. -If you wish to be universally delightful then, you must be prepared to -make of yourself a work of Art. Nature, happily for you—I may say this -without flattery—has given you the materials; it is for you to work -them up, remembering that a naturally-gifted young woman is no more a -delightful young woman than a box of colours is a picture. - -In the eighties, when the Æsthetic Movement, as it was absurdly called, -was on the town, we used to talk a good deal, of “Art for Art’s sake.” -It was a phrase that gave grave offence to the Philistine, (that was -why we used it so constantly), the Philistine who nosed in it a danger -to his own peculiar variety of morals. You don’t often hear it now, for -the Philistine was too strong for us, and he has conquered. And yet it -was a phrase as innocent as it was apt. It summed up in four words—nay, -in three, for one is repeated—a true and imperishable principle. All -it meant was that Art should seek no end outside itself: that if you -set about painting a picture, say, your aim should be just to paint a -beautiful picture, not to inculcate moral habits in a Sunday school, -or to boil your own pot by achieving the line in Burlington House, or -even the gold medal of the Salon. You see the implication, Alexa? You -see how “Art for Art’s sake” applies to you just now? If you are going -to practise the art of being delightful you must do it for the sake of -being delightful, not with any _arrière pensée_, not with an eye to the -best partners at dances or invitations to the mansions of the affluent. -To die with the consciousness of all your life long having been a -delightful person! Can anything be better than that, save living with the -same consciousness? Moreover, I can’t help thinking that the best of all -preparations for the next world is to be as nice as one possibly can in -this. - -You know a good deal; a good deal of many things, I have seen to that. -But it would be well rather to conceal than to display your knowledge. -There is nothing people in general like so little in woman as knowledge, -and when I say people in general I mean people of both sexes. So you -must never put all the goods in the shop window, or, at any rate, not -all at once. Show just as many as, and those of the sort that, will -attract the particular gazer in the window at the time. Therefore, -affect an ignorance if you have it not, remembering that the more you -really do know the easier is it to appear not to know it. This seems an -unreasonable injunction, and therefore I will give you my reason for -proffering it. Broadly speaking, human nature suffers from a passion to -be instructive. We all love to teach, to tell things. Particularly do -men love to tell things to young women. I have often had a man come up -to me and say “Miss So-and-So is a charming girl,” just after I have -been noticing that the charm for him consisted wholly in the interested -and receptive manner with which she had been listening, or affecting -to listen, to such information as he had delighted to impart. Whenever -a man talks to a young woman he tries his best to appear a little -_bigger_ all round than he knows himself to be. Unexpectedly to check -his enterprise by showing that you know as much as he does has pretty -much the same effect upon his mind as though you were suddenly to add -twenty years to your age, to discover wrinkles, or to develop a squint. -Of course, I do not mean that when a man is “telling you things” you -should sit mumchance and, as it were, dumfounded at his erudition. A -few well-directed and intelligent questions will help you vastly. But -take care that the questions are such as you feel pretty confident he -will be able to answer. Here I can speak to you from the depths of my -own experience. When a pretty young woman asks me something that I don’t -know, I feel more inclined to box her ears than to kiss her. - -Learn early, dear student of life, to suffer bores gladly. Remember that -in so doing you are making yourself delightful, not only to the poor -bore, but also doubly delightful to the other persons present from whom -you have drawn him off. - -Get as quickly as possible out of the way of speaking of yourself, -even of regarding yourself as “a girl.” You are, I know, only nineteen -now, or is it twenty?—and there is not much harm in it so far—but one -day you will be five-and-twenty, and then it will sound, and will be, -ridiculous. Girlishness of speech, of thought and of manner is a habit -easily acquired and with difficulty dropped. Let others think of you and -speak of you as a girl if they will, but don’t do it yourself as you -hope for delightfulness. There are few things in a small way that give -the wise and fastidious man a nastier jar than to hear a woman well away -towards the end of her third decade refer to herself as a “girl.” It is -the fashion of folks nowadays to try to defer their children’s womanhood -as long as possible—one constantly hears it remarked, “how much younger -women are than they used to be!” Don’t believe it, Alexa, they are just -the same age as ever they were. We cannot, do what we will, keep our -daughters young. We can keep them silly, but we can’t keep them young. -Great is Art, but Nature beats her there. Besides, this in your ear! Just -as it is hateful to hear a mature young woman call herself a girl, so -it is delightful to hear one who really is a girl speak of herself as a -woman. I cannot tell you why—I think I know, but it would take too long -just now, and the psychology of it is subtle extremely—but trust me in -this, it is so. - -Never if you can help it let a man do for you anything you have reason to -believe he will not like doing—anything which you think you would not -like to do were you he and were he you. As a practical instance: If you -happen to be bicycle-riding with a man, don’t let him drag you up the -hills, or against the wind. Even at some inconvenience to yourself refuse -the proffered aid of his shoulder, of a bit of rope, or the waistband of -his Norfolk jacket. The aid will be proffered as a matter of conventional -courtesy, but the fellow’s heart will not be in it. He will like you ever -so much the better if you assert your independence; unless, of course, he -be intensely young, and then he doesn’t count. When I was a young man I -once went skating with a very charming young woman who told me she could -skate, and that she enjoyed the fun of it. I found she couldn’t skate—she -could only sprawl about and tumble down when unsupported. I had to spend -the whole of that glorious afternoon—I can smell the perfume of the pines -which stood around the lake even now across nearly half a century of -time—in upholding her until my arms and ankles ached. It was the only day -of hard ice that winter. That girl was not your mother, my child. After -that day she never could by any possibility have become your mother. -When I set out on that skating expedition I was half in love with her; -when I came home I wasn’t! Selfish? Yes—well! - -Now for a really unworldly piece of counsel. Don’t be at too much trouble -to acquire or to cultivate the acquaintance or the friendship of the -rich. In the mix-up that goes on to-day you will meet them, of course—but -they are seldom worth the bother. There is little or nothing worth having -to be got from them. And the fact that you have made yourself even a -trifle more agreeable to a rich man or woman than you would have done to -a poor person, is sure, sooner or later, to inflict upon you a feeling -of self-despite, of self-humiliation. It is as well to have as few of -those sorts of feelings as possible. A visit to a house much bigger than -one’s own, overflowing with butlers, so to speak, is but poor recompense -for the very smallest scratch to one’s self-respect. A woman with scars -on her self-respect is never quite delightful. You will find it easier -to be delightful to men than to women. With men, over and above the -cultivated charm of your art, you have always your sex—that potent -mystery—to trust to. With women it tells rather against than for you. -Therefore double your efforts to be delightful to women. In this matter I -can give you none of the specific details you ask for. To them apply the -golden rule—do unto women as you would have women do unto you. You will -meet many fool-women—whom in your heart and brain you will contemn—but -remember that the veriest fool-woman of them all will probably be clever -enough to know exactly when and where to stick her claws into the other -woman. Avoid those claws, my child. - - Your devoted - - FATHER. - - - - -THE GLAMOUR OF THE FOOTLIGHTS - - - - -THE GLAMOUR OF THE FOOTLIGHTS - - - _Dec. 5, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -I was delighted to get your long letter on Monday. It was just the sort -of letter I like to have, from a woman especially: a letter with naught -impersonal in it, full of the familiar and intimate turns of phrase. I -fancied I could hear the very inflection of your voice here and there. -That is the way to write; to write to a friend, I mean. Try hard to -remember all the time that you are not writing to a newspaper, or -labouring to produce what, at school, used to be called “a meritorious -composition.” Avoid the _cliché_ as you would the devil; nay, even more; -for he, in some of his moods, might be interesting; the _cliché_ is -always tiresome. Your letter caught me in a moment of depression, one -of those mopish moments which come upon me oftener than they should of -late, and lie like shadows upon the spirit’s surface, turning to monotone -what should be all iridescence. I went down into the breakfast-room and -fired off an epigram. It is true I had already perfected and polished -that epigram while I lay wakeful in the dead waste and middle of the -night, but I should never have summoned energy enough to part with it -so soon had it not been for your letter. It was not appreciated. The -bacon had been served on a coldish dish. So you see you are responsible -for that wilful waste of a good thing, Alexa; a thing that would have -(and mayhap will yet) set the club smoking-room in a titter. At the -breakfast-table it raised only an acidulous smile, the merest flicker. -The family looked reprovingly at me for beginning the day so frivolously. -Had you been there, now! That is one of your chiefest charms, my -daughter, that is why I love you so; you always appreciate your father’s -efforts to pervert the truth. - -There was one thing in your letter that troubled me a little though, -because I fancied I saw in it a symptom, a foreshadowing, so to speak, -like the sore throat and little dry cough that herald an attack of -scarlet fever. Do you remember when you had scarlet fever and what a -pale ghost your father was for seven dreadful days until the danger was -over and gone? Ah me! But as to this symptom. It was only two lines in -which you said something—I don’t remember exactly what, and I have not -your letter by me at the moment—about your “favourite actor.” You did -not mention the fellow’s name, and I thank you for that. It has probably -saved me from the crime of assassination. Think how disgusting it would -have been! I don’t mean the assassination itself, that would have been -jolly, but the newspaper boys bawling up and down the Strand, “Horrible -murder of Cyril, or Claude, or Basil Somebody-or-other!” And your poor -mother in tears at home; and then the squalid Old Bailey, and the glib -counsel, and the solemn ass on the Bench, and the unsympathetic stodgers -in the jury box. I feel I could never survive a criminal trial. My spirit -would break through its fleshly casings, and flee away from the deadly -commonplaceness of the thing before it was half over. Therefore in the -days of your youth look not upon the mimes to admire them, Alexa, and -bring not your father’s gray hairs in sorrow to the dock. - -But to return to seriousness and that symptom I spoke of. I have noticed -lately in several young women of your age, though I am glad to say -not in you, an unsalutary tendency to exalt the mummer. I have heard -them chatter to each other about him in the drawing-room, here; I am -told (Jane tells me in fact, she tells me unblushingly) that they buy -his photographs, sometimes as many as three or four of one of him in -different costumes; that they stick these photographs up on their bedroom -mantelpieces, and that in some desperate cases, they write him letters -asking for his autograph, and even go the length of sending him flowers. -Flowers! They had far better send onions. - -I will not let myself think hardly of these maidens of our day. I feel -I must recognise that after all they are but doing what the young males -of their species always have done and still do. The glamour of the -footlights has always tempted youth to make a donkey of itself. Young -men of a like age talk actress over their cheap cigars, spend their -sparse shillings on photographs of legs, and go the full length of their -limited credit in flower shops. But, then, they _are_ young men, you see, -and that makes all the difference. It does, I assure you, and my fondest -hope is that the discovery that it does may not come upon you as a shock. -There may be no reason, “in justice,” why there should be one law for -women and another for men, but just now there is, and if ever there -isn’t what a deuce of a world it will be! Let me imagine an instance -of what I mean. If a few years hence I were to come upon your brother -John with his arm round a dairymaid (I shall not, for dairymaids are -buried in the picturesque past) I should give him a talking to, but the -amorous incident would not break my night’s rest. But if, oh my child—if -I caught you kissing the postman! There, you see. I know quite well you -are ill-treating that pretty mobile under-lip of yours at the indelicate -suggestion. “Indelicate,” I feel sure that is the word you will use. -And it is, that is just what I mean it to be. Well, there is something -indelicate in this fuss about the actor fellow. - -I don’t like doing it, but for once let me pose before you as _laudator -temporis acti_. You were pretty good at Latin a year ago, and you -still keep enough of it to translate that. I can’t conceal from myself -that there has been a change, and a change not for the better, in the -emotional atmosphere of the young woman; it has become soppy, stuffy; -if I were to say sniffy I should not say too much, but I won’t say -quite that. Young women have always fallen in love—I use the phrase in -its widest, vaguest sense—with Man, with just the male creature. Had -they not we should none of us be here, I suppose. When that nebulous -emotion becomes more definite, concentrates itself and gets directed at -a particular member of the species, it becomes Love, the real thing, -the motive power of life, the subject matter of poetry, of drama, of -legend, of art generally. But in its vague state it hovers over Man, -just Man. Obviously it must be over Man in some more or less definite -form. Well, now, what I wanted to say was this. Once upon a time, not so -long ago either, young women “fell in love” with, made a fuss over, Man -in his more heroic, more intensely masculine and vigorous aspects. It -was the soldier, the sailor, the adventurer of all sorts, that appealed -to their tenderest susceptibilities. Even the highwayman was held a -romantic figure. Many a nice girl has tossed a bouquet or waved a damp -pocket-handkerchief at a highwayman on his last drive to Tyburn Tree. -Women upon whom one must not be too hard have before now eloped with -their grooms. I say “upon whom one must not be too hard,” because after -all grooming is a _man’s_ trade. Personable prize-fighters, too, have -had their share of delicate feminine attentions. Now all these types -of manhood,—and, remember, it is the type more than the individual who -first appeals to those vague unsettled amatory emotions we are talking -about,—were male things who _did something_, something mostly that had -danger in it, that called for a spice of hardihood, of courage, of some -honest, manly, simple quality in the doing. Venus, you know, ’tis said, -gave herself to Mars, and tried it on—the hussy—with a robust young -hunter; but scandal does not connect even her name with a mummer’s! - -Now, this change in the young woman’s emotional outlook from the hero, -of sorts, to the actor, is a change I can’t help feeling to be for the -worse. For, you see, the object of the emotional outpouring is no longer -a man who does something, but only a man who pretends to do something, -who postures and poses and plays at doing something! “The Captain with -his whiskers” of whom our grandmothers sang, and at whom our mothers -were not allowed to peep through the slats of their Venetian blinds, may -have been a bit of a dog, not “a marrying man,” mayhap, as another old -song had it; but at least his scarlet jacket and his gold lace stood for -something, for something worth having. That scarlet was smoke-blackened -at Waterloo, that gold lace lost its lustre on the slopes at Inkerman. -Girls don’t sing “The Captain with his whiskers” now, and, to tell you -the truth, I’m rather glad of that. May I not live to see the day, though -I am afraid I shall, when they will hymn the seductions of “The actor -with his grease pot.” - -Please understand—but I need not ask that, you always do understand -me, you are the only woman who ever has, and consequently made the -right allowances—that I do not say one word in contempt of the actor’s -profession as such. It is an arduous trade, and as honest as any other -whose object is to amuse the public. They call it an “art” now, I notice, -and, perhaps it is, a kind of a sort of an art; but my point is that -it is not a business that calls out the best, the virile, from a man. -On the other hand, it does evoke, by the confession of lots of actors -and actresses themselves, the malign qualities of personal vanity, -petty jealousy, and peacockiness. The constant assumption of other -personalities does and must wipe out such personality as the man may have -to begin with. If you are always pretending to be somebody else you must -inevitably lose your own self at last. And then, it is so quite awfully -an affair of clothes; of clothes and of powdered wigs, and of shaven -faces and smirks. Now, I put it to you, Alexa, do you think a delightful -woman ought to fall in love with a suit of clothes bought in Covent -Garden? Further, do you think she can be really delightful if she does? - -After all, perhaps, the change is not so great, or the thing so serious -as it seems. Perhaps, when all’s said and done, it is only the actor -in his character of hero with whom the young woman “falls in love.” -There would be a sharp reaction, I make no doubt, did she see the fellow -himself in tweeds guzzling brandy and soda in a Strand bar, or even in -evening dress sipping champagne at the Savoy. And, to do him justice, -sometimes, on the stage, in the glare of the footlights, an actor does -look uncommonly like a gentleman. You might almost fancy he was the Sir -Rupert Glenalmond or the Lord Archibald Heavyswell he pretends to be. -But still it is, while you are about it, better to “fall in love” with -the reality than with the sham, isn’t it? You must fall in love with -something, I know; but let it be with the Man, not with the Mimic. - -Therefore, Alexa dear, next time you go to the theatre spend the dressing -hour in the cultivation of the critical spirit. That shall save you. Be a -modern girl by all means; be as modern as ever you can, and count on my -support to the utmost extreme of your modernity, but don’t, don’t be a -little duffer. - -Always your affectionate, if, this time, also - - Your admonitory - - FATHER. - - - - -THE RUDENESS OF WOMEN - - - - -THE RUDENESS OF WOMEN - - - _Dec. 17, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -As in your last letter you pose me with no puzzling questions on the -subject of conduct, I may take it, I suppose, that for the moment, at -least, life has become less problematical to you. That is well. Even the -youngest and most intelligent of us should cease from bothering now and -then, and be content just to be onlookers, to banish that fearsome word -“ought” from our vocabularies and from our minds. Conduct, as Matthew -Arnold pointed out a long time ago, is three-fourths of life, a biggish -fraction, but, after all, a fraction only; and there come periods when -we thank our stars for the comparative restfulness of that odd quarter. -I often think that Matthew might, with advantage, slightly have expanded -his formula. Had he said that conduct is three-fourths of life _for_ -three-fourths of life he had been nearer the mark. Men and women, but -more often men than women, I fancy, who have passed the third quarter -rarely worry themselves as to what they ought, or ought not, to do. They -just go ahead and do it, confident that whether the action turn out for -weal or for woe it has been decided for them in that other three-quarters -left behind and beyond recall or undoing. We spend the greater part of -our life in acquiring habits, and the lesser in acquiescent obedience -to them. Therefore, if you are to be a delightful middle-aged lady you -must practise sedulously to be a delightful young one. It is worth a bit -of hard work to begin with, for middle-age lasts longer than youth, and -middle-aged ladies who are not delightful are not anything; they simply -don’t count. - -One little habit I advise you to cultivate, to cultivate until it becomes -as natural and as spontaneous as eating peas with a fork; it is the -habit of saying “Thank you” for minor services rendered. We are all of -us taught that in the nursery, I know, but an uncountable number of us, -or rather of you, seem to forget it when you lengthen your skirts. Let -me tell you something that happened only yesterday. I went up to Charing -Cross by a mid-day train from here. The only other person in the carriage -was a woman. She was a lady—you know what I mean—the sort of woman who -lives in a hundred-a-year house, who keeps three maidservants and a -boot boy, possibly a carriage, and who goes for a month or six weeks to -the Continent or elsewhere every autumn with her husband. The sort of -person who when she gives a small dinner party has little pink shades -over the candles and at least two sorts of wine. I think, by the way, -she was the sort who would call a table napkin a serviette, but perhaps -I’m prejudiced by what happened. Well, when she reached Blackheath she -rose to leave the carriage. I was sitting in the corner by the door -through which she had to get out, and, of course, I opened it for her. -If you sit by the door you have to open it for all the outgoers. It is -a nuisance, but it has its compensation in the extra comfort of the -corner seat. This woman did not say “Thank you”; she passed me without -even an inclination of her sulky head. Presently two other women got -in, two women of the same social standing as the one who had left. At -Lewisham one of these got out. I opened the door for her. She didn’t say -“Thank you.” At London Bridge precisely the same thing happened with the -remaining third. All the way thence I meditated on writing a stinging -letter to the _Times_ on “The Decadence of Manners in the Upper Middle -Class,” but you who know me know that the letter is still to write. What -happened psychologically to me was this: that I felt just a trifle less -regard and respect for your sex, Alexa, than I was conscious of when I -left home. I daresay it was unreasonable of me, but there it was. Women -of our class are not really nice, I found myself saying to myself, not -really and truly nice in the innermost soul of them. No wonder they -don’t get on with their servants, I thought to myself, for if they are -rude to their social equals, what must they be to those whom they think -their inferiors? I rather hated your sex for about twenty-five minutes. -And please don’t tell me that these impolite hussies were exceptions, -because on the balance of probabilities it is most unlikely that I should -have struck three exceptions in the course of one short train journey. -No, Alexa, you are very rude. You are attractive sometimes, I admit; you -are even, in passing moments of folly and madness, bewitching, but you -are very rude. I don’t mean you personally, of course, but you regarded -collectively—you women, you! - -I find myself getting cross even now as I write when I recall that -incident, getting cross and asking myself all sorts of questions which -it were well for women that men should not ask. As, for instance: Why do -we put up so tamely with so much of your cheek? Cheek is a slang word, -but made venerable by long use, and I can think of no other so exactly -adequate, so comprehensively expressive. Why do we not give you more -severe talkings to than we do? They would do you no end of good, and we -know it, and yet refrain. You scarcely ever get a severe talking to, -any of you. Yesterday, after leaving Charing Cross Station, I walked up -Bond Street. I was really going somewhere, oh sceptical child; you must -not think your father was merely loafing. I was not in a hurry, and I -looked at the shops. There were lots of pretty women driving up and down -in their carriages, but I did not look at them; I was at odds with the -whole sex. Well, those shops! With the exception of a fishmonger’s, a -few most attractive tobacconists, in which you cannot get a briar root -pipe under 25s., and a stray tailor or two, all those shops were women’s -shops; full of hats for women to wear, each hat to be worn about twice, -or at the most half-a-dozen times; shops full of frocks, each frock -costing more than a week’s earnings of a man who works hard to make, say, -£2000 a year; shops creaming over with fluffy, frilly under-things, the -fluffiest and the frilliest of which disappear for ever when once they -leave the shop, or, let us say, almost disappear. And then the jewellers! -Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals in little heaps on velvet-lined trays. -Diamonds and diamonds, and yet more diamonds flashing in the sunlight, -flashing scorn and contempt upon all such as are too poor to purchase -them; and gold, gold enough to have paved the street! Oh, and the pearls, -the ropes, nay, rather the cables of pearls. Pearl fishing, they used to -tell me in my _Child’s Guide to Knowledge_, is a perilous profession, -and a profession followed wholly by men. And all the things that these -shops displayed—of course, there was more than as much again in drawers -and cupboards and stout iron safes within the shops—were to be bought by -men and given to women. For what? For what, in the name of reason? Men, -merely as men, give to women as much as women, just as women, give to -men; and so that part of the account is squared by nature’s self, as it -were. But all this balance, this ransack of Bond Street, of South African -and Eastern and Australasian mines, of ocean depths, of forest solitudes, -all this is collared by women, and they won’t even say “Thank you.” It is -true I did not give those three women yesterday any jewels to speak of; -but still I did save them the soiling of their light-coloured gloves, and -you know by experience, Alexa, that carriage door handles on our railway -are always filthy. - -Forgive this outburst, which, after all, so far as you are concerned, -is quite impersonal, but out of the bitterness of the heart the pen -writeth. You want to be, and I want you to be, an exceptional woman, and -the easiest way in which to be an exceptional woman is to be a polite -one. I don’t think there is any radical difference between the sexes in -the way of politeness. We are all born impolite—there is nothing much -more impolite than a young baby—but one sex acquires politeness and the -other doesn’t—that’s where it is. I wonder if you have ever noticed that. -If not, just use your eyes for the next four-and-twenty hours, and once -more you will be compelled to admit and to admire the accuracy of your -father’s criticisms of life. Watch, watch closely, next time you see two -or three young men talking to two or three women in a drawing-room or at -a garden party. Notice the difference (it is not a subtle, it is a quite -blatant difference) between the attitude and tone of the men to the women -and those of the women to the men. Unless the men be rank outsiders, and -that sort is not likely to come your way, you will find in the men’s -attitude and tone a deference, a respectful diffidence—how shall I put -it?—quite lacking in the women. However foolish, jejune, inconsequential -be the remarks of any one of the women the man immediately talking to -her will put on an air of interest; he will treat her as though anything -she said had some real importance; he will receive her feeblest joke as -though it were wit of the most polished. But she, well, if he doesn’t -amuse her she won’t even try to look amused, and if he bores her she -will most unmistakably look bored. It is horribly impolite to look bored, -you know. To bore is beastly, but to look bored is damnable. Most women -behave as though their mere existence were a blessing to men, as though -all that men could possibly ask of them was just to be there! It is not -enough, you know, Alexa; it really isn’t, and in our saner moods we men -feel that. We don’t say unpleasant things of you, but we feel them. - -The worst of it is that social custom accepts the woman’s point of -view and enforces it. Think what happened to me last week. It was on -Wednesday—on Wednesday your mother and I dined with the Devrients. -Your mother was all right from start to finish. She was taken down by -Forsyth—I know you rather admire him, and you are right, for he is about -as clever as they make them, and talks even better than he writes. But, -then, your mother is a woman, and these sort of things are arranged for -the likes of her and you. But I! In obedience to that monstrous social -convention which pairs off married men with married women—I never felt it -so bitterly before, for your friend, the beautiful Janet, was there and -sat opposite me, hidden behind a tall epergne of tall flowers, and I’m -fond of Janet, and you say she likes me—I was sent down with Mrs ⸺ (never -mind, I won’t mention names), a middle-aged woman, who has no beauty nor -traces of beauty, who is neither clever nor interesting, who is nothing, -so far as I could make out, but stupid and rather greedy. For the whole -of that awful dinner—it lasted from eight until a quarter to ten—I had to -make myself agreeable to that preposterous person. And I did it. I was -as nice and kind as anything. I plied her with banalities, such as her -soul (what there was of it) loved. I wouldn’t have minded her not being -intelligent had she been pretty. I wouldn’t have minded her not being -pretty had she been intelligent; but she was neither, and at the end of -it I felt as though my brain had been wiped out with a sponge. Now, there -was a man there with whom I particularly wanted to talk, he is one of -the few men out of whom one always sets an idea or two, but devil a word -could I get with him, and all because it is taken for granted that I, a -man, must needs want to sit next to a woman. On the way home your mother -remarked what a delightful evening it had been, and how quickly it had -passed! I said—but you who know me, Alexa, know quite well that I said -nothing. - -The Registrar-General’s returns inform me that men are marrying less -freely than they used, and that each year they marry less freely than in -the year before. It is almost the one piece of evidence I can discover -of the growth and development of intelligence among my sex. It means, -say the commentators in the newspapers and the magazines, that men are -getting more selfish, more exacting. It does. As we get more and more -civilised so shall we demand more and more from life. My savage ancestor -asked but little here below. I ask quite a lot, and get some. My remote -descendant will ask more, and get all of it. Of course, men who fall in -love will continue to marry; the Registrar-General will always have them -to go on with. For a man in love the _mere girl_ suffices. But hitherto -the marriage returns have been made up by the marriages of a certain -number, and a pretty large number, of men who have not been in love and -who consequently can see things, I mean women, more or less as they -really are. For them the mere girl does not suffice. She has got to be -a nice girl as well, a girl who takes as much trouble to be nice as she -does, say, to be clean. These are the fellows, I feel certain, whose -defection has caused, and will further cause, the fall in the marriage -rate. Your sex is being found out, my child, found out at long last by -mine. When the discovery is quite complete Lord only knows what sort of a -world we shall have! - -I don’t suppose it has ever struck you before how nice we are to -you—now has it?—how patient we are with your caprices, how tolerant of -your tempers, how semi-blind to your deficiencies, how little and how -rarely we use against you the strength, moral, mental, and physical, -that is ours. An excellent French priest once advised me, as a cure for -discontent, to spend half an hour three times a week in meditating upon -my blessings. You do that, Alexa, and don’t forget that perhaps, on the -whole, the chiefest of yours is the possession of a most wise and always -a most loving - - FATHER. - - - - -DRESS AND FASHION - - - - -DRESS AND FASHION - - - _Jan. 2, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -Don’t be alarmed at getting a letter from me not in reply to one of -yours. Nothing has happened. “All is silver grey,” as Andrea del Sarto -says. I won’t add “placid and perfect with my art” as he does, because it -is cheek to call one’s work perfect even when it is, but, at any rate, -both I and my art are placid enough. - -No, nothing has happened. That is the worst of it. When one reaches my -age nothing ever does happen unless one makes it happen. When one is -young adventures, excitements, thrills, come suddenly out of the void, -thus adding to the ordinary joy of them the throb of the unexpected. -But when one is older one has to fare forth out into the void and seek -diligently adventures, excitements, thrills; and if one has one’s living -to earn, and a whole lot of little things to see after, why then one -hasn’t much time for excursions into the void. - -This is a purely selfish letter. It is written to relieve my mind; by way -of getting down in black and white some thoughts that have been twisting -and twirling about like maggots in my brain all the afternoon. In that -respect, at least, I am an artist, Alexa, and, forgive me, my daughter, -in that same respect, you are not. - -The artistic temperament is not, as fools of novelists appear to think, -an itching to be singular or noticeable in any way, an inclination to -wear ridiculous neck-ties, to omit to wash behind the ears, or to live -with people to whom one is not married; and to quarrel with them. It is -the desire, the invincible desire, to externalise and express in paint or -pencil, in clay or marble, in musical sounds or in written words, one’s -emotions, one’s thoughts, one’s aspirations, one’s dreams. - -You, for instance, draw. For a girl of your years and training you draw -rather well. But when you see a thing that appeals to you—a face, a -landscape, a little bit of an interior, you do not ache and ache until -you have got it down in pencil upon paper. You are quite content to -keep it within you. I, when I get ever such a stupid idea in my head, -am miserable until I see it before me in words, in words arranged as -well as I know how to arrange them. I would rather, far rather, keep an -aching tooth in my jaw than an aching idea in my head. And so, though my -neck-ties are ever the correctest of their kind that Bond Street knows, -and though I never do any of those other things peculiar to the artistic -temperament of rubbishy fiction, I do claim to belong to the great -company of artists. - -By the way, I have often wondered what the author of the _Te Deum_ was -about not to have added another line to it:— - - “The great Brotherhood of Artists, throughout all the world: Praise - Thee.” - -Every artist, in every bit of honest work he does, though he may not -mean it or know it, praises God. How supremely well Kipling expressed -the gist of our creed when he wrote in that exquisite _Envoi_ to “Life’s -Handicap”; you remember it:— - - “One instant’s toil to Thee denied - Stands all Eternity’s offence.” - -And now to come down from the heights to the valley—I never could -breathe freely on mountain tops, Alexa; that’s why I hate Switzerland so -cordially. It is not the touring Anglican clergy and their impossible -wives I object to so much; it is those appalling Alps. But, as I was -going to say, I write this letter because I spent a whole half-hour this -morning reading a woman’s paper. At least, I’m not sure it called itself -a woman’s paper, it might have been a woman’s page in an ordinary paper. -I don’t know where the thing has got to now, so I can’t refer to it. I -found it on the hall table when I came down to breakfast. - -Doesn’t it make you feel a good deal ashamed of your sex and of yourself, -as one of it, when you come across a woman’s page in a newspaper? Doesn’t -it make you feel pretty much as you would feel if you saw someone of your -own standing behaving rudely at dinner? or being impolite to a child? -Don’t you ask yourself, with something as near to a swear word as you -can get, “Whom on earth is all the rest of the paper for then? Are women -so small, so narrow, such children, such idiots as to have no interest -in politics, in art, in science, in literature; in all the extraordinary -doings of human beings all over the world, such as the rest of the paper -discusses and records?” - -“The Women’s Corner!” Think of it, Alexa, child of my heart! The corner -into which the poor stunted, shrivelled, petty-minded creature must -betake herself to read about dress. Pah! - -Here your feminine intuition will tell you that I am in rather a bad -temper. There, there, I don’t mean to sneer at feminine intuition. Heaven -knows I have both profited and suffered from it enough, and more than -enough in my time, and when the sum comes to be cast up it will be found, -I daresay, that I have profited as much as I have suffered. - -But I am in rather a bad temper with that woman’s paper, not because it -was all about dress, but because it was all wrong about dress. I don’t -mean wrong in the absurd details—I know nothing of them—but wrong in the -essence, wrong in the soul of it. - -Here anyone but you would say “What in the world does the man mean by -talking about soul in an article on dress?” You won’t say it because you -know—we have agreed about it often—that an article on anything whatever -that has no soul in it, is not an article at all; it is just a bladder of -rattling peas. - -It is not because I despise or even think lightly of dress, that I am -so unwontedly annoyed with the person who wrote all this slops. On the -contrary, it is because I am fulfilled with the idea of the importance -of dress and of the part it plays in the amenities and pleasures of -life. You have often told me after we have been out together, or people -have been here, and I have been admiring this lady or that, that I -did not even know what she had on. Precisely. That was because she -was well-dressed. Had she been badly dressed I should have known fast -enough. The woman is well-dressed of whose costume you remember only the -_ensemble_, what we artists call the total impression—an impression of -colour and contour. Or sometimes of nothing even so definite as that, of -fluffiness merely. - -Now the writer of all this abominable fustian knew nothing of that, that -elementary philosophy of dress. He, she, it—I don’t know what the sex of -the creature was—thought all of the costume and nothing of the woman. -With him, her, it, the woman was a thing to be worn with a costume, -not the costume a thing for a woman to wear. You do see the tremendous -difference, don’t you? But, of course, you do. - -Really—but there, one must be tolerant. These people are flatly ignorant, -and, moreover, they are the hirelings of others whose business it is -to make money out of dress. That, nowadays, at anyrate, is the meaning -of fashion in the restricted sense of the word. Fashion is not a mode -of being beautiful or even of changing from one variety of beauty to -another, or of changing to meet changing circumstances. It is a means of -putting money into the pockets of dressmakers and manufacturers. These -people are getting stronger and stronger, more and more arrogant. - -Take a case in point. Once upon a time, not so long ago, every woman in -our class had what was called “a set” of furs. It was horribly expensive -to begin with, but it was taken care of and it lasted, oh, I don’t know -how long. Of course, that didn’t suit the furriers and fur sellers—the -fierce competition of commerce and all the silly rest of it—and so, -though the wearing of furs is still the comfortable fashion, each season -sees a change in the smaller fashion of the furs, the cut of them, the -kind, and so on, and the women even in our class, who don’t adopt the -latest thing, feel hopelessly uncomfortable and out of it. They either -go cold, or wear cat-skin or rabbit-skin faked to look like something -expensive, or spend money that they haven’t got. - -With that rabbit-skin and cat-skin I have struck the note of fashion as -it is in the suburbs, the provinces, and everywhere else except among the -rich and idle people to whom money does not matter, the people who do -nothing to make money, and so have most of it to spend. The designers for -the big dressmakers design something that is perhaps, though by no means -certainly, beautiful enough. If perchance it be beautiful, its beauty -lives in the artistry and science of its fashioning, and the material of -which it is made. Now the people at the top can purchase, without feeling -it, the artistry, the science, the rare and costly material. But the -others, you see, can’t. - -Nevertheless, pricked and spurred by the low-down fashion journalists, -they feel that life is a desert without the new thing in some shape or -another. So they get it inartistically designed, unscientifically cut, -and of some cheaper, commoner stuff. Result, they don’t look a bit like -Duchesses after all, but only like what they are, silly and snobby women. -These are hard words, Alexa, but I am cross to-day. - -Fashion in its smaller sense, “the fashion” as it is forced upon women -by the dressmakers and designers, as a card is forced by a sharper on -a flat, is for nine people out of ten an accursed thing, a monstrous -thing. It assumes that all women will look well dressed in the same way. -Now, if anything is certain, it is that of any hundred women selected -haphazard, not more than ten can dress in the same way and look anything -but ridiculous. The human body is, as you learnt when you used to draw it -at the Slade and at Colorossi’s, a subtle thing, and demands the subtlest -treatment. There are idiosyncrasies of body as there are of mind. I don’t -mean merely that some women are tall, some short, some thick, and others -thin, some curvy and others angular. That has to be remembered, too, but -I mean something more elusive than that. - -Let us take a concrete case. You are not very different in height or -form from your friend, Berta Roselli. You are not a bit prettier. A -person just looking casually at you two—a second-rate milliner sort -of person—would say that the same sort of costume would suit you both -equally well. Yet how delightful you used to look in those frocks which -you call, I think, “Princess” frocks, and how completely they took away -the delightfulness from Berta. I told her so once in so many words when -we were walking round the garden together, and she had the good sense -never to wear them again. If you ask me why they enhanced your charm, and -destroyed Berta’s, I can’t tell you. Perhaps there is no “why.” - -Then again, colour. It drives the artistic soul furious to be told that -“heliotrope is to be fashionable in the approaching season,” because one -knows at once what one is in for. Think of heliotrope or of any other -colour or tint in the universe worn beside every sort of complexion, -with every sort of shade of hair! It makes one’s nerves stand on end -like quills. There again, the rich women score because they can, and do, -change their complexions and their hair to “match,” as this putrid paper -calls it, the fashionable colour. The poorer women try to do the same -thing, and look—well. Or don’t even try, and then!— - -This is merely a grumbling letter, not a didactic essay, and so I will -offer no advice in it. To offer advice one should be in a judicial mood, -serene, detached! but I may just say this. The one fatal thing in dress -is to wear anything because you happened to have admired it on someone -else, and for that reason only. The one triumphant thing in the matter of -dress is to remember that you are yourself and not that other person. In -all other matters women seem to remember it easily enough. In the matter -of dress only do they lose their sense of identity. - -Now, Alexa, turn on me, do, and _riposte_ by telling me that men are -every bit as bad; that they too are the slaves of fashion. Say things -about my waistcoats if you like; I don’t care, for I have a crushing -retort up my sleeve. Think of the things that tailor people have tried to -force upon us and how miserably they have failed; how they have tried to -make us go back to peg-tops, to wear coloured coats and knee-breeches, as -evening dress. Think of these things and withhold the gibe. Or, don’t. I -do not mind. Sedate in my sense of my sex’s immeasurable superiority, - - I remain, - - Your angry and æsthetic - - FATHER. - - - - -A MORAL QUESTION - - - - -A MORAL QUESTION - - - _Jan. 15, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -Your last letter interested and amused me vastly, as I know you intended -it should. It is much the best thing in the way of writing you have ever -done. I read and re-read and read it yet again after breakfast, and then -I carefully, though regretfully, burnt it. One can spare oneself and -others a lot of unhappiness by the simple process of burning letters, -especially women’s letters, more especially still charming women’s -charming letters. Indeed, the more charming the woman and the more -charming the letter the more urgently do the flames clamour for their -rights of destruction. Had anyone else read this last letter of yours, -say, ten years hence, they would have formed an entirely false impression -of you, and had even you read it yourself after that lapse of time you -would have formed almost as false an impression of yourself. Almost, I -say, not quite, for you, I fain hope, would remember the sort of man to -whom it was written. And it is the character of the recipient even more -than that of the writer which gives the keynote of every letter worth the -reading. An intimate letter is the achievement of _two_ personalities—it -is a kind of dialogue in which one of the interlocutors is silent, or -rather, is heard only by the other. That is why published letters nearly -always lack interest; we do not hear that other. - -Now, if anyone but your understanding father had read that last letter -of yours, they would have thought you “not quite a nice girl” to have -repeated little bits of scandal which you have picked up in a house in -which you are a welcome guest, and to have criticised so freely your -hosts and their friends. They would have liked the letter, mind you—they -would have chortled over it in pharisaical glee—I chortle, too, but I -chortle not as the Pharisees chortle—but they would not have liked you, -for they would have feared and distrusted you, as critics are always -distrusted and feared by the stodgy, especially critics of life. They, -you see, these hypothetical but now impossible readers of your letter, -would not have known me—would not have known, as you do, that I enjoy -scandal and appreciate criticism; and would therefore have failed to -realise how dutiful a daughter you were in giving me the things I like. - -Need I, to a girl of your perceptiveness, attempt to justify the -enjoyment of scandal? Surely it is the exceptional, not the ordinary, -which should and does interest us. If, for instance, one were to discover -a pork butcher, who spent all the daylight hours in butchering pork, -witching the midnight with an exquisite performance of Bach’s Chaconne -on a Strad, one would be interested in the man, not because he was a -pork butcher, but because he was a virtuoso who loved Bach and possessed -a Strad. If Dr. Clifford were caught with a guitar serenading a lady’s -maid in Gower Street, how one’s interest in the man would spring to -life—how much of his windy rhetoric would instantly be forgotten? One -side of our heads would condemn him, no doubt, but how the whole of our -hearts would warm to the man? Ah, that one touch of nature! Forgive the -banal quotation, but I don’t often quote from other people’s works, do -I? Well, then, scandal is interesting because it is exceptional. And -conduct that is not exceptional is not scandal. No one would call the -improprieties of Messalina scandals; they were just the commonplace -occurrences of her daily life. Now, these four persons of whose doings -you tell me are made interesting to me now by the very fact that I have -always held them to be of the properest sect of the proper. Next time -I meet Mrs ⸺ (I had better omit the name) I shall look at her from an -entirely different point of view. I shall make an effort to talk to -the woman, whereas, as you know, last time I took her down to dinner I -devoted myself in esurient silence to the entrées. See now, my daughter, -what a kindly act you have done her in repeating that little morsel -of scandal. For, as you know, when I do try to talk—really to talk—I -generally succeed rather well. You have assured the dear and erring lady -at least one pleasant dinner party. - -But you ask me—or seem to ask me, though you do not put your query -in so many words, what ought to be your own attitude to the lady in -question—should you continue “to know” her, as the phrase goes, in the -future. Of course, you can’t help knowing her just now, for a guest -must needs be courteous to fellow guests, or leave the host’s house as -quickly as is compatible with politeness. Very well, Alexa, let us go -into this matter for a moment. What do we, you and I, know of this lady, -“know for certain,” as the phrase goes? We know her to be a kindly if -not an obtrusively intelligent person. We know, if you come to think -of it, quite a lot of nice, kind things she has done for other people, -things she might have left undone and caused no remark, superfluously -kind things, that is. We know her to be—for we have seen her in her own -home—a devoted and efficient mother—alas that the two terms should not -be synonymous—to her little children. Judging by her husband’s conduct -to her, he finds her an eminently satisfactory wife. Personally, though -I have never heard her say a brilliant or even a clever thing, I have -never heard her say an unkind one. As to this other matter of which -you tell me, we are not quite sure that it is true, are we? A thing -that is neither confessed nor proved is doubtful, and according to the -wholesome custom of English law—and English law, broadly speaking, is -English common sense—the accused has always the benefit of the doubt. -But, you seem to hint, you yourself are “morally certain” that it is -true. Moral certainties lead often to immoral judgments, Alexa, and, -like moral victories, are always eminently unsatisfying. But let us take -it for granted that it is true. What then? It is assuredly nothing that -immediately concerns you or your relations with the woman, is it? You do -not catch yourself desiring to follow her example in any way, do you? You -find no trace of her backslidings in her conversations with you? So far -as you can perceive, and you have pretty sharp eyes, my daughter, it does -not affect her life or manners in any way whatever. You told me you know, -that it came upon you as an overwhelming surprise. You may reply that -such a thing “_must_” in some way affect a woman’s life. I reply that it -is not with what _must_, but with what _does_ perceptibly happen that -we in this practical work-a-day world only are concerned. We do well to -leave _musts_ to the hereafter. - -In asking yourself whether you shall or shall not continue “to know” -this lady, you are really and essentially asking yourself whether you -shall act as judge, jury and executioner to a person accused of an -offence against current convention, or, yes, if you like, against current -morality. But I would point out to you that even in Law, which is at best -but a rough and ready attempt to secure justice, the peculiar facts of -the offence, the temptations that led up to it, are taken into some sort -of account. The plea of extenuating circumstances has weight. Moreover, -the accused is allowed to speak in his defence either by his own lips or -those of skilled counsel. Now your court, the court which you in secret -hold, and where you alone are judge, jury, prosecutor, and witnesses—your -court knows nothing, and can know nothing, of peculiar facts, and of -special temptations—it can mitigate nothing on account of extenuating -circumstances, because it is wholly ignorant of their existence or -non-existence. The accused’s lips are sealed, and there is no counsel to -plead for her. Do you think, then, that a court so constituted is at all -likely to get anywhere near to justice in its decisions? How would you -like to be tried, and executed, by such a court, if you were charged with -stealing a yard of ribbon? - -You may reply, and I think you will, for you are a persistent little -dialectician when you like, that an analogy is not an argument. And, -besides, that in talking of “execution” I exaggerate: that anything so -unimportant a person as yourself may do can matter but little to the -lady. No, perhaps not, but it matters a good deal to you, child, and it -is you with whom I am concerned. An unjust act hurts the doer, hurts -especially if it be a stupidly unjust act. After it he will be a trifle -stupider, blunter, more prejudiced than he was before. There is nothing -roots itself—no, not even the horse-radish in our garden—so easily, and -is so hard to eradicate, as prejudice. Now prejudiced and strong you may -be, my child, but you can’t be prejudiced and delightful, and, as I have -so often told you, above all things I want you to be delightful. - -So far you are delightful, and you are strong, too, and it is because -you are strong that I am going to say one thing more on this matter. -The moral code of society is not equally valid in all its clauses. Some -are of more importance and significance than others. Those which say we -must not murder and we must not steal are of immeasurable importance, -because they apply not to this time or that, or to that place or this, -but to _all_ times and to every place. A society which permitted or -winked to any extent at murder or theft would cease, almost at once, to -be a society. We are here now living in comparative comfort and security -because societies in the past forbade murder and theft; therefore the -commands which treat of these offences are of what we philosophical old -buffers call universal validity. But there are other commandments in -the moral code of the day which are only “of the day,” as it were. Time -was when they were not—places are where they are not, and possibly time -will come again when they will not be. The morality which they seek to -maintain is never more than the morality of a phase in human evolution. -It may be valid _for that phase_, but it has not universal validity. Now, -judgments and actions based on universal validity must needs be ever so -much more assured than judgments and actions based on phasal validity, if -you will allow the phrase to pass. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want -to minimise the importance of the rules and regulations which are “only -of the day,” for, after all, that day is the day in which we live. Still, -you see there is a difference, isn’t there? Yes, and it is just one of -those differences of which a wise and delightful young woman should take -count. - -Of course, I have not nearly exhausted my subject, but I have very nearly -exhausted myself, and - - I am your tired - - FATHER. - - - - -THE LIMITS OF FLIRTATION - - - - -THE LIMITS OF FLIRTATION - - - _Feb. 20, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -What a very short note! Its brevity and its interrogativeness give it -almost the urgency of a telegram. And yet how am I to answer it, how am I -even to begin to answer it in less than half a dozen pages of quarto? - -I will not remind you of the old saying that a certain sort of person -can ask more questions in five minutes than a wise man can answer in a -lifetime. I will not remind you, I say, because you are not the sort of -person the old saying means, and I feel sure that when you asked your -question you did not do it just to annoy, but because for some reason or -another you really wanted to know. Was it personal, that reason? Because, -if so, I think, perhaps, on the whole you had better come home. - -What, you ask me, are the limits of flirtation? Where does it begin; -where end? - -I wish you hadn’t used the word: it is a word I happen intensely to -dislike, to dislike with one of those prejudices of which we can never -give a satisfactory account. I think, perhaps, I dislike it because it -always brings before me a mental image of one of my own sex making a fool -or a rogue of himself. And yet I cannot blame you, for I myself have been -quite unable to find a synonym for it. - -“Coquetry” is a pretty word, but coquetry, I quite recognise, is a -different thing. Coquetry is exclusively feminine. Now it takes two to -make a flirtation, and one of them must not be a woman. And then, after -all, the word has a worthy ancestry. - -Do you know who invented it? A dozen pairs of gloves to one you don’t? -It was that greatest of all gentlemen that ever were, Lord Chesterfield, -and he, like the gallant fellow he was, modestly attributed it to some -unnamed lady of his acquaintance. - -I came across it quite a little while ago in Volume XVI. of my _British -Essayists_. You know them, those little books bound in expensive calf -with red labels, which nearly fill a whole bookshelf in the library, and -which you always refuse to open because you say they look so dull. Well, -in No. 101 of _The World_, dated December 5, 1754, Lord Chesterfield is -praising your sex for the good service it has done to the English tongue; -and I can’t think how he could! “I never see a pretty mouth opening to -speak,” he says, “but I expect, and am seldom disappointed, some new -improvement of our language.” - -Happy times! Happy man! If only he could have been here the other day -when the Darkleigh girls called. Their entire vocabulary consisted of one -word, “ripping.” No, I do them wrong. There was another, “rag.” And yet -what an extremely charming girl Muriel is, isn’t she? And, after all, why -should a woman be a dictionary? - -But to return to Lord Chesterfield. He goes on to say:— - - “I assisted at the birth of that most significant word - ‘flirtation,’ which dropped from the most beautiful mouth in - the world, and which has since received the sanction of our - most accurate Laureate in one of his comedies. Some inattentive - and undiscerning people have, I know, taken it to be a term - synonymous with coquetry; but I lay hold of this opportunity - to undeceive them, and eventually to inform Mr Johnson that - flirtation is short of coquetry and intimates only the first - hints of approximation, which subsequent coquetry may reduce to - those preliminary articles that commonly end in a definitive - treaty.” - -I have quoted Chesterfield merely for the sake of historic interest, not -because his definition is much to the point just now. Since his time the -word flirtation has changed its meaning, just as the thing has changed -its character. It means a good deal more to-day than those “first hints -of approximation.” Flirtation with us does not end (except by some -calamitous accident) in the “definitive treaty” of marriage. The proof of -which is that when it does we usually say, or think, “Oh, then it wasn’t -a flirtation after all, it was serious;” implying, of course, that that -which is serious is not flirtation. - -Not but what stupid people among us misuse the word abominably. You will -sometimes hear a woman accused of flirting with a man when she has been -merely making herself as delightful as she knows how to him; doing her -simple duty to herself and to him, that is. - -But we need not trouble ourselves, you and I, as to what stupid people -say or think. We agreed that we wouldn’t, a long time ago, you remember. -I have noticed, too, that people who say things about us always are -stupid—which is one to us, isn’t it? - -No, no, flirtation to-day may go a long way beyond those first hints of -approximation and still remain flirtation, without reaching those limits -you talk of. It may ... but perhaps only concrete instances have value in -a discussion of this sort, so let me give you one. A day or two ago, I -went, rather late in the afternoon, to the Exhibition of Old Masters now -on in Burlington House. I wish you had been there too; there is gorgeous -Sir Joshua, which you would have knelt down and worshipped. I should -have done it myself but for a sense of humour and a touch of rheumatism -in the knee. Well, in the water-colour gallery I came upon a man I know -and you know, with a woman I know and so do you. They were not looking at -the drawings, they were sitting on a seat between two screens. My almost -feminine intuition (don’t jeer) told me that they had not looked at a -picture since they had passed the turnstile. However, please understand, -Alexa, that there was not the slightest harm in those two people being -where they were on that afternoon. - -At our time of day and amongst our set, I should hope, any man might go -to any picture gallery with any woman and escape censure. But the point -about these two people was this. When they saw me, and saw that I saw -them, they seemed embarrassed. And then the man gave me a look which -meant, if ever a look meant anything, “I know you’re a decent chap, and -I am confident you will hold your tongue,” and the lady did not look at -me at all, she fidgeted with the edge of her veil. The veil, by the way, -of course, gave the whole thing away. It was thickish. People who want to -see pictures don’t wear thick veils. Now, that embarrassment, that look -of the man’s at me, that little nervous gesture of the lady’s, told me -that here was a flirtation. Nothing more than a flirtation so far. I am -confident of that. But a flirtation, mind you, that had almost reached -the limits. - -An understanding, a secret understanding, an understanding from which -the rest of the world is excluded, is of the very essence of flirtation. -The _entente_, the agreement, may never have been made by words spoken -in corners, or written in notes, but it must at least have been made -in looks or, no, perhaps not by anything so definite as they, by the -creation of that most impalpable but most real thing, an atmosphere, an -emotional atmosphere. - -When does a flirtation begin, then? It begins directly she has succeeded -in convincing him (of course you may reverse the sexes) that he is -more attractive to her than any of the other men about. Mind, I say in -convincing him. Until he is convinced the thing has not begun; it is -only an attempt at a flirtation—and to fail in such an attempt is, with -one exception, the most disastrous defeat a woman can sustain. No woman -can encounter two beatings of that sort and retain her self-esteem. Her -_amour propre_ is irreparably ruined. A man, on the other hand, can -survive any number of rebuffs and come up smiling to face the next; for -he can always comfort himself with the thought that it was the lady’s -prudence and not his own unattractiveness that was responsible for the -licking. - -A flirtation must be without serious intent. If one of the parties to it -have anything more definite in view, consciously in view, then he or she -is not flirting; it is a one-sided affair. It is in no way destructive of -the accuracy of my definition that most affairs are one-sided affairs. - -There may be in a flirtation, there nearly always is, a sort of subtle -subconsciousness of delightful possibilities, of dangerously delightful -possibilities, but that is all there may be; and it is just these vague -possibilities that give the salt to the dish. - -Flirtation then you see, Alexa, is, like virtue, its own reward. That, I -think, is the only respect in which it does resemble virtue. Like art, it -must exist only for its own sake; and it is remarkably like art. Indeed, -it is no inconsiderable part of the art of life. The object of art, as -Pater says somewhere, is to render radiant, to intensify, our moments. -That and nothing else is the object, so far as it has an object, of -flirtation. - -Of course it gratifies our vanity, and of all gratifications, or nearly -all, the gratification of vanity is the sweetest, the one with least -alloy or unpleasant after-taste. Vanity suffers from hunger, but never -from indigestion, no, nor from satiety. There are few things in this -world which give a man, who is a man and not a pudding, such a tingling -thrill of pleasure as the consciousness that a woman, an ordinarily -discreet woman, has run the ever-so-slightest risk of compromising -herself for his sake. - -A woman once told me—quite a nice woman, Alexa, not a cat, nothing like -a cat—that life’s height was the knowledge that she could raise a man -to the summits or cast him down to the depths, by giving or withholding -a glance as she left the dinner-table for the drawing-room. So you see -flirtation has its points as a form of sport. - -Obviously then, as I said, there must be an understanding, a tacit, if -temporary, alliance between the pair. They must have made a little circle -for themselves, a little circle in which they two move alone, from which -the rest of the world is excluded, as it were, by a burning bush. There -may be a _ménage à trois_, indeed, I am told that the _ménage à trois_ -is one of the commonest of social phenomena, but a flirtation _à trois_ -there can never be. A woman may flirt with two men, or a man with two -women, but neither of the two must know of the other’s existence or the -thing falls to pieces. - -It is in truth a sort of exercise preliminary to the duel of sex. The -combatants are combatants only by courtesy; they fence with the buttons -on the foils. So long as the game is played according to the rules, there -is likely to be naught more seriously discommoding than a scratch or a -tiny little blue bruise which in a day or two will disappear. But, and -here is the spice of it, at any moment one of the buttons may come off -by accident, or be taken off by fraud, and then—well, then certainly a -garment may be torn to rags, possibly a heart may be pierced. - -Where does flirtation end? you ask. Well, I can tell you where it never -ends. It never ends in a row. Never, at any rate, when he or she has more -brains than a guinea-pig. Of course, with downright fools there is no -telling. If there be ever so slight a row, ever so faint a scandal, then -there has been something more than a flirtation. The limits have been -passed; a button, somehow or other, has come off a foil. When somebody is -trying to get back somebody’s letters somebody has leaped the limits: be -sure of that. - -Miss Rhoda Broughton, an author whom young women of to-day are a little -apt to slight, makes Sarah in _Belinda_ say:—“I may be a flirt, but thank -heaven in the whole length and breadth of Europe there exists not a scrap -of my handwriting.” Or words to this effect. May be a flirt forsooth! Of -course she was a flirt, and a flirt of accomplishment, or she could never -truthfully have made the boast. - -But the limits? Well, they are like most other limits that determine the -conduct of men and women. They are shifting limits, they change from age -to age, and from climate to climate; nay, more than that, from social set -to social set. Judging from what I hear on the top and bottom levels -of our present society there is no fault to find with their narrowness; -and even with us though they may be not so wide as a church door (horrid -simile that; a church should never even be thought of in connection with -a flirtation) they will do, they will serve. - -Perhaps you want me to be practical though. Well, here goes then. Secret -assignations should be avoided as beyond the limits, so should the -underground post. You know what I mean by the underground post; letters -sent to clubs or to post-offices. - -Dark corners at dances? Well—yes. A dark corner may just be inside the -boundary, but a clasped hand in that dark corner is well over it. But by -the way, Alexa, on the whole it seems not wise in me to set out these -limits for you, because the limits of flirtation are also the perilous -edges of—find the word for me in the _Thesaurus_. There is plenty of -room well within those limits for you to entertain yourself, and others, -in security. Keep away from the limits, for, as I said, they are vague, -apt sometimes, in emotional moments, to become blurred, invisible even -perhaps. When a girl of your tender years gets near to the limits she is -likely to call for the prompt and most disagreeable intervention of a, -and particularly of - - Your, stern and relentless, - - Though never heavy, - - FATHER. - - - - -MEN’S LOVE - - - - -MEN’S LOVE - - - _Jan. 20, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -Your appetite for knowledge does you credit. It is inherited, doubtless. -And how comprehensive it is! You wish you knew all about men, do you? -A moderate wish; a wish that if realised would make you empress of the -world. Yes, that and nothing less than that is the destiny of the woman, -when she arrives, who knows all about men. We shall not see her just yet -though, and when, if ever we do, then, as Swinburne’s distressful lover -says: - - “Content you, I shall not be there.” - -So as things are I sleep peacefully o’ nights. That masterful lady does -not even trouble my dreams. - -Don’t you know, child, that men are now, and always have been, combined -in a conspiracy not to let women know all about them; nay, more than -that, to permit women to know as little as possible? Men are not very -clever in other ways, but they are, I fancy, clever enough to make that -particular conspiracy a success. They have done very well so far, anyhow. - -Women know curiously little about men; curiously little considering the -long time they have had to study the subject, and how greatly it has -always been to their interest to know as much as possible. Take women -novelists, for instance—not the silly sort, but the very best of them, -the giantesses of fiction—Georges Sand, George Eliot, Charlotte Brontë—to -say nothing of the second string, the women writers of our day, the Mrs -Craigies, the Ouidas, the Mrs Humphrey Wardses. Why is it, by the way, -that when there was no “Woman Movement” there were great women artists, -and that now when woman is clamorous and obtrusive there are none? - -But take, as I said, the big women. Scarce one of them has presented -us with a real live man. Think of Charlotte Brontë’s Rochester! George -Eliot did better. Just now and then some of her men do really think and -feel as men feel and think. But that, I suggest, was because George -Eliot was herself something more or less than a woman. The men in women’s -novels, it is true, act as men act, but they rarely or never think as men -think. Women are keenly observant; they see what men do; they don’t know, -because men never tell them, what men think. - -Now please don’t make, even in your own mind, the obvious and inept -reply, “Neither do men know women,” because by the universal consent of -women themselves the great men novelists, and some of the small ones, -have portrayed veritable women; Balzac, for example, and George Meredith, -and Thomas Hardy and Flaubert! Was there ever a realer woman than Madame -Bovary?—I am not sure, though, that you have made her acquaintance. - -The concealment, conscious and unconscious, begins almost at the -beginning. The smallest schoolboy never lets his sisters see him as he -sees himself and as he is seen of his fellows. To his sisters he talks a -different language even, a different language from the language of the -playground, I mean. And it is well for him that he does. If he didn’t, -and his father caught him at it, there would be sorrow and soreness for -that boy. No novelist, man or woman, has so much as begun to depict the -schoolboy as he is. Kipling is nowhere near it, nor Eden Phillpotts, nor -the rest. And as for Tom Brown...! - -No, not only do women not know men, but they don’t even know boys, and -that really is queer, because women themselves are curiously like boys -in many ways, and, after all, they do have a good deal to do with the -bringing up of boys. But it is wonderful how much a boy manages to -hide even from his mother. I don’t think he does it consciously; it -is the inherited instinct of his sex—the result of natural selection, -probably—explainable on Darwinian principles, like most else in this -world. - -You see, for you know your Darwin, if a man were to let women know all -about him no decently civilised woman would ever be found so fond or so -foolish as to mate with him. Consequently he would never reproduce his -kind—he would not be the fittest and would not survive. - -Rum, isn’t it? I have only just thought of it, but I am quite sure it is -a discovery of vast importance—that the continuance of the race depends -upon women’s ignorance of men. - -Let me give you an example of their colossal ignorance of boys. Mrs Bates -was here the other day. You know she is an exceptionally intelligent -woman, and really learned also. She had been reading some Italian -psychologist’s book on Love; and, judging from what she told me, that -foreigner really appears to have known something about it. It seems he -gave a case of a lad of fourteen who had a passion for a lady of thirty -or thereabouts. And Mrs Bates asked me if such a thing were possible! I -enlightened her with frankness and great wealth of detail. But I could -see she didn’t believe me; she thought I was talking through my hat all -the time; inventing as I went on. - -I don’t ask you, Alexa, whence comes this new-born desire of yours to -know all about men; but I warn you that I am pretty good at guessing. -However, let that pass. Not only will you never know all about men, but -at present, my kiddie, you don’t know anything at all. Knowledge of live -things is not to be got from books or plays. All you can get from books -or plays is—what shall I call it? there is no one word that will do—a -sort of vague and deceptive hint of the reality. That is not very well -put, but it is the best I can do for the moment. Knowledge of life means -knowledge of men and women, just that and naught but that, and knowledge -of life can only be got by living. You can learn no more of it from books -than you could learn of a country by merely studying a map. You would, -of course, learn more of it in five minutes from some intelligent and -talkative traveller who had been there, and who chatted freely. - -Well, your father is such a traveller, and he has made a longish journey -through the territory of life, a territory in which he has looked about -him with the eyes of a man. Even so, he can’t do much for his daughter, -but he can do something, he has done something, and he will do more if -time be granted him. - -Bear in mind, then, when you read of love, the love of the sexes, when -you hear it talked about, when you see it, apparently going on under -your eyes, that this traveller towards the end of his journeyings often -catches himself doubting whether there is such a thing as _love_ of the -sexes at all, whether, in short, to call the thing “love” is not to do an -outrage to language and to common sense. - -Of course, you can call any thing by any name you like, but you have no -sort of right to call two widely and fundamentally different things by -the same name. And to call the emotion I have for you, for instance, by -the same name as you call the emotion a man experiences for a woman when -he is “in love” with her is monstrous. The two things are dissimilar in -almost every respect. - -When a man and woman are infected by what some scientific French -gentleman seriously declares to be the love-microbe they are, it seems -to me, the victims of all sorts of curious delusions and illusions, -and they are unable to analyse their own states of mind. The man feels -capable of all sorts of heroism and nobility, and the woman of any amount -of self-sacrifice. That feeling of theirs is sheer delusion. In point -of fact they are both in a state of highly inflamed egoism. Introduce -the slightest whiff of jealousy and the heroism and the self-sacrifice -are converted into the lowest-down sort of meanness. At once you get -base and baseless suspicions, spying, of the opening-letters and -listening-outside-doors order, and often, to wind up with, cruelty and -savagery more frightful than the beast’s. - -Well now, is the thing, this in-loveness which can be so easily -transformed into devilry, worthy of the name we give to the feeling of -parents for children, or friends towards one another? Yet that first -thing is what is meant when one talks of the love of the sexes! - -Mind you, there is no avoiding that microbe, the anti-toxin has not yet -been found, and I don’t mind predicting that if ever it be found the -demand for it will be of the slackest. I don’t mind confessing that -if that microbe were swept out of the world, as we hope some day to -sweep out the tubercle bacillus, the little chap would leave the world -considerably duller than he found it, so dull as to be no place for the -likes of me. But still we may as well see the thing for what it is. -Because we are all mad sometimes, and enjoy our brief deliriums, there is -no reason why in the sane intervals we should not frankly recognise what -we were the last time we went mad and what we are likely to be the next. - -Please don’t imagine that I have written the above passage by way of a -warning to you. The philosopher neither warns against the inevitable nor -regrets it. He likes just to look it straight in the face sometimes, -that’s all. It amuses him. - -But now, apart from this in-loveness—which I will not call love, hang -me if I will—do men, men as a whole, men as a sex, love women, women -in the lump, women as a sex? As I live, I don’t believe they do! It -would be interesting if some leisured and industrious person—you might -take on the job, Alexa, when you return—would compile a volume of -proverbs, aphorisms, epigrams, from all languages, which have women as -their subject. There is scarcely one of them—I don’t remember one—that -has a word to say in her praise. As Dick Phenyl used to say in _Sweet -Lavender_, ... ah heaven! a senile shudder runs through me when I think -what a long time ago that was—“it’s all blame, blame, nothing but blame,” -and a good deal more than blame, heavy vituperation, acrid snarling, and, -I freely admit it, often disgusting and mendacious slander. But still, -there we are; men made these proverbs and aphorisms, men cut and polished -these epigrams, and men have kept them as current coin in the world. - -Now I put it to you, does one satirise, ironise, slate, bully-rag, and -squirt verbal vitriol at the thing one loves? - -Then, watch men. You have the opportunity, since I understand you have -a full house just now. Watch them, then. Do they, for instance, hurry -up to the drawing-room after dinner, or do they linger down there over -their wine and their talk till the hostess loses her patience and every -feminine eye keeps turning to the door? No doubt if there’s any man there -hopelessly “in love” he would sneak up if he dared. But the others? And -oh! if you were to see us the moment after the dining-room door has -closed behind you, you dears! If you were to see how we draw our chairs -up, to note the change in our voices, the air of comfort with which we -finger our glasses, the heavy reluctance with which we rise when the host -gives the word! Oh! - -I suppose there’s a little shooting still going on, isn’t there, or is -it all over? But if there is, I dare say some of the women go out with -the guns, or at any rate meet the men for luncheon. Well, watch the men’s -faces, watch closely (don’t listen to their voices, we know how to school -our voices) when the women volunteer. You will see how men pant for -“women’s society!” - -They won’t have you in their clubs, Alexa; think of that. Some years ago -I, greatly daring, did propose at the annual general meeting of my club -that women should be admitted—to tea. I could not find a seconder. One -old gentleman who, to my great surprise, did rise to second me turned out -to be deaf, and thought I was proposing something quite different. That -luckless attempt of mine almost ruined my reputation; the memory of it -still clings to me like the traces of some fell disease. They thought I -was, well—pretty much everything but what I am. - -And yet how polite and altogether nice men are to you, aren’t they? How -promptly they spring forward to take the lightest parcel from your hand, -with what lackey-like deference do they hold open the door that you may -pass out! Yes, but then you are a woman, a pretty and attractive woman -of their own social standing. Again I say, watch. Do they show quite the -same alacrity in the case of a less delightful or of a much older woman -than you? Still further, do they show any disposition at all to carry the -coal-box upstairs for the housemaid—and the housemaid, after all, is a -woman, you know. - -No; men do not love women. Or, if they love them they love them as the -hawk loves the pigeon, or as you love chocolate almonds. Men, as men, do -not, I repeat, love women as women; but I love you, and I am always - - Your devoted - - FATHER. - - - - -THE MAN’S POINT OF VIEW - - - - -THE MAN’S POINT OF VIEW - - - _Feb. 9, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -No—that formal greeting inadequately expresses my emotion at the moment—I -will say then, Alexa dearest— - -I am really sorry that my last letter should have put you into such a -flutter; should have ruffled your mind’s plumage so quite unduly. I find -I nearly always do come to grief in this way when I neglect the advice -given me years and years ago by a wise and wicked old man, when I was a -foolish and a passably good young one. - -“My boy,” that old rapscallion said—he was holding up a glass of his own -port to the candle when he said it, and enjoying the delight of the eye -previous to the pleasure of the palate. “My boy, never tell the truth -to women. You’ll find it infernally difficult to do any way, and it -always turns out badly.” He gave me much other counsel of a similar sort. -Sometimes I have acted upon it and sometimes I have not. When I have -I have always scored handsomely; when I haven’t I have invariably been -sorry for myself. - -He was a remarkable old gentleman, old Gillion. He enjoyed the worst -reputation of any man of his set. When I say enjoyed I mean enjoyed. He -loved it; he cherished it as a collector of books cherishes his rare old -editions. He died at the age of eighty-seven in an odour of diabolism, -tenderly served and waited upon by a troop of affectionate and expectant -grandchildren, to whom he left not a penny. Years before he had invested -all his money in an annuity. But they didn’t know that. They say he died -with a smile on his lips. I can quite believe it. He always loved irony. - -It is, as that sage reprobate said, infernally difficult to tell the -truth to women, and that, I make no doubt, is why it so seldom gets told. -For one thing the truth, the bare truth, is nearly always unpleasant, -and so you see, the temptation to lie attacks us on our softer, our more -kindly, side. I am quite sure that nine times out of ten when men deceive -women they do it much less for their own sakes than for the sakes of the -women. Now, don’t raise your eyebrows and draw down your lip-corners, -because that really is so. Moreover, they often feel (if they be of a -philosophic cast they know) that the deception comes nearer to the truth -than the actual bald fact would be. Bald facts are seldom or never true -facts. Truth is ever a thing of atmosphere, of light and shade, of fine -gradations. Truth is a point of view, sometimes a very temporary and -transient point of view. - -A point of view. Yes, that’s it. And that is why it is not only difficult -but, I incline to think, impossible for men to tell the truth to women. -Suppose you have two persons whose eyes are so constructed that they can -only see the world through glasses, and suppose one of these persons -is doomed always to wear green glasses and the other pink glasses. How -on earth can any object ever look the same to both? A can tell B that -a sheet of paper is green, but he may say so for ever, and yet B will -always see it pink. And the fun of the thing is that it is really white -all the time! And what do I mean by “really”? I don’t know. - -But are men and women so different as all that, you will be asking -yourself. Yes, they are. Quite as different as all that, and more so. -They are wonderfully different. The longer I live and the more I look -about me the greater and more distinct do the differences seem to become. -I know it’s the fashion just now, especially among strong women and weak -men, to deny this, and to declare that as we evolve we grow nearer to, -more like, each other. Sheer nonsense, my dear, sheer nonsense! - -One of the most notable marks of civilisation is the way in which it -differentiates the sexes. A savage father is much nearer to his daughter -than I am to you. I am rather sorry for it, but it can’t be helped, and -this letter of yours goes some way towards proving it. And yet I don’t -know that I am quite honest in saying that I am sorry for it—another -instance of how difficult it is to tell the truth, you see—for it seems -to me that a good deal of the joy, or at any rate of the excitement, of -life is brought about by just that difference. Life has little that is -exciting to your civilised man, and if you deprive him of that...! - -But to come to your letter. You say that I picture the world to you, the -world of men and women, as a place full of ravening beasts of prey, and -you add that now whenever two or three men are fluffing round you, you -will feel like a defenceless pigeon surrounded by hungry hawks. Well, if -my letter has done that for you it must have wrought a transformation -indeed. I have seen you more than once with two or three young men -fluffing (I like that word fluffing, it is apt; keep it for future use) -round you and somehow it never struck me that they in the faintest degree -resembled hawks or that there was anything of the silly pigeon about my -daughter. They generally, I seem to remember, looked nervous and rather -scared, though genuinely anxious to please, very unhawk like; but then -they were young, and I dare say a callow hawk is pretty well as timid as -a newly hatched chick. Courage comes with age, with the hardening of the -beak and the sharpening of the talons. - -Yet I am not altogether sorry if my last letter brought to you some -realisation of some part of the truth; one aspect of it, let us say. -Looked at from one point of view, the world of men and women is full of -ravening beasts of prey. But take up another standpoint and you will see -that the powers and opportunities of the beasts are often pretty narrowly -limited. Limited sometimes by their own ignorance of their own powers, -limited always by the social institutions which they themselves have -established. It seems rum, but the wolf has filed his own fangs, the hawk -has clipped his own claws. - -You may be a pigeon, Alexa, but, thanks to many things, you are not a -defenceless pigeon. You are defended, for instance, by your own brains, -by the knowledge which I have taken good care should be yours, by the -customs of the social circle in which you were born, by the institution -of marriage, and most of all by the jealousy and suspicion the wolves -and hawks have of one another. So on the whole you are tolerably safe, -my birdie; you need not flutter a feather. Remember what I once told -you in another letter when I was employing a slightly different set of -metaphors—it is always the traitor in the citadel who gives the fortress -away. - -“If men don’t really love women, women as a sex, as distinguished from -their own particular women,” you ask, “why is it that they protect -them to such an extent, to such a so often unnecessary and troublesome -extent? Why do they always rescue them first in shipwrecks and fires, -and so on?” - -Curiously enough, that was almost exactly the question your friend Stella -put to me only yesterday when she called here at tea time and everybody -but I was out. - -By the way, what a ferociously advanced young woman Stella is becoming! -She quite scared me now and then. I never felt at all sure what she was -going to say next. She was in a great rage with one of her young men -cousins who had taken her to the theatre the night before, or the night -before that. I forget for the moment what the play was, but it doesn’t -matter. She liked it and was intensely interested in it, but the young -man violently disapproved of it—disapproved of it for her, that is. Half -way through the second act he insisted on her leaving the theatre there -and then. Stella made a fight of it, but she couldn’t make a scene, and -so she caved in, and now she swears she will never speak to him again. - -The reason he gave her was that he could not bear the idea of his cousin -(“_his_ cousin,” you should have heard Stella emphasise the possessive) -listening to such a grossly improper thing as that. Stella’s very pretty -face wrinkled with wrath when she told me. “_His_ cousin,” she repeated. -“As though I were his property. But that’s always the way with men. The -man’s point of view! How I hate it! They can’t bear that anything of -which they disapprove should come near any woman connected with them. -They don’t mind about the others.” - -And so, quite against my own will, I was compelled—the while I soothed -her with chocolates—to defend, or rather to explain (it comes to the -same thing) the Man’s Point of View. My explanation will go some way to -answering you. - -Stella was right in one thing. She put her finger—what beautiful hands -the girl has, by the way, did you ever notice them?—directly on the spot. -It is the sense of proprietorship that does it. Men do not love women as -women, but they do love, or at any rate have some sort of feeling which -serves the purpose of love, their own women kind, the women “connected -with them.” There is nothing a bit noble in it to begin with, it is -just sheer egoism; the same sort of feeling that makes a child before -it can talk hold on tight to a toy that you try to take away from it. -I remember you, when you were in your cradle, punched me with one fist -while you clung on with the other to a woolly red ball that you would -cram into your mouth. Well, just so, but more effectively would I punch -a man who tried to take you away from me. And at the root the motive for -the punching would be the same. So, Alexa, unless the man be quite of the -right sort let him look to himself, for I still keep my punching muscles -in trim. - -No, in this sense of ownership there is nothing noble, nothing -magnificent, nothing to swagger about. But just as a very lovely and -exquisite flower may have a very dirty and ugly root, so from this sense -of ownership has grown the fine flower of chivalry and the less fine and -flowerlike but, for work-a-day purposes, the much more useful plant of -men’s protective attitude to all women, or, not to exaggerate, to a good -many women. - -It is sometimes inconvenient to the women concerned, no doubt, as it -was the other night to Stella; but it is thanks to it that they have -any sort of a time in the world. That feeling of proprietorship which -a man concentrates on his own women folk he extends in a diluted and -attenuated form to the women of his own class, and in a form still more -attenuated (sometimes very thin indeed) to all women. Roughly put it -amounts to this, that each man is ready to protect any woman against any -other man. There are occasions, spite of the proverb to the contrary, -when hawks do peck out other hawks’ eyes. - -So you see on the whole it is a little ungrateful to grumble at the Man’s -Point of View, isn’t it? - -I think I said a page or two back that one of your defences was the -institution of marriage. Perhaps, lest you should think I was talking -mere conventional rubbish, I had better explain what I meant. - -Men are not cowards; lots of them love and choose danger for its own -sake. Bernard Shaw is quite wrong when he says in one of his plays that -fear is the greatest of all human forces. That remark is only a little -feat of intellectual gymnastics, designed to startle. But, valiant and -daring blades though men are, there is one thing that they fear with a -craven, shrinking, shivering terror. That thing is marriage. - -“They marry!” you reply. Why, yes, and so also do they die, though often -with somewhat less reluctance; and they marry just as they die, because -they can’t help themselves. The impulse to marriage (as things are) is -as irresistible as the spear-thrust of Death. It would be interesting if -in the vestry after the ceremony one could apply some species of Chinese -torture to every bridegroom and extort from him the truth as to whether -he did indeed want to marry this woman. He wanted this woman, of course, -but did he want, actually want, to take upon himself the life-long -responsibilities, the life-long expenses, the life-long risks, the -life-long limitation of liberty? - -Why the fact, this deep aversion of the man from marriage, this recoil -from the altar, is marked in common speech, and anything that is marked -in common speech “is so,” as the Americans say. Don’t you often hear -it said that Miss So-and-So has “caught,” “hooked,” “captured,” young -Thingamy? When do you ever hear that a man has caught, hooked, or -captured (in a matrimonial sense) a woman? - -The institution of marriage is the highest and the stoutest barrier -between the sexes that society has ever set up. That is not a paradox. -It is a plain, almost an obvious truth. Thus the pigeon (poor little -pigeon!) escapes many attacks from the hawks without the trouble of -moving a wing. In other words, a woman meets with far fewer advances, -much less pursuit, and consequently much less temptation, from men than -she would were it not for this institution of marriage. The boldest and -most hungry hawk thinks twice before swooping on the pigeon if he knows -that the pigeon, harmless as she looks, may turn and manacle him to her -for the rest of his natural life, before he knows where he is. - -And so, Alexa, if you sometimes feel that fewer young men fluff around -you than your many attractions might warrant, don’t be depressed or -self-distrustful. It is not because you are not pretty or fascinating -enough; it is because they are afraid you might marry them. Their -self-restraint is really the highest compliment they can pay you. - -Good-bye, and don’t be offended with your truth-loving - - FATHER. - - - - -THE DOMESTIC HEARTH - - - - -THE DOMESTIC HEARTH - - - _March 1, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -If you have a fault—and far be it from your adoring father to suggest -that you have—but if you have a fault, it shows itself in your trick of -asking questions beginning with an “ought.” I think my recollection is -right when it tells me that your last three letters have, together with a -good deal that was both interesting and diverting, contained a query as -to whether you or somebody else “ought” or “ought” not to do something -or other. When it is a case of You, I feel myself more or less competent -to answer; for about You I do know a little, you see; but when you ask -me what somebody else ought to do or to leave undone, somebody else of -whom I know nothing, why, then I am stricken with a feeling of hopeless -futility. I sit here and dither, and cover sheets of letter paper with my -illegible handwriting only to tear them up after a miserable half-hour’s -boggling. For to know what a person “ought” to do, one must know the -person, you see, and the circumstances in which that person is posed. -There are no “oughts” unrelated to particular persons and particular -circumstances. If there were, what plain sailing life’s perilous voyage -would be, wouldn’t it? In point of dismal fact that voyage is made upon -an uncharted sea. A few plain general instructions in the principles of -navigation are all we get; we have to look out for the rocks and shoals -and whirlpools and adverse currents for ourselves. - -There are not nearly so many “oughts” in life as you in the solemn -ingenuousness of your youth doubtless imagine. As you grow older you will -find the “oughts” diminish and the “musts” increase. That is to say what -looks like moral freedom gradually, and not so very gradually either, -gives way to what in stern fact is practical necessity. But I suppose I -must come to the point. - -“Ought girls to earn their own livings?” you ask in a postscript, which -I can’t help wishing you had forgotten to add. There is no dodging -a postscript, there is no pretending one hasn’t noticed it. That is -perhaps why women are so fond of it. But—no longer to dodge yours—see -how the facts of life limit the scope of your question. See how your -“ought” is, for the vast majority of young women, at once converted into -a “must.” For the vast majority of young women the question does not so -much as arise. They do earn their own livings as it is, and they do it -not because they ought or because they choose, but just because they -must. The housemaid, for instance, who made your bed this morning, and -who, I hope, dusted and put straight your room—a lengthy business, Alexa, -for I know your ways—do you suppose that her action was the outcome of -any moral questionings or of personal predilection? Do you suppose she -did it from a high sense of duty, because she felt that something would -go askew with the universe or with her own soul if she left it undone? -Of course she didn’t. She did it because she had to do it, to do either -that or something just a trifle more objectionable, on the whole. She is -probably one of a large and poor family, and as soon as she had passed -the Sixth Standard, or whatever it is which the law of her country -demands that she should pass, she had to go out to service. There was no -“ought” about it. And those young women whom you saw in Fleet Street, at -mid-day, when you were there with me, you remember, a day or two before -you left home, and whose behaviour struck you as being so vulgar and -objectionable! They were binders’ girls; they had already been working -several hours in a stuffy atmosphere, and after a quarter-of-an-hour’s -rollicking up and down Fleet Street, they were about to return and work -several more hours. And do you think that they had decided to do all that -work after mature deliberation as to the rights and wrongs of it? Of -course they hadn’t. It was for them that, or something infinitely worse -than that, and so they chose, if they can be said to choose, that. It was -a case of “must,” not of “ought.” And when a thing must be, there is no -more reckless waste of honest time possible than that spent in discussing -whether it ought to be. - -Your question applies then, you see, only to a very limited number of -young women. It was not a thoughtfully-framed question, Alexa. It was, -if you will forgive me, a middle-class sort of question. When you wrote -“girls,” you were thinking of yourself and of young women in a social -position similar to yours, and they are rather a small minority of the -earth’s inhabitants; delightful, but few, comparatively. So let me frame -the question for you as you would have framed it if you had thought a -little more about it, and then let’s get to work upon it. - -What you meant to ask was, I think, this: Ought a young woman of good -education, ordinary health, stature, and capacity (whose parents can -afford to keep her in idleness) to live upon their income until such time -as she is asked by a nice young gentleman to come and live upon his? That -is about as near as we can get to it, isn’t it? - -Well, even that very limited interrogative proposition is not altogether -easy to tackle. One question leads always directly or indirectly to -another, and so we go on asking “Why?” until we come flat up against a -dead wall before which we can do nothing but gibber. In the affairs of -practical life it is necessary to treat some matters as settled, and one -of such matters is this:—If you receive from a person services for which -you make no return, you are under an obligation to that person; and to -sit quiescent under an obligation, to make no effort to get out of it, is -to suffer humiliation and indignity. That, reasonably or unreasonably, -is the view of every decently honest man and woman, of every man and -woman whose hand you would care to take in friendship. That is your own -view, Alexa, when you come to think of it, isn’t it? I have noticed that -whenever a friend makes you a present you begin to cast about for some -way in which you can make some return without doing it too obviously. -Moreover, you would not accept a present at all from one who was not a -friend. If one of your fellow-guests now, for instance, were to offer you -a diamond bracelet, you would be in no end of a rage, and would probably -write to me. - -Now then, everybody of full age and capacity who is eating, drinking, -dwelling in a house and wearing clothes, and yet doing nothing whatever -to provide that food, drink, house and apparel, is suffering that -humiliation and indignity of which we have just spoken. He may not be -conscious of it. Obviously he is not (for there are many millions of -him) conscious of it, but the fact remains. There is just one reply he -can make to the charge. He can say, if he likes, “Oh, it is true I do -nothing practical, material, in return for the many services which are -done for me; but I consent to live. I exist beautifully. I look nice, I -talk, when I take the trouble to talk, quite prettily. I wear my clothes -with an air. I am an example of what a human being should be. Thus, by -merely being, do I recompense the world for all the trouble it takes for -me.” If he does say that, then I for my part can think of no adequate -rejoinder. If it be a man who talks like that, one kicks him and takes -the consequences; if a woman, one (perhaps) kisses her and drops the -controversy. - -But that tiresome “ought” of yours which I feel buzzing round my head -as I write, like a bee, and a bee with a sting, too! To deal with it -properly I must assume something to start with, and so here goes. I -assume this: One OUGHT to do that which will enable one to live the -happiest life attainable in one’s circumstances and to develop one’s -capabilities to their fullest. I assume that, and if you query it, -Alexa, I will wait until you return home and have a couple of hours’ -_tête-à-tête_ with you in my study. - -Now then, does a grown-up young woman live the happiest life attainable -or develop her natural capacities to their fullest while she lives in her -parents’ house, dependent for every penny she spends upon her parents’ -bounty or caprice, acting under her parents’ orders in all the great -and in the most of the smaller doings of her life, and subject to her -parents’ rules, regulations, and discipline? - -Judging from my own observation and knowledge of the way in which human -nature is composed I haven’t the smallest hesitation in answering -“No.” My observation tells me that there may be outward acquiescence, -my penetration tells me no less surely that there is always hidden -resentment. A thwarted desire for freedom works like poison in the blood; -in the long run it sours the finest temper. It gives birth to a fire -which, though it may never flame, continually smoulders; and, remember, -this desire for freedom, for the power to do what we will, to go where we -wish, to say what we like, subject always to the limitations of external -circumstances, is inherent in every human breast. The restrictions of -external circumstances we most of us accept without over much of rancour. -What we do not accept, that against which we are in eternal revolt, is -the restriction imposed upon us by other wills than ours. That impulsive -desire to break away from pupillage, to strike out “on our own,” is -perhaps of all motives the most legitimate that can stir the human soul. - -The Home as we so often know it, the Home which consists of father, -mother, and grown-up dependent sons or daughters, or both, is not a place -wherein such impulses and motives can rightly develop or have anything -like free play. Such a Home is necessarily and inevitably a tyranny; at -best a benevolent tyranny, at worst a tyranny in which benevolence is far -to seek. Don’t imagine that I have joined the cult of Mr Bernard Shaw and -am about to say anything so ridiculously untrue as that the Home is the -very worst institution in which to bring up a child, except the school. -That is a mere paradox of Nihilism distraught. The Home, so far, is the -best of all institutions in which to bring up a child—to _bring up a -child_, mark, not to support a grown man or woman. It has its analogy -in the nests of birds and the lairs of beasts; but Nature, for once in -a way, is wiser than modern man. The young bird leaves the nest as soon -as it is strong enough on the wing; the young tiger says good-bye to the -lair on the day on which he can kill his own prey. The Home of grown-up -sons and daughters who are not earning their own livings—even the -happiest of such Homes—is a place of continual and constant compromise -and surrender, of suppression, of restraint, of concealed (and not always -concealed) resentments and silent rebellions. Just now and then maybe -(for I want to avoid extremes) it may draw forth the best that is in us; -but much more often it evokes the worst. It narrows even when it does not -actually distort; it cripples even when it does not actually slay. And -there is no help for it, Alexa. The profoundest wisdom, the sincerest -love, can do little more than slightly ameliorate the essential, the -immutable wrongness of the Thing, the subjection of adult will to adult -will. Children of no matter what age who are dependent upon their parents -economically, must needs be dependent in all else. The world is so -constructed that he who pays the piper calls the tune. And it is well; -for even worse than an ordered tyranny is an anarchic republic. - -There is just another point. Marriages, Alexa, are not made in Heaven as -some are still found to say, nor in Hell, as too many just now are apt -to declare. They are made for the most part in the Home. The strongest -condemnation of the grown-up Home is the enormous number of young women -who marry to get away from it. In the name of my own sex I do resent -and protest against that. It is hard upon us that we should be so often -regarded by the Beloved as a sort of melancholy alternative to the Home. -Girls, in our class at any rate, marry much more often with a view to -being their own mistresses, as we say, than to being men’s wives or -children’s mothers. And I sometimes fancy they are under no very serious -illusions as to the radiant possibilities of the married state, these -marrying maidens of ours. There was once a man, you know, who after -several days’ suffering from acute earache went out and had a tooth -drawn. When he was asked why he supposed that the extraction of a sound -tooth would remedy the agony of an unsound ear, he replied that he had -never supposed anything of the kind. All he wanted was to change the -pain, and that the dentist had done for him! A similar desire, I am sure, -will alone account for some recent marriages of your young friends which -have caused you so much puzzlement. “I cannot make out what she saw in -him,” you have more than once remarked to me. Well, she saw just that—a -change in the pain. Not nice for him, is it? Nor so very nice for her. - -And now I wonder whether you consider that I have answered your question -at all satisfactorily. I daresay not, for this world is a welter, and the -wisest of us is bemazed with doubts. It is possible to have doubts about -everything—at least I should say about everything but one, and that is -that I am always, my own kiddie, - - Your loving - - FATHER. - - - - -THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE - - - - -THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE - - - _April 2, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -The question put in the last paragraph of your last letter, to which I -have perhaps been a little overlong in replying, is one which I should -have thought I had already answered, answered, too, in the only way in -which such questions can be answered satisfactorily—by actual practice. -You know me well enough, I take it, to know that, like every other -decently-honest man, when I have a conviction I act upon it. Mind, I say -a conviction, not a mere opinion. Mere opinions, when they differ widely -from the opinions held by those around us, we often do wisely to keep to -ourselves. But convictions are of another stuff. When we have them (and -we don’t have very many of them as a rule) we must out with them, both in -word and deed, or we perish. Concealed convictions set up in the soul a -moral and intellectual rot. - -Well, now, you ask me, or seem to ask me, what are my views as to the -amount of censorship that should be exercised over the reading of young -women. That, I gather, was your particular point. More generally you seem -to inquire what fruit of the tree of knowledge should still be forbidden -to those of your sex after that cardinal day when they have put their -hair up and let their skirts down. - -Now, for once in a way, I yield to the temptation to reply by the -stale rhetorical device of asking another question. What has been my -practice with you, child—a practice deliberately adopted and resolutely -persevered in, spite of the remonstrances of some who had every right to -remonstrate, and of others who had none? Ever since you were sixteen or -thereabouts—I don’t remember at what age exactly it was that you began -to show unmistakable proofs of marked and hereditary (don’t smile!) -intelligence—have you not had a free run of my library? A library, by -the way, in which there is only one locked book-case, and that case kept -locked, not because of the dangerous character of the contents, but on -account of the expensive nature of the bindings. What happened when—but -I won’t go on with these tiresome interrogatives. I will just recall -to your memory what happened now and then when I saw in your hands a -book about which, to express indefinitely my indefinite state of mind, -I had my doubts. I just looked up from my table and said, “If I were -you, I wouldn’t read that: it is rather dull and rather nasty”; or, “The -only points about that book that have any merit are points you wouldn’t -understand,” and, like the sensible girl you always were, you invariably -put the books back in their shelves again. But I was not always in the -library when you came there in search of literary refreshment, and once, -only once, I remember I came upon you deep in a book about which I had -no doubts at all. I noticed that you were rather more than half-way -through it, and that you looked interested, though a little puzzled -too. “Do you like that book?” I asked. “No—yes—perhaps—I don’t know—a -little,” you stammered, and you blushed. Now, a blush does not in the -least imply consciousness of guilt, or even of offence, as is commonly -supposed. People blush not when they find themselves in the prisoner’s -dock, but, rather, when they are in a tight corner; more often still when -they believe themselves to be suspected of something of which they are -entirely innocent. When you have to deal with a child, Alexa, and you -accuse it of, or question it concerning, some little delinquency, don’t, -should it stammer and blush, leap to the conclusion that it is guilty. -But this is by the way. “Don’t you wish me to read this book; shall I put -it back?” you asked. “Oh, you had better finish it,” I said, and turned -away to my work. I did not explain to you then, but I tell you now, -because it has a definite bearing on the subject in hand, that I knew -that, having already got half-way through it, your interest was awakened -and your curiosity excited, and I knew that in a young woman or in a -young man either, for the matter of that, excited or only half-gratified -curiosity is—well, I can’t use too strong a term, so I will say, the very -devil—the most devilish of all the legion of devils that beset the path -of youth. I felt sure, too, that if I forbade you the reading of the -second half of that book you would attach undue importance to what you -had learned from the first half. You would see the thing—the evil thing, -let us frankly call it—exaggerated out of all true proportion. You would -conceive it to be worse than it really was, you would believe that it -played a greater part in life than as a fact it does. Moreover, I did not -feel sure—for you were, thank God, a very human girl, that you would not -come back to that book when I was not there, and finish it in private, -and thus do your own soul a thousand times more harm by the deception -than any undesirable knowledge you might acquire could possibly do you. - -You tell me that your question to me arose out of a discussion which -took place a few nights ago between your host, your fellow-guests, and -yourself: that it began an hour after dinner and lasted well away beyond -the usual bed-time. Let me congratulate you, Alexa, on staying with such -sensible people as the Mauleverers, and on being one of several guests as -intelligent as yourself. By “sensible people” I mean people who are able, -and who like, to talk after dinner for more than five consecutive minutes -on any subject under the sun. Such people in our, or in any other class, -are rare, and are, I fancy, growing rarer. It can’t have escaped your -intelligent observation, that ninety-nine-hundredths of the talk of -to-day is about persons, and, as a rule, about uninteresting persons. -The very fact that a subject is important, that it concerns us, that it -has some bearing on our lives and thoughts, is sufficient to bar it out -of what we ridiculously call “conversation.” Is anybody interested in -anything? I often ask myself on my way home from a dinner or an evening -out somewhere. - -But to return to this matter of the parental or guardianly censorship of -books. I am convinced that if the censor could be all-wise, and managed -to use his restrictive powers effectively, his censorship would work for -good. But in point of practical fact, not a parent or a guardian of us -all is all-wise, or is able to make use of even such wisdom as he has. An -“effective blockade,” as they call it in war time, over a young girl’s -mind is almost impossible to establish. All sorts of contraband craft -will manage to escape the vigilance of the blockading squadron, do we -what we may. Still, on the whole, the thing is pretty thoroughly done in -France. There the novel, the novel of ordinary life, the novel written by -the best and most popular writers of the day, or of past days, is never -suffered to fall into a young woman’s hands at all. Books for girls are -things apart. They are written by inferior authors, and as a rule are -dull and insipid beyond words. The French ideal of a young woman is that -until she is married her mind, so far as a certain sort of knowledge is -concerned, should be a sheet of white paper. And in most French families, -outside Paris at any rate, the ideal is fairly well realised. Now then, -if there be any value in that ideal—if it be an ideal worth maintaining -or worth following, the outcome of it ought to be that the average French -married woman should have a higher standard and habit of chastity and -virtue than her sister in England, where no such rigorous supervision -prevails. Well, she has not, Alexa, I can confidently assure you of that. -Heaven forfend that I should say a word to her discredit. She is often -delightful, though not quite so often as she herself imagines. But in the -matter of conduct—woman-conduct let us call it, for want of a better -term—she is not a bit better than our women over here. Observe I do not -say that she is worse: to say that would be to be guilty of vulgar and -insular British Philistinism; but to be quite safe I content myself by -saying that she is not a bit better, and consequently, is not worth all -the blockading trouble that is taken with her. I have met young French -ladies who have been married less than a year, and, well—I need not -amplify, but my intimacy with them has left me with the conviction that -it was sheer waste of time and energy to be at such pains to preserve -for twenty years an innocence that four or five months were enough so -completely to dissipate and to destroy. - -The question, it seems to me, leads directly to the larger issue: Is -knowledge often hurtful? I say “often,” not “ever,” for in this life -there are always exceptions. For the exceptions we cannot, try we never -so carefully, provide. We must, willy-nilly, be guided by general rules. -In what other department of life, then, is it even pretended that -knowledge, the fullest knowledge, works for ill? Can you think of one? -If a traveller were about to set out on a journey through some country -where grew in rich luxuriance any number of tempting fruits, beautiful to -look upon, delectable to the palate, but charged with deadly poison, and -certain seriously to injure or to slay outright whosoever should pluck -and eat, would it, or would it not, be desirable that that traveller -should be furnished with all the knowledge available as to the number -and the nature of these fruits, their habits of growth, the particular -places where they were most likely to be found, the antidotes to their -several poisons? Would you, if you could, prevent his reading printed -treatises descriptive of them, or even poems and dramas that told of them -in a poetic or a dramatic way? Who would be most likely to come through -the journey unscathed—the traveller who was ignorant, or the traveller -who was knowledgable? Surely the questions answer themselves. It is true, -of course, that even the best-instructed voyager, hard put to it by -hunger or thirst, and face to face with the temptation of some specially -seductive fruit, might even so pluck, eat, and perish. The clamour of his -senses might prove too urgent for the resistance of his intelligence. -But even so, by telling him all there was to tell, you would have -done your best for him, wouldn’t you? And what poor chance would the -similarly-tempted ignoramus have? Well, now, every young woman is just -such a traveller, and life is for her just such a journey. - -On my honour, I think I have put the case as fairly and as squarely as -I know how. If knowledge be our safeguard, our only safeguard, in every -other of life’s journeys, why in the name of all that is rational should -ignorance be our best protection in this? Why should there be one little -corner in the house of life in which the light shall not be suffered to -shine? - -You know Mr Findlater. He was here a night or two ago, and was very angry -because one of his junior clerks, lately a Board School boy, had been -detected in a small forgery. It was a very trifling affair, and did no -harm to anyone but the poor silly lad who had been guilty of it. But Mr -Findlater was full to the brim of indignation. Not with the lad—I’ll do -him justice in that; he didn’t even intend to prosecute, he told me—but -with the whole system of national education. “This is what comes of Board -Schools,” he declared. “You rate us for teaching these gutter brats to -write, and the first use they make of their knowledge is to forge our -names to cheques!” He did really, he said just that, and he is a man -of not much less than ordinary intelligence! And, of course, if you -come to think of it, if no one were taught to write no one could commit -forgery, could they? And Mr Findlater’s argument was quite as good as -the arguments of those who contend that a young woman’s virtue is best -established on a foundation of ignorance. - -And now it occurs to me that I have been wasting all the time taken in -writing this letter. I feel sure that you put all this yourself, and put -it quite as well, to your friends the other night. But then, you see, you -have the inestimable advantage of a wise as well as a loving - - FATHER. - - - - -THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN - - - - -THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN - - - _April 28, 19—._ - -My surprise is not nearly so great, my dear girlie, as you seemed to -anticipate. I told you, you remember, that I was good at guessing, and I -had already guessed this, or something very like this. All the same it is -a blow, for a blow is none the less a blow because one sees it coming. -Indeed, recollections of my sparring days seem to tell me that the blow -you see coming, and from which you can escape neither by guard nor duck, -is just about the nastiest of all. - -Fate is a desperately skilled antagonist. It hammers us and hammers us, -and knocks us out at last; but we do manage to get a punch or two back -at someone or something now and then ... and that is good to remember. -It is curious, isn’t it, that this letter of yours, the subject of which -I suppose is Love, should have set me to write about fighting? And yet -... I don’t know ... they are never very far apart, Love and Strife, -are they? Love is the great disintegrator, the breaker-up. See how he is -coming between you and me now! - -You are “not exactly engaged, but ...” I will not quote the end of your -sentence, for I know how irritating it is to have one’s words given back -to one. Well, it is good of you to refer the final word on the matter -to me. Even the most unconventional woman does wisely at great crises -to respect the established conventions. Her life is made easier, less -stormy so. But there! It was unjust of me to say that. I will—no, will -has nothing to do with it—I do believe that in leaving this, to you so -intensely personal, matter still open, so that I may have my say on it, -you have not been motived by a desire to do the right, the correct thing -in such cases, but by a real belief and trust in me. You have done it not -because it is always done, but because you are you, and I am I, and we -are to each other what we are. - -But because you and I and this Third, this Third to me so shadowy, yet so -portentous, to you, so substantial, are going to do all the usual things, -there is no reason why I should write them to you, is there? So I will -not express my gratification and my hopes, and end with a stuffy little -lecture inculcating a prudential course of conduct. I will practise up -the heavy-father style so as to have it all perfect by the time he (no, I -will not give him a capital “h,” though I note that you do) comes to see -me. How I hope that at the first glimpse of him I shall feel that I may -drop it. Does he expect a heavy father, I wonder. Well, if he does, he -shall have one; be sure of that. - -The first glimpse of him! And I haven’t had it yet! It is that which -has given me this queer indescribable sensation of unreality from which -I have been suffering ever since I opened your letter this morning. By -the way I posted your other letter to your mother on to her at once; she -is staying at Richmond until Friday. One always has that curious, empty -feeling when one part of one’s mind fails to realise what another part -of one’s mind tells one is a fact. It is thus we feel for the first few -moments in the presence of death. We know that it has happened, but we -can’t adjust our minds to the knowledge. So to-day with me. I know, or -almost know, that your life, the life of all others ... but there, I will -not be sentimental, so you fill in the rest ... but your life is to be -dominated—well, if not dominated exactly, at anyrate directed for good -or ill or half of each, by a man of whom I have never so much as caught -sight, of whose very name I am ignorant. - -Do you know that you forgot to mention his name? Not that it matters so -long as it isn’t anything very distressing. I am not afraid of that, -for you know the names to which I object, and which I would rather die -than have my name connected with, and I remember that you share my -prejudices. We both agreed, didn’t we, that Walter Pater was justified -when he refused to vote a Fellowship at Oxford to a man named Juggins or -something. So I take it for granted that your future name will be beyond -the reach of æsthetic criticism. It ought to be a single syllable name, -of course, so as to go rightly with Alexa. Christian names of two or -three syllables should always be followed by a surname of one. - -But I take it you have seen to that. You could not, I am sure, -contemplate a life in which you would suffer from a spasm of artistic -horror every time you signed your name. - -Whatever he is you know well enough that I shall not be glad of him, -don’t you? You know that I shall wish every time I see or think about -him that he had never been born. You won’t mind that, because if it were -not so you would feel that your father was not one of the right sort of -men. Truly, I don’t believe that the right sort of men ever look forward -to their daughter’s marriages with anything but fierce distaste. When it -comes to the point, I mean. They wouldn’t like them not to be married, -and they hate it when they are. From which you will gather what a mistake -it is to be the right sort of man, and what supreme folly it is to beget -daughters, anyway. - -It is rum though, rum and inexplicable, that feeling of savage resentment -one has against every other man who aspires to any sort of intimacy -with any woman for whom one cares even a little. Of course, one says -to oneself that it is because one feels that no other man is half good -enough for her. It is quite astonishing how one can lie to oneself. I -know, for instance, when I can get myself for a second or two into a -reasonable mood, that there must be at least a hundred thousand or so -of men in England, not to mention the rest of the world, who are quite -half good enough for you, and yet I hate with an incandescent hatred the -mere idea, the tenuous probability that you will some day be married. If -he, the unnamed and unnamable, were to come into this room now I should, -or at least should try to, break him up with my bare hands and send the -fragments of him home in a cab. - -It was Nero or Caligula, wasn’t it, who expressed the genial wish that -humanity had only one head that he might cut it off? Well, I believe -that at the bottom of every right-minded man’s heart there is a lurking -wish that all femininity were compact and personified in one woman and -that she might belong to him. “Turkish?” you smile. Oh, much more than -Turkish; primitive rather. - -I shall not kill him, Alexa. I shall probably be tremendously nice to him -if he wears the right necktie. You might give him a hint about that. One -never does do the things one most passionately desires to do—they are -always so outrageous those passionately desired things. - -Haven’t you often, when sitting at dinner, say, with a lot of -depressingly correct people, ached and ached to rip out some hideous, -impossible, unspeakable expression, just to watch their shocked, -flabbergasted faces; and then to disappear for ever from the cognisance -of man? I am sure you have; we all have. But you have never done it, -thank heaven, and you know you never will. It is almost irresistible that -impulse, isn’t it? - -And yet we resist it every time. That is because we are sane. If we -yielded we should be mad; that’s all. That is what sanity means, the -power to resist the almost irresistible impulse. Well, I am sane, so far. -I shall offer him my hand and a chair. Perhaps a cigar. I hope he smokes. - -Oh yes, that reminds me. I must say just this. If he does not smoke and -if he refuse wine at dinner in favour of water, or even of whisky and -soda—a hateful decadent modern habit—then I will have none of him, -Alexa, nor shall you. If the worst come to the worst, I will convince him -by ocular and tactile demonstration that there is lunacy in our family, -and I am quite certain that a fellow who neither smokes nor drinks wine -will never have the hardihood or enterprise to face that. It is not that -smoking or wine drinking (at dinner) are in themselves virtues, but they -are indications of the only temperament and attitude towards life which -are compatible with true virtue. - -Mind, I will say nothing so widely embracing as that a non-smoker and -non-wine drinker is not good for anybody—never mind what I think, but -I will not say it. What I will say is that he would not be good enough -for you; for one of us. His very presence at dinner and after would be a -perpetual reproach, a constant criticism. And you would not like to be -faced every evening by a criticism and a reproach. - -A man who, in a world of good things, tobacco and wine and other things, -abstains, is a man who makes exacting demands upon himself, and a man -who makes exacting demands upon himself will inevitably make exacting -demands upon his womankind. - -And now, while I am about it, I may as well mention one or two other -things, one or two other essentials which any man must possess before he -can even begin to think of connecting his name with ours. By the way, it -is you who will change your name, isn’t it? What an intolerable thought -that is. He must be what the Scots call “gleg in the uptak’;” he must -divine what you mean almost before you have said it, certainly before -you have said it all. He must not, when you happen to speak a trifle -elusively, stare at you blankly for half a minute or so, and then say, -“I am afraid I don’t quite follow you,” or look it without saying it, -perhaps the worst outrage of all, for the remark does at least imply a -consciousness of inferiority and a sort of commendable humility. - -A truly civilised woman, one of us, would rather live with a Zulu -(assegais and all) who understood what she was after, than with a thing -in up-and-down collars (and golf sticks) who was for ever asking her to -explain herself. Heavens, how I know the look on the face of a woman -after she has been married a year or two to that. No, the man who -marries you must talk our language, think our thought, or there will be -rocks ahead on which you and I and he will get ourselves badly grazed, -not to say broken. - -Then he must read and admire Henry James. I say must read, not must have -read, for if he have not it may be only his misfortune and the fault not -of him, but of his upbringing. The novels of Henry James (we have agreed, -you remember) are the touchstone of the modern spirit. If a man can’t -understand them, or gets bored by them, or wishes they were shorter or -less involved, then that man, whatever else he may be, is not of us or -even of our time. I would rather see my daughter mated to a megatherium -than to a man who could not “make out,” as they put it, the novels of -Henry James. - -While I was on the subject of tobacco and wine I ought to have added that -he must not be “anti” anything to any extent. Not anti-vaccination or -anti-vivisection, or anti-clerical, or any of those things about which -the faddist rages. I don’t mean that he may not have strong opinions, but -he must not carry them to the point of being “anti.” When a man reaches -that point it always seems to me he ceases to be human. A husband should -be human. - -And then—I had nearly forgotten this, that accursed feeling of unreality -is so strong upon me to-day—he must be a man whom other women like and -who likes all other women, or nearly all, all that count. I know, of -course, that his voice changes and takes on another tone when he speaks -to you. That is all right. But does it change and take on another tone -when he speaks to the other girl? That’s the thing that matters. When -he hands a—oh, well, a cup, let us say, to a woman, does he do it in an -altogether different way to that in which he would hand a cigar-case to -a man? If he doesn’t his wife will soon find herself wishing that he had -never handed anything at all to her. A man’s love for “the one woman,” is -after all only in a quintessential, concentrated form the emotion he has -for all other women, the generalised thing particularised. - -I don’t agree with the incorrect saying that reformed rakes make the -best of husbands, but I do say that the man who has not in him the -potentiality of rakehood should never be trusted with a wife. - -But there! What does it all amount to? I write, but all the time I am -writing I am conscious that for all practical purposes I might as well -go and shoot peas at the sun as direct these wise observations at a girl -in the first bloom of what they call love. Of course, I know well enough -that just now you see in this intrusive Third all these qualities and -attributes upon which I have been insisting. Or if you don’t you think -they don’t matter; and that I don’t matter; and that even you don’t -matter; that nothing matters but this new magic that bandages your eyes -and carries honey to your lips. Could I have chosen for you I would have -scaled the heights of heaven if haply I might bring down to you a god, -and ... you would not have liked him dear. You would have asked for a man -instead. And you would have been right, for you are not a goddess, but a -girl and the heart of my heart:— - - “And you must twine of common flowers - The wreath that happy women wear, - And bear in desolate darkened hours - The common griefs that all men bear.” - -Write to me again soon. Come home soon, very soon. It is a long time that -you have been away; twice as long since yesterday. - - Your - - FATHER. - - - - -MODERN MARRIAGE - - - - -MODERN MARRIAGE - - - _May 3, 19—._ - -MY DEAR ALEXA,— - -I resist gallantly the temptation to begin much less formally, much more -sentimentally than that; but I feel that marriage is the one subject on -which a man may not be sentimental. In matters of marriage it is always -sentiment that undoes us. - -He called here yesterday afternoon, as by this time you are no doubt -aware, for I feel pretty sure that as soon as he left he scribbled a note -to you from the nearest post-office. If I know anything about men I know -that. I should not be at all surprised if he telegraphed; but I hope not, -for it is bad to begin matrimonial enterprises by a present to the Post -Office. - -So you see I have had a whole evening in which to think him over; a -night to sleep upon my thoughts and a morning in which to recast them, -as it were. When I tell you that I really did sleep and that I found my -breakfast this morning not more hateful than usual, you will realise that -all is pretty much as you would wish. - -Yes, the man will do. Except that he is a man, and that he wants to marry -my daughter, my critical eye can find no serious fault in him. Of course -I wish he were dead or in some distant colony—but no, no, I don’t dislike -him quite so much as that last would imply—but that wish of mine means -little or nothing that need worry you. One so often does wish dead people -in whom one can find no fault—indeed, they are more often than not the -very people one can do so well without. - -I tried him by all the tests. I offered him one of my very best cigars, -the sort I never have enough of in the house, and he smoked it like -a fellow of taste. Even when we were talking seriously about serious -matters—you are a serious matter to him and to me—he held it now and then -so that the perfumed smoke could titillate his nostrils. Had it been a -bad cigar and he had done that, I should have known him for a charlatan -and sent him about his business. - -He came in a frock coat too, a frock coat fullish in the skirts—I hope -you didn’t put him up to that. Had he worn one of those cut-away things -that fasten with one button in the middle of the waistcoat! Words fail me -as to what would have happened had he worn one of those. - -He knows how to sit in an arm chair without getting into trouble with his -elbows or showing too much sock. Has it ever occurred to you, Alexa, that -in the matter of the disclosure of ankles a man should be as discreet as -a woman? - -We did not talk of you all the time. I should have learnt little by -permitting that, for the veriest oaf can say the right things about a -girl with whom he is in love; but we talked of books, of pictures, of -music, of cathedrals, of the things that really matter, and he was all -right there. - -He has a good deal to learn, but then he has some time in which to learn -it; and if you do justice to your upbringing he will not lack a competent -tutor. There—that’s the prettiest compliment I have paid you for many a -long day. - -Your mother was charmed with him. I rather think she is writing to -you at this moment to tell you so. I confess that fact does not vastly -impress me, because mothers look always with a friendly eye upon their -daughters’ suitors, supposing, of course, that they are anywhere near the -mark. - -Has it ever struck you as queer and rather significant that while women -are always anxious for their daughters to marry, men, for the most part, -boggle at the thought of it? It looks almost as though your sex got more -out of the arrangement than ours, doesn’t it? That if they stand to lose -more, as they indubitably do, they stand to win more too? - -The inveterate belief of women in the glory and beauty of marriage always -stupefies me. I suppose there is not one married woman alive who does -not know at least half a dozen others who have come hopelessly to grief -in their marriages, and yet they go on believing! Such robust faith is -touching and a tremendous compliment to us. - -Indeed, it is a wonderful institution this marriage—marriage as it exists -among civilised people, I mean: civilised Western people, I should add. - -I suppose if a committee of ingenious men and women of the world had met -together to devise the scheme of sex relationship best calculated to -ensure unhappiness to the two parties concerned, they could not have hit -upon anything more likely to secure this object ... well, perhaps not -unhappiness exactly, but uncomfortableness, let us say ... than modern -marriage, monogamic marriage. - -From that point of view it is almost perfection. The object of it would -seem to be to destroy as quickly as possible all the feelings with which -people start off on it. The end, it would seem, is the negation of the -beginning. Rum! - -Think, now. What is it that gives the quintessential charm to that state -of mind we call being in love? What is the magic of it? You can’t be -expected to know just now, because you are not in an analytical mood; -emotion of any kind is fatal to accurate analysis. - -Well then, I’ll tell you. It is romance—a sense of strangeness, of -something to be discovered, of infinite, thrilling, and perilous -possibilities. - -Why do sisters and brothers not fall in love with each other? Not because -to do so would be “unnatural,” not a bit of it, never believe that. -Nature has nothing whatever to do with it. It is because they have been -brought up together in close and daily intimacy; because there is no -romance, no glamour of the undiscovered, no possibilities just beyond the -horizon line. - -Now marriage, as we know it, is the inevitable slayer of romance. Before -the intimacy of marriage romance disappears like a mist wreath in the -blazing sun. - -Mind, I do not say that in losing romance you lose everything; there are -many other things that are worth having, perhaps even more worth having, -but you lose romance, and lose it in something less than six weeks. - -And when you have lost romance you are no longer “in love.” You may still -love and be loved. You do and are, if all things go well with you, both; -but you are no longer “in love.” The very feelings which attracted you to -start with, which brought you together, are gone, and gone for ever. - -That is the stupendous fact of marriage; it kills the thing that made it. -It is the outcome of illusion. People in love imagine that marriage is a -continuance of the feelings, intensified, which they have for each other -before they enter upon it. That, Alexa, is exactly what it is not. It is -the very opposite of that. - -Most people will tell you—one hears it said all about, especially just -now—that the reason why marriage is not the success it might be is that -married people “see too much of each other.” There is something in that, -no doubt, but there is more not in it, so to speak. It is not, I am -convinced, so much because married folk see each other every day that -romance takes wings; it is rather because _they can make sure_ of seeing -each other every day. It is the sense of security that kills. - -I verily believe that an odalisque in an Oriental harem, for whom a visit -from her lord is some sort of an event, a thing which may or may not -happen on any particular day, has a better emotional time of it than the -wife in a suburban villa who knows that her husband will appear at the -front door, little black bag and all, ten minutes after she has heard his -train puff into the station, or the still more unfortunate lady who can -always get speech of him by just calling up the stairs. - -Your poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti once told a friend of his, and of mine, -that all those exquisite sonnets of his, dedicated to his wife and to -wedded love, were written when Mrs Rossetti was away on long visits. That -I can well believe, and I believe moreover that they were written not -only when she was away, but when he was not at all sure when she would -come back. - -Once in a little walled town in the South of France I saw a play in -which the husband and wife used to make assignations to meet and dine in -a private room at a restaurant, although they had an excellent cook at -home. It was a silly little play, but the dramatist knew something of -human nature and of marriage, all the same. Poor dears, they were trying -after something which they could not get, of course, but still, the very -fact that they did try proves something, doesn’t it? - -Intimacy, security—these are the fatal diseases of marriage. I think -I see you gibe a little at the word “security,” and murmur something -cynical about divorce. You are right in a way and wrong in another way. -One has only to look around one to learn that marriage is by no means -synonymous with security; but all of us, when we marry, believe it is, -and so the result is the same. - -Mention of divorce suggests to me to say this. I don’t believe that -the sort of thing which leads to the divorce court, and, where quite -uncivilised people are concerned, to the Old Bailey, is half so often, as -most suppose, the outcome of wilful incontinence or of sheer naughtiness, -no, nor even of the waning of love. It is the passion for something that -marriage does not satisfy—the passion for Romance. The unfortunates -yearn, yearn with an irresistible yearning, for something to happen, -something unusual, something with a spice of danger in it, something -which pulls at the heart’s strings, something to make one wake up in the -morning with a feeling that the eggs and bacon for breakfast are not the -most exciting prospect of the day. Ah, heaven! Don’t we all know it—the -coldest, the oldest, the most austere of us! - -I formed this opinion entirely out of my own head years ago, and it -was curiously confirmed by an experience of three days I once spent in -the divorce court. It was when I had that tiresome Chancery suit—you -remember, about Ida’s marriage settlement—and I had to waste a lot of -time in the law courts. - -I could not sit and listen to the Chancery counsel prosing over -technicalities, and so I passed the days in a court which touches human -nature a trifle more shrewdly and less expensively. - -In those three days I saw about a dozen cases tried and disposed of. -And what sort of people do you think they were who came there with and -against their wills? The gay, the frivolous, the debonnair? Oh, dear me, -no; not in the least. I saw not one gallant gentleman, not one lovely -lady. On the contrary, they were the dusty, the dowdy, the humdrum, and, -this is the odd thing, the middle-aged! They were the kind of women who -make their own hats, make them very badly, and talk about their servants -at afternoon tea; and of men who go up to town at 8-45 of a morning, and -come home by the 6-15. Some of them, of course, had occasionally lost -the 6-15, and that was where the trouble began. - -It is grossly unfair to the aristocracy to say that it is they who keep -the divorce court going. “Aristocratic divorce cases,” as the Radical -papers absurdly call them, make not one per cent. of the whole. It is the -dull, stodgy middle-class among whom immorality is rampant! And it is -just because they are dull, stodgy, and middle-class. - -The pleasures, the emotional outlets of art, the distractions which -intelligence can always find in the world, are closed against them. -Meanwhile, beneath their commonplace domesticity the passion for Romance, -though smothered, smoulders on. One fine day, on the most ridiculously -inadequate provocation, it bursts into a flame and then—“decree _nisi_ -with costs.” - -Poor devils, poor, poor devils, they haven’t brains enough to outwit a -Slaters’ detective or even a prying housemaid. - -Brains, ah! yes. Brains are your stand-by in marriage as in most other -of life’s perplexities, Alexa. It is brains that keep you out of -matrimonial troubles, and even, when in a slack moment, you do get into -difficulties, it is brains that will pull you out of them. - -Looking at those of my personal acquaintances who have come bad croppers -over their marriages, I find that in every case there has been want of -wit on one side or the other, often on both. Brains! That is why I have -considerable confidence in your future, my daughter. - -One word more. Romance, in-loveness, cannot survive six weeks of the -appalling intimacy of marriage. That is past praying for. What shall -follow its departure then? Mere emptiness, a tramp across a sandy desert -or a treacherous bog? That depends. The thing that should follow is -friendship, friendship of a peculiar, a unique, sort; friendship touched -by tenderness, mixed with memories, coloured by emotion. - -But again remember this—it takes as much brains to build up and to -maintain a friendship of that kind as it does to ... well ... more than -it does to do anything else in the world so well worth doing. Fools may -make satisfactory lovers, only the wise can be lasting friends. - -You return on Friday, isn’t it? I shall be at Paddington to meet you. See -to it that He is not there—just for this once! - - Your - - FATHER. - - - - -THE SUBTLE SOMETHING - - - - -THE SUBTLE SOMETHING - - - _June 5, 19—._ - -It is all right, child. I have not a word of blame, not a word of -criticism even. You are valiant and original. I am sorry, of course, -sorry for you, sorry for him, for myself, for everyone remotely -concerned. But I am congratulatory too. I congratulate you, him, and -myself. You are prepared for blame of course, for blame from everybody -but your own consciousness and your own father. A young woman who -engages herself to a man, remains engaged for nearly a month and then -“breaks it off” when there is no conventionally agreed-upon cause for -the rupture is, in the eyes of the world, a jilt. It can’t be helped. -It’s no use grumbling. The world will have its labels—and small blame to -it, they spare it the trouble of thinking, of exercising the faculty of -discrimination. And we upon whom its labels are stuck, must just grin and -wear them. Let us see to it that we do grin and wear them—with a grace. - -That “subtle something” of which you can’t say more even to me—there -is no need of greater definiteness, I, as always, understand—is the -true, almost the only, irremovable hindrance to happiness in marriage, -the marriage of sensible people. Anything does to make fools unhappy. -It is unpardonable and unforgettable. Unpardonable, because it is not -a deed or even a thought or a look; unforgettable because it is always -there. And the worst of it is, it can by its very nature discover itself -only in intimacy. One has to jump into the water before one finds out -with certainty that one can’t swim. That subtle something, so colossal, -so inexpugnable yet so elusive! What is it? Where is it? Is it in the -blood, or in the brain, or is it some attribute of that unthinkable -but must-be-thought-of entity, the Transcendental Ego? I hate to seem -so grossly materialist, but I think it is in the blood, and will be -discovered some day by chemical analysis, or by an improved microscopy; -caught and put into a little bottle. - -At present only something finer than chemical analysis, personal -perceptiveness to wit, can discern it, and it must be the personal -perceptiveness of the one most interested. All the others must needs be -the veriest bunglers. That is why I am not kicking myself to any extent -for having thought, in my blindness, my inevitable blindness, that he was -all right, that he would do. He would have done for me, but how could I -know that he would not have done for you? And yet I did just once have -the vaguest, dimmest, shadowiest ghost of a suspicion that all was not -quite well. It scurried past me that thought, that thought that was not -quite a thought, across the darkness of my mind as a small mouse scurries -across a dark room. It was one night when you had been seeing him off -downstairs and we were all in the drawing-room. When you came back I -caught a look upon your face ... no, something less than that ... just a -flicker across your lips ... and it made me uneasy, gave me a tiny twinge -in that rickety old heart of mine, it kept me awake for an hour or two, -as a mouse, fidgeting, has often done. - -I am glad of one thing though; that except in the matter of which I -could not judge, I did not judge him wrongly. He _is_ made of the right -stuff. I had a letter from him last night—a letter from a man to a man. -He doesn’t whine, he doesn’t rage, he doesn’t wrangle. He doesn’t even -complain. He accepts the inevitable. I think the final test of a man -is his attitude in face of the inevitable. I will never show you that -letter—of course you would not wish it. I feel in a curious way as though -it were I and not you who had hurt him. - -Once more then, my daughter, you are right. You have done well. Let no -misgivings on that point ever gnaw or even nibble. There are not many -things that can justify the breach of a betrothal deliberately entered -upon. That subtle something is one of them. Had the case been reversed, -had it been he instead of you who had made the discovery, I should have -said the same. - -Now let the subject be dropped for ever. We will not even refer to it, -no, not by a look, when you come home next week. - - Your approving - - FATHER. - - -THE END - - * * * * * - -Camp Fires in the Canadian Rockies. - -BY WILLIAM T. HORNADAY. - -_With 70 illustrations, from photographs taken by JOHN M. PHILLIPS, and -two maps._ - -_Demy 8vo, 16s. net._ - -This is the narrative, racy, unconventional, and full of adventurous -interest, of an expedition which Mr. Hornaday and Mr. Phillips, the -latter a famous mountain climber and camera expert, made into the -well-nigh inaccessible mountains of British Columbia in search of the -elusive mountain goats and mountain sheep. The expedition was in every -way successful, one of its results being a series of extraordinarily -interesting and valuable photographs of the mountain goat, taken under -great difficulties and dangers at short range. Grizzly bears and other -big game were incidents of the chase. Mr. Hornaday’s story of the -expedition is full of freshness, charm, and racy humour. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -Literary London. - -BY ELSIE M. LANG. - -With Introduction by G. K. CHESTERTON. - -_42 Illustrations by W. J. Roberts._ - -_Crown 8vo, Cloth gilt, 6s. net._ - -The object of this book is to add interest to rambles in London by a -careful alphabetical record of the homes and haunts of the distinguished -literary men and women who are no longer living. In many cases, as is -duly noted, the houses themselves are still standing; in others the -sites are definitely pointed out, and short extracts are given from -biographies, showing with what particular events in the lives of their -occupants these residences are identified. London is full of memories, -and this volume is an ideal guide book to its literary landmarks. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -The Night Side of London. - -BY ROBERT MACHRAY. - -_With 95 Pictures by_ TOM BROWNE, R.I., R.B.A. - -_1s. net._ - - PREFACE. - PICCADILLY CIRCUS (11 P.M. TO 1 A.M.). - IN THE STREETS. - IN THE STREETS—_continued_ (RATCLIFF HIGHWAY). - “IN SOCIETY.” - STILL “IN SOCIETY.” - NOT “IN SOCIETY.” - AN EAST END MUSIC HALL. - EARL’S COURT. - THE MASKED BALL. - THE SHILLING HOP. - CLUB LIFE. - A SATURDAY NIGHT WITH THE “SAVAGES.” - WITH THE “ECCENTRICS” (3 A.M.). - “LA VIE DE BOHÈME.” - SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE NEW LYRIC. - A “NIGHT CLUB.” - THE NATIONAL SPORTING CLUB. - A SCHOOL FOR NEOPHYTES. - “WONDERLAND.” - NEW YEAR’S EVE AT ST. PAUL’S. - THE HOPPERS’ SATURDAY NIGHT. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_JUST PUBLISHED._ - -_A Long Complete Novel by_ VICTORIA CROSS. - -Life’s Shop Window. - -A brilliant young girl awakening into womanhood views herself, and -determines that her beauty shall get her anything she wants from the -World. She looks into “Life’s Shop Window” and surveys all that her -beauty entitles her to. What she buys from Life is brilliantly told by -Victoria Cross, in the longest and most important book that remarkable -and talented author has yet written. - -_Price 6s._ - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -What Men Like in Women. - -BY E. J. HARDY, - -Author of “How to be Happy Though Married.” - -_Crown 8vo. 1s. net, Paper. 2s. gross, Cloth._ - -“THE MURRAY OF MATRIMONY—THE BAEDEKER OF BLISS.” - -An interesting and useful book for young people entering, or about to -enter, the marriage state. Mr. Hardy is an expert on this question, and -his book is packed with useful information and advice, and leavened with -many good stories. - -How to Live the Simple Life. - -BY CALVIN PATER. - -_Crown 8vo, Paper, 1s. net._ - -CONTENTS: - - I. THE NEW CRUSADE. - II. THE SIMPLE-SELFISH LIFE. - III. THE WISDOM OF WAGNER. - IV. THE STOMACH. - V. THE SOUL. - VI. THE MIND. - VII. THE BODY. - VIII. MAMMON AND MANNERS. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -Six Women. - -By VICTORIA CROSS. - -_Price 6s._ - -_THE QUEEN says of Victoria Cross’s “Six Women”_: - -“What is so marked in these stories is the beauty of the writing. Her -atmosphere is delightful. The Eastern stories are full of the colour and -the atmosphere of the East. No one can do anything but envy the author’s -touch in the description of Eastern buildings and gardens. It makes no -difference to Victoria Cross whether she is writing of India or Damascus -or Omdurman, she invests them all with an atmosphere which is not only -enchanting but carries the stamp of truth on it.” - -_LITERARY WORLD_: - -“Full of powerful writing and fertile imagination.” - -_SCOTSMAN_: - -“Studies in the passions of love and jealousy admirably arranged.” - -_MADAME_: - -“‘Six Women’ is written with the artistic touch which is associated -with the best French fiction, and which is too often lacking in English -novels. It is only the prudish and the prurient who will object to ‘Six -Women.’” - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -T. WERNER LAURIE’S - -Cathedral Series. - -This Series is probably the most artistic, scholarly, complete, and cheap -set of books yet published. Infinite pains have been expended on every -branch of reproduction employed. - -“The Daily News” said of the “Cathedrals of Northern France”:—“In paper, -print, binding, and reproduction, this record is a joy to the reader.” - -SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON “THE CATHEDRALS OF ENGLAND AND WALES.” - -“Of each Cathedral an admirable historical sketch is given, detailing its -architectural growth, and the volumes make admirable handbooks for those -who wish to study our English Cathedrals intelligently.”—_Literary World._ - -“Mr. Bumpus’ book is a valuable guide in the case of these buildings, not -only describing them very fully, but also pointing out what parts of them -are original and what new. Mr. Laurie is to be heartily congratulated -on this series, which is illustrated by numerous plates from good -photographs.”—_Athenæum._ - -“Mr. Bumpus’ style has a refreshing air of the enthusiastic -ecclesiologist, and of that ‘Domine, dilexi decorum domus Tuæ,’ which is -ill replaced by the cold professionalism of the mere expert.”—_Saturday -Review._ - -“The description of St. Paul’s, surrounded by the City church steeples, -is a magnificent tribute to Wren.”—_Yorkshire Post._ - -LIST OF SERIES. - -1. The Cathedrals of Northern France. By FRANCIS MILTOUN. With 80 -illustrations from original drawings, and many minor decorations, by -BLANCHE MCMANUS. 1 vol., decorative cover, 7¾ × 5¼ × 1⅜. Cloth gilt, -6_s._ net. - -2. The Cathedrals of Southern France. By FRANCIS MILTOUN. Cloth gilt, -6_s._ net. - -*3, 4, 5. The Cathedrals of England and Wales. By T. FRANCIS BUMPUS, -Author of “Summer Holidays Among the Glories of France.” With many plates -and minor decorations, and specially designed heads and tailpieces to -each chapter. 3 vols., 8vo, decorative cover, cloth gilt, 6_s._ net each; -in leather, 10_s._ 6_d._ net per vol. - -*6. The Cathedrals of Northern Germany and the Rhine. By T. FRANCIS -BUMPUS. With many plates and minor decorations. 8vo, cloth gilt, 6_s._ -net; leather, 10_s._ 6_d._ net. - -7. The Cathedrals of Northern Spain. By CHARLES RUDY. Many illustrations. -6_s._ net. - -8. The Cathedrals of Northern Italy. By T. F. BUMPUS. 6_s._ net. 40 -plates. [_In preparation_ - -* _These volumes are issued also in leather binding (bound by the Oxford -Press) at 10s. 6d. each net._ - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_RECENT NOVELS. 6s. each._ - -The Cubs. - - By SHAN F. BULLOCK. 6_s._ - -Six Women. - - By VICTORIA CROSS. 6_s._ - -The Poison Dealer. - - By GEORGES OHNET. 6_s._ - -Thurtell’s Crime. - - By DICK DONOVAN. 6_s._ - -Rowena. - - By AGNES GIBERNE. 6_s._ - -The Mummy and Miss Nitocris. - - By GEORGE GRIFFITH. 6_s._ - -_Three Books by James Huneker._ - - Melomaniacs. 6_s._ - - Visionaries. 6_s._ - - Iconoclasts: A Book of Dramatists. 6_s._ _net._ - -Illuminating critical studies of modern revolutionary playwrights. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_The Novel Of The Season._ - -The Sinews of War. - -BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS AND ARNOLD BENNETT. - -_With cover design by Charles E. Dawson. 6s._ - -A thrilling story of mystery and imagination. It is an attempt to show -how, given immense histrionic genius, a man without principle might -use it to the confusion of Society and be responsible for seemingly -inexplicable mysteries. The romance deals with modern days in London, and -a phase of life hidden largely from Londoners themselves. An astonishing -murder opens the way to the story, and the coroner’s inquest introduces -to the reader one of the most original characters in modern sensational -fiction. From the lodging-houses, clubs, and theatres of the metropolis, -the scene changes to London Docks, thence to mid-ocean, and finally to -the West Indies. There the mystery of “The Sinews of War,” becomes at -last unravelled and a title that will puzzle the reader until the end, is -explained. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_TWO BOOKS BY LOUIS BECKE._ - -Sketches in Normandy. - -BY LOUIS BECKE, - -Author of “By Reef and Palm.” - -_Illustrated, Cloth gilt, 6s._ - -It is quite a new departure for Mr. Louis Becke to take as his theme -stories of Normandy life, but his three years’ wanderings along the -coasts of Normandy and Brittany, and among the fisher-folk, has resulted -in his giving us some charming and amusing pictures. - -Notes from my South Sea Log. - -BY LOUIS BECKE. - -_Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. net._ - -An account of Mr. Becke’s sporting and fishing adventures whilst -supercargo in the South Seas, together with many notes on the habits and -superstitions of the Islanders. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -“_The Up To Date Doctor._” - -Modern Medicine for the Home. - -BY ERNEST WALKER, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. (Lond.) - -_Crown 8vo, Paper 1/- net. Cloth 1/6 net._ - -This work is scientific and up to date; all technical and misleading -terms are omitted, and the diseases are classified alphabetically and -under their popular names. - -The treatment is scientific and simple and nothing is advised that cannot -be carried out at home. - -The description of complicated symptoms and treatment is avoided. - -The signs of severe illnesses are given, so that the disease may be -recognised and the patient comforted by simple home remedies till skilled -help is obtained. - -The want of a little medical or surgical knowledge has led to the loss -of many lives which might have been saved, and this book conveys to the -unskilled reader in a few trenchant and simple sentences the best way to -act in all emergencies. - -An invaluable volume and one which ought to be in every home library. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_THE MUSIC LOVER’S LIBRARY._ - -VOL. I. - -Chats on Violins. - -BY OLGA RACSTER. - -_Fully Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net._ - -Under this title are grouped a series of pleasant chats telling the early -history of the violin, and also dealing with all the better known forms -of the violin. All the great makers, from Gaspar di Salo, Maggini, Amati, -to Stradivarius are described, the whole being interspersed with many -anecdotes about makers and players, and useful chapters on violin music -and playing. - -The pictures are delightfully uncommon, comprising as they do the -representations of all the ancient members of the violin family from the -ninth century. The whole work is full of interesting information and is -written in a bright and unconventional manner. - -Stories from the Operas. - -BY GLADYS DAVIDSON. - -_Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d._ - - _First Review._ - - “Each Opera is adequately and interestingly dealt with. It - is the best book of its kind we have seen.”—_Sheffield Daily - Independent._ - -A charming series of tales arranged from the Grand Operas. Few people -seem to know the actual stories contained in the great music dramas of -Wagner and others. - -Most of them are very beautiful and interesting, and this volume contains -twenty of the more popular tales simply written and in accordance with -the libretto. - -_IN PREPARATION_: - - Vol. III. “Chats on the Violoncello.” OLGA RACSTER. - Vol. IV. “Chats with Music Lovers.” DR. PATTERSON. - Vol. V. “Stories from the Operas.” Second Series. - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_NEW NOVELS. 6s. each._ - -The Last Miracle. - -By M. P. SHIEL. - -This long-since-promised novel of Mr. M. P. Shiel is the third of the -trilogy of novels which commenced with the “Lords of the Sea,” and was -continued by the much-translated “Purple Cloud,” all the three purporting -to be the words dropped from the lips of a clairvoyant in her swoons, as -memorandumed in the note-books of her doctor. - -A Russian Coward. - -By FRED WHISHAW. - -The story gives a vivid picture of the corruption of the Grand Dukes -and Army Contractors, and is altogether a thrilling, sensational, and -unhackneyed story. - -The Financier’s Wife. - -By FLORENCE WARDEN. - -Miss Warden takes the City for her theme, and her story is reminiscent of -a recent financial crash which paralysed Lombard Street for some time. - -The character of the great financial magnate is wonderfully drawn, and -the description of his downfall is most graphically told. - -A Widow by Choice. - -By CORALIE STANTON and HEATH HOSKEN. - -The principal action of this story takes place in Italy—in Florence -and near Perugia; and the book is a human document peopled with living -characters. Readers who want a glowing and absorbing story of Italy -should get this book. - -A King’s Wife. - -By HÉLÈNE VACARESCO. - -_Crown 8vo. Cloth. Decorated Cover. 6s._ - -This is a novel which will assuredly create a great sensation. The -brilliant authoress was barely 18 when the Academy crowned her first -volume of poems, “Chants d’Aurore.” - -The close friendship between the Queen of Roumania, Carmen Sylva, and -Hélène Vacaresco is well known, and also the romance of the projected -marriage between the young poet and the royal prince of Roumania; this -project was abandoned for State reasons, but it created an idyllic and -legendary atmosphere round the authoress. - -Her book, while pure fiction, may be said to mirror the mode of living -and sentiments of certain royal personages, and probably no more intimate -picture of Court Life from the inside has ever been published. It is a -story full of passion and interest. - -The Salving of a Derelict. - -By MAURICE DRAKE. - -The _Daily Mail_ offered a prize of £100 for the best novel, and over 600 -competitors sent in manuscripts. The prize was awarded to this thrilling -and romantic adventure story. - -Lucy of the Stars. - -By FREDERICK PALMER. - -With Four Illustrations. - - FIRST REVIEWS. - - “Delightful reading—the study of the central figure is work of - which the author may well be proud.”—_Country Life._ - - “This is a remarkably clever novel, and Lucy is as delightful a - personage as any of recent fiction.”—_Dundee Advertiser._ - - “We have not recently read anything which left upon us so - profound an impression of the writer’s ability.”—_Glasgow - Herald._ - - “Far above the average.”—_Birmingham Post._ - - “Good, sincere, and readable.”—_Belfast N. Whig._ - -The Arncliffe Puzzle. - -By GORDON HOLMES. - -A Thrilling Detective Romance of Love, Mystery, and Murder. - - FIRST REVIEWS. - - “An exceptionally ingenious murder mystery.”—_Literary World._ - - “The book must be read at a sitting; it is impossible to lay it - down until it is finished.”—_Madame._ - - “The characters are well contrasted—the solution emotionally - effective.”—_Athenæum._ - - “This vivacious and attractive record.”—_Glasgow Herald._ - - “Stirring and well contrived.”—_Morning Leader._ - - “Spirited and well written—a thoroughly readable - book.”—_Speaker._ - - “What one looks for are a strong plot, sustained interest, and - good situations, and Mr. Holmes gives these to his readers in - full measure.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - -_T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London._ - - * * * * * - -_5th Thousand now ready, with additional Chapters on MISERY BRIDGE AND -SPECIMEN HANDS._ - -THE NEW LAWS OF BRIDGE AND COMMENTS THEREON. - -The Complete Bridge Player - -BY EDWYN ANTHONY (“CUT CAVENDISH”). - -_Crown 8vo, 244 pages, 2s. 6d. net._ - -A bright and cheery guide, carrying the reader through Bridge in all its -varying stages, and finally landing him on the high road to success. - -Although the treatise will be readily understood by beginners, the more -advanced player will derive considerable pleasure and profit from a study -of its contents. - -The arrangement of the book is excellent, its advice sound and -practicable, and attention to its precepts should qualify the reader as -an expert in the game. - -The chapters on Dummy, Cut Throat, Auction, Duplicate, Progressive, -and Misery Bridge will also no doubt be widely appreciated, whilst the -revised laws of the game are included in the volume. - -INTRODUCTION. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Letters to a daughter</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Hubert Bland</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 28, 2022 [eBook #69440]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Carlos Colon, the University of Wisconsin and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS TO A DAUGHTER ***</div> - -<div class="box"> - -<p class="noindent larger">LETTERS<br> -<span class="smaller">TO A</span><br> -DAUGHTER</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="box"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Third and Popular Edition</span></p> - -<div class="box-top"> - -<p class="center larger">LETTERS<br> -TO A DAUGHTER</p> - -</div> - -<div class="box-middle"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br> -HUBERT BLAND<br> -(<span class="smcap">“Hubert” of the “Sunday Chronicle”</span>)</p> - -<p class="center smaller">Author of “With the Eyes of a Man”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="box-middle"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp53" style="max-width: 15.625em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/t-werner-laurie.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="box-bottom"> - -<p class="center">T. WERNER LAURIE<br> -<span class="smaller">CLIFFORD’S INN<br> -LONDON</span></p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">TO</span><br> -ROSAMUND</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“More dear to me than are the ruddy drops</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That visit my sad heart.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> - -</div> - -<table> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>ON LIFE AT LARGE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#ON_LIFE_AT_LARGE">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>ON GOING TO CHURCH</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#ON_GOING_TO_CHURCH">15</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>ON BEING DELIGHTFUL</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#ON_BEING_DELIGHTFUL">27</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE GLAMOUR OF THE FOOTLIGHTS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_GLAMOUR_OF_THE_FOOTLIGHTS">39</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE RUDENESS OF WOMEN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_RUDENESS_OF_WOMEN">51</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>DRESS AND FASHION</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#DRESS_AND_FASHION">65</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>A MORAL QUESTION</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#A_MORAL_QUESTION">79</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE LIMITS OF FLIRTATION</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_LIMITS_OF_FLIRTATION">91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>MEN’S LOVE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#MENS_LOVE">107</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE MAN’S POINT OF VIEW</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_MANS_POINT_OF_VIEW">121</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE DOMESTIC HEARTH</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_DOMESTIC_HEARTH">135</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_TREE_OF_KNOWLEDGE">149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_RIGHT_SORT_OF_MAN">163</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>MODERN MARRIAGE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#MODERN_MARRIAGE">179</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>THE SUBTLE SOMETHING</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_SUBTLE_SOMETHING">195</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h1>LETTERS<br> -TO A DAUGHTER</h1> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_LIFE_AT_LARGE">ON LIFE AT LARGE</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Oct. 17, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">You asked me to write to you -while you were away—“long letters,” you -said; and the request set me wondering a -little. I think I understand now. Comprehension -came to me in a flash as I was stropping -my razor this morning: the sharpening -of one thing helped to sharpen another—my -wits. You felt, didn’t you, that as I am a -writing sort of man, I might, in long letters, -find it possible to say things that an impalpable -something had hitherto made it difficult -for me to say when you and I were face to -face? I think, perhaps, you were right; these -long letters will show. All the same, we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span> -have been as intimate as most fathers and -daughters; more intimate, I fondly think.</p> - -<p>I should like to write at length to-day; -about 2000 words—forgive the jargon of the -trade—on the relations of father and grown-up -daughter, but you asked for letters, not -essays. Still, I might point out this, in case -it has not occurred to you before:—Those -relations are peculiar, more than that, unique. -His daughter is the only woman in all the -world for whom a man five-and-twenty years -her senior can feel no stir of passion, no trace -of that complex emotion that modern novelists -and people of that sort are so pleased to call -sex-love; the only woman from whom he -cannot possibly evoke passion in return. -That fact of itself gives his daughter a chamber -all to herself in the man’s heart, a chamber -guarded by an angel with a flaming sword.</p> - -<p>To talk of love is the next thing to making -love, they say, or something like that. It is -probably not quite true; but now that I -come to think of it, when I have talked of -love to women whom I knew well, after a -quarter of an hour or so a certain tartness, a -certain uncomfortableness has come into the -talk, also one felt oneself becoming just a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span> -trifle artificial, less entirely frank, less spontaneous, -than one likes to be. Such talks -have ended not infrequently in tears and -temper. I need not assure you, Alexa, that -the tears were not mine: as for the temper! -And when I have talked of love to women -whom I have not known well I have sensed -a sort of agitation on both sides which seemed -to portend danger in the not dim distance. -One never felt quite sure as to what might -happen in the next five minutes. Of course, -all this refers to a long time ago. You will -understand that. There is some truth in -the old saying evidently. You might remember -it. But the point of these remarks, -as Mr. Bunsby says (it is one of your -merits that you are not ashamed to love -Dickens), lies in the application of them. -His daughter is the one young woman to -whom a man can talk of love quit of the -faintest fear of being led into making it. I -probably shall talk of love in these long letters -you asked me to write. I am not sure but -what, in any other mood and on any other -day but this, I should have said that between -men and women there is nothing else worth -talking about. But if I said that now, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -should be insincere, for I don’t feel it. This -autumn weather, this dismal lingering death -of summer, oppress my soul, and one should -be in high fettle to talk intelligently of love. -Now I am not that to-day as I look out of -the library window and see those big funereal -cedars lords of all, the whole garden subdued -to their sombre humour. Day and night the -piteous leaves of all the other trees are falling, -falling like slow rain-drops; and at twilight -they sound upon the garden paths as the footsteps -of ghosts might sound—creepy, creepy. -This morning I picked a rose for sheer pity -of it, and in half an hour its charm was gone; -its very colour had changed, its pink shell-like -petals (it was the last of the Maman -Cochets) had turned livid as the lips of a -corpse; it exhaled, not perfume, but an odour -of death. The birds flutter about aimlessly, -they seem to feel there is nothing left for them -to do in a world so full of sadness, no nests -to be builded, no broods to be reared; and -they haven’t the heart to sing. To add the -last touch of sable to the whole mumpish -outlook, you are away. Don’t think that insincere: -it is not a bit. I wandered moodily, -and with no definite object, into your room<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -to-day. It was in shocking disorder, untidiness -appalling, of course, or it had not been -yours; but somehow the chaos did not irritate -me as it usually does. Somehow I was glad -of it. Had it been otherwise—as neat as my -own study, for instance—I had been plunged -into still deeper gloom. It was like an empty -nursery in which the toys were still lying -scattered all about. Oh, the deathly chill of -an empty and tidy nursery!</p> - -<p>Let me see, you are nineteen or a trifle -more, aren’t you? And Love must be lying -in wait for you somewhere very near by. I -wonder whether you will know him when you -see him. If you do, then will you be the -cleverest of your sex, and much cleverer than -any one of mine. If he is anything at all -like the Love of the Christmas cards and the -funny little poets who like to display a -smattering of classic knowledge—have no -fear of him whatever. He won’t hurt, that -chubby child with the toy bow and arrows. -Of what drivelling folly, what stupendous -ignorance were they guilty who personified -Love as a pink and pulpy baby nourished on -Pott’s Emulsion! Don’t believe them, dear. -When Love’s self comes he comes always a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -strong man armed—a warrior with old scars -upon his forehead and dints upon his shield. -And there is another mailed adventurer, too, -who may likely spring upon you unawares. -He is so like Love in his equipment and in the -manner of his attack, this one, that it is not -until forty years have passed that one can see -through his disguise. He is, by the most, -held to be unmentionable between men of -my age and women of yours, but the name -of him is Passion. If I were an ideal instead -of a practicable, work-a-day parent, I should -warn you against him in the solemnest way, -or I should pretend that there was no such a -person. But I don’t do either; first because -I know the warning and the conventional lie -would be futile, and next, because I don’t -think either would be quite fair to you. -This world is an interesting place; it -would be considerably less interesting but for -Passion’s vagaries, his adroit ambushes, his -sudden swift assaults, his slow retirements, -and, sometimes, his unexpected defeats. And -I want you to find life interesting—you are -sure not to find it happy, folk of our temperament -never do. Here I should like to -drop metaphor and dissertate for a while in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -the plain language of what some modern -writers call “psycho-physiology,” but I don’t -want to startle you, much less to shock, so I -will reserve psycho-physiology for another -time. This, however, I may say: you will -know Love from Passion just by this—that -Love wants ever to give; Passion, to take. -When the two appear as close allies—well, -then you will be upon the eve of certainly -the most momentous and, perhaps, the most -catastrophic event of all your life. There is -really no saying what may happen then, -and you had better come and talk it over -quietly with me. Don’t be afraid of Passion -because you have heard him called by uglier -names, and remember always this—that come -he by tempestuous assault or by patient siege -he never wins of his own strength alone. It -is always a traitor within the gates that -gives the citadel away. That’s the one -you have to keep an eye on—the traitor -inside.</p> - -<p>I have often heard you say (you are the -only woman I have heard say it) that you -would not, if you could, be a man. I like -you the better for saying it, but you are -wrong all the same; at least I think so.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -Whether men or women have the better time -I don’t know, but I do know that men have -the safer. They get more out of life, and -they risk infinitely less in the getting thereof. -In this matter of Passion, for instance (the -metaphor’s changed now), the handicap is -quite infernally unfair. It almost makes a -just man blaspheme the handicapper. It is -as though the two sexes were skating. Each -equally enjoys the exhilarating exercise. To -mine a slip means, at the worst, a ridiculous -posture for a moment or two and a few -bruises; to yours, the almost certainty of a -compound fracture, possibly of a broken -back. But perhaps in a sporting spirit you -will reply, the deadlier peril carries with -it the keener thrill; and really there may be -something in that. My observation of life, -however, convinces me to the contrary. For -me the chances of the undignified tumble and -the bruises are enough. Some of your advanced -sisters (you’ll meet them presently, if -not in the flesh, then in books) will tell you -that the tendencies of the times are all in -favour of equalising the chances. Maybe; -but put not your trust in tendencies, Alexa. -Think what you like, but act as though the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -world were going to be always just what -it is now. Pioneers are always uncomfortable, -and for that reason, mostly unpleasant. -Your business is to make life interesting, and -in so far as you do that you yourself will be -an interesting woman. At the same time, -an you love me, don’t imagine that I am -counselling cowardice or even prudence. If -cowardice be a positive vice, prudence is but -a negative virtue, and the line that divides -the two is so thin as to be often imperceptible. -As you travel through life you will find the -negative virtues, the cloistered virtues, as -Milton, I think it is, calls them, about the -least amiable and the most irritating things -you will encounter. No, don’t be a coward. -No woman with a chin like yours, and the -brain I feel sure you have inherited, need be -that. No end of obstacles and hindrances -will go down before that chin of yours if -only you thrust it forward at the exactly -right moment; realities as well as unrealities, -your living fellow creatures and the ghosts -of dead ideas. Before such a chin many a -seeming lion in the path will turn into -naught more fearsome than a spitting kitten -after all; still kittens, it is worth remembering,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -can scratch. And scratches -disfigure.</p> - -<p>Try to avoid scratches: they smart, and -there is no honour in the scars thereof. -Make the world interesting to yourself, as I -charged you before, and make it comfortable. -To do that is about the most one can hope -to do ’twixt swaddling clothes and shroud. -I don’t ask you to venerate other people’s -prejudices—scorn them as much as you like; -but I do advise you to respect their power. -Bow reverentially in the House of Rimmon. -Try to imagine yourself (the effort will -not be very great after you have looked -around you for a while) a civilised being -cast among savages. The savages have, of -course, some rigid rules of conduct, of the -origin of which they know nothing and -which, for that very reason, they hold in the -deeper awe. The breaking of a rule involves -a slow scraping to death with oyster shells, -and yet such breaking gives a good deal of -comfort and satisfaction to you; there is a -thrill about it somewhere. “<i>Que faire</i>” -then? Stick to the rules like the most besotted -savage of them all? Not a bit of it; -break them just when and how it suits you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -and then use your superior intelligence. -You will get a poignant and penetrating -pleasure from the mere exercise of your -higher faculty. I am not sure but that that -alone will not be reward sufficient. All this -sounds like a lengthy way of restating the -old eleventh commandment, I know; but, -indeed, it is something more than that, it is -rather an intelligent criticism of some of the -ten and a reasonable justification of that odd -one.</p> - -<p>My advice assumes, of course, that you -are a Superior Person. I think I have noted -certain traits in you which convince me that -that is rather your view of yourself. Well, -even so, you probably know little of yourself, -but yet more than any one else knows of -you. You see you are the one most nearly -interested in the diagnosis. Time will test -the correctness of your judgment; but when -he has had long enough to form an opinion -it will not matter much to you what his -opinion is. But of Time’s dealings with -your sex I shall have something to say anon. -Some one has said that the bitterest of all -regrets is that for the sins we have not committed. -That is mere cynical ineptitude.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p> - -<p>It is not the memory of omitted sins, but -the recollection of lost chances that writhes -and rankles.</p> - -<p>Always, my dear Alexa,</p> - -<p class="center">Your didactic but most affectionate friend and</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_GOING_TO_CHURCH">ON GOING TO CHURCH</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> - -<h3>ON GOING TO CHURCH</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Oct. 28, 19—</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">Some commonplace -person has said that the really important -part of a woman’s letter is always in the -postscript. It pains me to recognise how -often the commonplace is also the true. It -is the postscript of your pleasant letter that I -must answer to-day. “Ought I to go to -church?” you ask, and I can’t think why -you say “ought.” “Ought” is a word -which you know irritates me. It suggests -Ethical Societies and their preposterous -hymns. It raises questions of “right and -wrong,” and I feel that at my age one should -be done with questions of that disturbing -kind. And the worst of it is I don’t quite -know what you mean, for you may mean -one of two things. It may be a very little -question or a very big one you are putting. -Well, I will try to deal with both. If you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -mean ought you to go to church on Sunday -just now, when you are staying with correct -people who go themselves, then I answer -most emphatically “Yes.” To begin with -it is a mere act of politeness. You might -as well ask “Ought I to dress for dinner?” -But it is something more than that. To -stay away from church when your host and -his friends go is to challenge after-luncheon -controversy, to invite a religious polemic. -It is to advertise in the most vulgar and -objectionable way possible your irreligion, -or, if not that exactly, at least your religious -doubts. It is to make yourself prominent -and prickly.</p> - -<p>But I can’t believe you mean that. A -child of mine may have prickles, but I am -happily confident that she would carefully -conceal them. What I think you do mean -is, “Is it wise, in order to make the best of -life, to cultivate the religious emotions?” -That was it, wasn’t it? “Ought I to go to -church?” was only your succinct and symbolical -way of putting it. It was neatly put, -and I congratulate you, Alexa.</p> - -<p>Well, it is a big question, as I said, but -one that is comparatively easy to answer, for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -the answer is obvious. It may take a long -time answering but that is the worst of the -obvious: it always does take such a long -time stating, whereas the non-obvious may -generally be put into an epigram. Who are -the nicest people you know, Alexa; the -people you like best to talk to; the people -whose judgment you most rely on; the -gayest people; the people who have the art -of treating serious things lightly and light -things with a becoming seriousness; the -<i>all round</i> people; the people whose -opinion you would most value of a poem, a -novel, a symphony, a landscape; the people -whose taste you trust? Think now, are -they not in almost every case people with -some sort of religious belief? Or, to put -it otherwise, have you ever met a really -delightful Atheist, man or woman? You -have met many worthy Atheists, I know, -persons whose moral code was as conspicuous -as a red nose, whose admirable -qualities stuck out of them like hat-pins, -persons you are almost bound in common -decency to respect; but have they been -delightful? Were you not always conscious -of a <i>want</i> in them somewhere, just as you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -are conscious of something lacking in a -person who has no ear for music, or who -does not like olives?</p> - -<p>The religious instinct, the craving to get -into touch with something outside the -material world, beyond <i>the things we see</i> -or apprehend with any of our five senses -is born in us just like any other instinct. -The history of mankind is proof positive of -the fact. We have never yet caught a -primitive man—most savages are degenerates -they say; but, depend upon it, if ever we do -we shall find him going “to church,” as you -would put it. Even if we didn’t, even if it -could be demonstrated beyond possibility of -doubt that our arboreal ancestor knew naught -of religious emotion, but was contented with -his wives and his cocoanuts, it would be no -disproof of my assertion that <i>we</i>, the people -of 19—, are born with the religious instinct. -There are exceptions of course, freaks, just -as there are unfortunates born without drums -to their ears and without a liking for the scent -of tonkin beans; but we need not bother -about them. You, my child, have drums to -your ears, you keep a tonkin bean in your -glove-box, and you have the religious instinct.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -The question I am answering, remember, is: -ought <i>you</i>, Alexa, to go to church? In -other words, then, it amounts to this: ought -you to suppress an instinct? It is a question -surely which answers itself. The pleasures -of life consist in the gratification of instincts, -either inherited or cultivated. To suppress -an instinct, then, or to allow it to atrophy by -disuse, is to shut oneself off from an opportunity -of pleasure, to narrow the range of -one’s emotions and one’s intellect, to diminish -the number of one’s sensations; it is to be -incomplete, and if you are incomplete, you -cannot be delightful, Alexa. Your favourite -Heine says somewhere that a charming woman -without religion is like a beautiful flower -without perfume. He was always right when -he wrote of women. So am I.</p> - -<p>But I think I hear you asking, is it true -that the religious emotions are necessarily -always pleasurable? Was it pleasure that -St Simeon Stylites felt upon his pillar? Does -the missionary experience a delightful thrill -while the savage is skinning him alive? Well, -I am not sure. I am inclined to think that -St Simeon did enjoy that cold eminence of -his, at any rate more than he was capable of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -enjoying anything else. As for the missionary, -I did meet one once who had been -partially skinned, and strangely enough, he -was just on the eve of starting to pay another -visit to the interesting island folk who had -flayed him; so we must presume it was not -so bad after all. But even were it otherwise, -my reply would be that persons like St -Simeon have cultivated their religious -emotions overmuch, and have paid insufficient -attention to the other sides of their -nature. They are like gluttons, or drunkards, -or profligates, or the musically mad. They -are religious debauchees. To spend all one’s -time in religious exercises is as bad, and -as foolish in its way, as to be perpetually -playing the piano: it is wasting your own -life and making yourself a nuisance to your -neighbours. Prayer is good, my child, but -really I think I would as soon see you always -on your head as always on your knees. -There is a line of a hymn which speaks -of Heaven as a place</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Where congregations ne’er break up</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And Sabbaths have no end.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">but that was written, we may be sure, by a -religious debauchee. He was a glutton, that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -fellow. Now, in this, as in all other things, -I would have my daughter be an epicure—not -a greedy pig. Talking of Epicurus, by -the way, I feel sure that if Epicurus were -alive in London to-day he would attend the -services in the Chapter House of the New -Cathedral almost daily. Yes, and not as a -mere listener to music: he would absorb the -atmosphere of the place; he would be of the -most devout. After all, the proof of the -pudding is in the eating, isn’t it?—and in -the eupeptic tranquillity that follows. You -can put the thing to a practical and a personal -test if you will. Go, sit as much by yourself -as you can in some great church—a cathedral -for choice, of course; choose some corner -where the light is broken by a stained-glass -window—the glass must not be of date later -than the end of the sixteenth century—and -stay there quietly until after the service ends. -Let the music of the organ, the clear voices -of the choir boys, the penetrating odour of -the incense, work their will upon you. -Surrender yourself wholly, uncritically, to -the influence of the place, and then, when it -is all over, and you are the last to leave, or -the last but one, say—for it were well, it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -were perfect if, as you cross the chancel, you -should see one wimpled nun “breathless in -adoration” before the altar—write and ask -me again, if you can, ought you to go to -church!</p> - -<p>Ah, but you, or some other girl who, -unlike you, is a little agnostic Philistine, -might say, those emotional experiences are -æsthetic, not religious. It is the music itself -that thrills, not the devotion that the music -seeks to express; it is the particles of the -incense that titillate the nostrils, not the odour -of prayer that penetrates to the soul. Not a -bit of it, Alexa, that is a callow observation -worthy only a Hall of Science lecturer. -Listen to exactly the same music played by -the same hands, sung by the same voices, in -the Queen’s Hall, and see if the emotional -effect upon yourself is in any sense the same. -It will charm you, of course, but there will -be something missing—and that something -is the satisfaction of the religious instinct, -the response of the Unseen to our craving -for relations with it. Yes, but the church -itself, the building, the pointed arches, the -clustered columns, the groined roof—have -not all these much to do with the psychological<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -effect? Of course they have. But -then the church was builded of men who had -cultivated their religious instincts: men who -believed, who felt: the building fits the -religious idea as perfectly as I hope your -latest frock fits your frame, my kiddie. -What is a great cathedral but the religious -emotion expressed in stone?</p> - -<p>“And yet—it mayn’t be true,” I hear you -mutter, with a little sceptical tremor of the -lips. I don’t quite know what you mean by -“it,” and I don’t greatly care. To define -“it,” would require a big book, wouldn’t it? -It has already required big libraries full of -big books—and still the foolish squabble. -There It is all the time. So we will let that -question pass. What is true, what is a fact -as palpable as, more palpable than, the improvement -in the Strand, is the existence in -us, in you, of the religious instinct—of a -craving for personal relations with the -Unseen, as I said. Not to seek to gratify that -were as foolish as to refuse to listen to a -Beethoven sonata because you feel doubtful -whether Beethoven ever lived—whether all -his music were not written by another gentleman -of the same name.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> - -<p>Your mother asks me to tell you that she -thinks you ought sometimes to write to her. -“Ought,” and again “ought” and always -“ought” in this beast of a world!</p> - -<p class="center">Your devoted and truly religious</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_BEING_DELIGHTFUL">ON BEING DELIGHTFUL</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p> - -<h3>ON BEING DELIGHTFUL</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Nov. 8, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">You accuse me of perpetually -charging you to be delightful, and of never -giving you any detailed and specific instructions -as to how to be it. I can’t help feeling -that the accusation is more than a little unjust, -that is to say, I did suffer under a sense -of injustice for a quarter of an hour or so. -It seemed to me that although I had never -taught you by way of precept, by way of -example I had not failed, for I have been -extremely charming to you, Alexa. But -reflection has caused me to realise that, perhaps, -nay certainly, you are right. Many of -the qualities that make a man charming are -the antipodes of those which render a woman -delightful. There are a few, of course, that -should be common to both, but they are few. -I will not trifle with the subject and do -outrage to your common sense by telling -you that Nature herself will teach you to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -be delightful, because I remember that you -and I long ago, when you were little more -than a kiddie, agreed that delightfulness is -the one attribute which Nature never possesses, -and, therefore, can never transmit to her -children. Nature is all sorts of pleasant -things. She is wholesome, for instance, impressive, -restorative, not infrequently magnificent—just -here and now she is damp and -abominably depressing—but she is never -delightful. Delightfulness is an achievement -of art. One may speak, accurately, of a -delightful garden; none but an indiscriminating -idiot would talk of a delightful wilderness. -An alcove decorated with tact and lighted, or -half-lighted—better—with Chinese lanterns, -might be delightful: a sunset never could -be. Therefore, my daughter, if you follow -the promptings of Nature you may be, let us -say, astonishing, but you will never be -delightful or anything like it.</p> - -<p>Personally, I think you are delightful -already; but then, I am quite conscious that -that view of mine may be a paternal <i>parti -pris</i> which other people with blunter perceptions -than mine may possibly not share. -If you wish to be universally delightful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -then, you must be prepared to make of yourself -a work of Art. Nature, happily for -you—I may say this without flattery—has -given you the materials; it is for you to -work them up, remembering that a naturally-gifted -young woman is no more a delightful -young woman than a box of colours is a -picture.</p> - -<p>In the eighties, when the Æsthetic Movement, -as it was absurdly called, was on -the town, we used to talk a good deal, -of “Art for Art’s sake.” It was a phrase -that gave grave offence to the Philistine, -(that was why we used it so constantly), -the Philistine who nosed in it a -danger to his own peculiar variety of morals. -You don’t often hear it now, for the Philistine -was too strong for us, and he has conquered. -And yet it was a phrase as innocent -as it was apt. It summed up in four words—nay, -in three, for one is repeated—a true -and imperishable principle. All it meant -was that Art should seek no end outside itself: -that if you set about painting a picture, say, -your aim should be just to paint a beautiful -picture, not to inculcate moral habits in a -Sunday school, or to boil your own pot by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -achieving the line in Burlington House, -or even the gold medal of the Salon. You -see the implication, Alexa? You see how -“Art for Art’s sake” applies to you just -now? If you are going to practise the art -of being delightful you must do it for the -sake of being delightful, not with any <i>arrière -pensée</i>, not with an eye to the best partners -at dances or invitations to the mansions of -the affluent. To die with the consciousness -of all your life long having been a delightful -person! Can anything be better than that, -save living with the same consciousness? -Moreover, I can’t help thinking that the best -of all preparations for the next world is to -be as nice as one possibly can in this.</p> - -<p>You know a good deal; a good deal of -many things, I have seen to that. But it -would be well rather to conceal than to -display your knowledge. There is nothing -people in general like so little in woman as -knowledge, and when I say people in general -I mean people of both sexes. So you must -never put all the goods in the shop window, -or, at any rate, not all at once. Show just -as many as, and those of the sort that, will -attract the particular gazer in the window at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -the time. Therefore, affect an ignorance if -you have it not, remembering that the more -you really do know the easier is it to appear -not to know it. This seems an unreasonable -injunction, and therefore I will give you my -reason for proffering it. Broadly speaking, -human nature suffers from a passion to be -instructive. We all love to teach, to tell -things. Particularly do men love to tell -things to young women. I have often had -a man come up to me and say “Miss -So-and-So is a charming girl,” just after I -have been noticing that the charm for him -consisted wholly in the interested and receptive -manner with which she had been -listening, or affecting to listen, to such -information as he had delighted to impart. -Whenever a man talks to a young woman he -tries his best to appear a little <i>bigger</i> all -round than he knows himself to be. Unexpectedly -to check his enterprise by showing -that you know as much as he does has pretty -much the same effect upon his mind as -though you were suddenly to add twenty -years to your age, to discover wrinkles, or to -develop a squint. Of course, I do not mean -that when a man is “telling you things” you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -should sit mumchance and, as it were, -dumfounded at his erudition. A few well-directed -and intelligent questions will help -you vastly. But take care that the questions -are such as you feel pretty confident he will -be able to answer. Here I can speak to you -from the depths of my own experience. -When a pretty young woman asks me something -that I don’t know, I feel more inclined -to box her ears than to kiss her.</p> - -<p>Learn early, dear student of life, to suffer -bores gladly. Remember that in so doing -you are making yourself delightful, not only -to the poor bore, but also doubly delightful -to the other persons present from whom you -have drawn him off.</p> - -<p>Get as quickly as possible out of the way -of speaking of yourself, even of regarding -yourself as “a girl.” You are, I know, only -nineteen now, or is it twenty?—and there is -not much harm in it so far—but one day you -will be five-and-twenty, and then it will -sound, and will be, ridiculous. Girlishness -of speech, of thought and of manner is a -habit easily acquired and with difficulty -dropped. Let others think of you and speak -of you as a girl if they will, but don’t do<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -it yourself as you hope for delightfulness. -There are few things in a small way -that give the wise and fastidious man a -nastier jar than to hear a woman well away -towards the end of her third decade refer -to herself as a “girl.” It is the fashion -of folks nowadays to try to defer their -children’s womanhood as long as possible—one -constantly hears it remarked, “how much -younger women are than they used to be!” -Don’t believe it, Alexa, they are just the -same age as ever they were. We cannot, do -what we will, keep our daughters young. -We can keep them silly, but we can’t keep -them young. Great is Art, but Nature -beats her there. Besides, this in your ear! -Just as it is hateful to hear a mature young -woman call herself a girl, so it is delightful -to hear one who really is a girl speak of -herself as a woman. I cannot tell you why—I -think I know, but it would take too -long just now, and the psychology of it is -subtle extremely—but trust me in this, it is -so.</p> - -<p>Never if you can help it let a man do -for you anything you have reason to believe -he will not like doing—anything which you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -think you would not like to do were you he -and were he you. As a practical instance: -If you happen to be bicycle-riding with a -man, don’t let him drag you up the hills, or -against the wind. Even at some inconvenience -to yourself refuse the proffered aid -of his shoulder, of a bit of rope, or the -waistband of his Norfolk jacket. The aid -will be proffered as a matter of conventional -courtesy, but the fellow’s heart will not be in -it. He will like you ever so much the better -if you assert your independence; unless, of -course, he be intensely young, and then he -doesn’t count. When I was a young man I -once went skating with a very charming -young woman who told me she could skate, -and that she enjoyed the fun of it. I found -she couldn’t skate—she could only sprawl -about and tumble down when unsupported. -I had to spend the whole of that glorious -afternoon—I can smell the perfume of the -pines which stood around the lake even now -across nearly half a century of time—in upholding -her until my arms and ankles ached. -It was the only day of hard ice that winter. -That girl was not your mother, my child. -After that day she never could by any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -possibility have become your mother. When -I set out on that skating expedition I was -half in love with her; when I came home I -wasn’t! Selfish? Yes—well!</p> - -<p>Now for a really unworldly piece of -counsel. Don’t be at too much trouble to -acquire or to cultivate the acquaintance or -the friendship of the rich. In the mix-up -that goes on to-day you will meet them, of -course—but they are seldom worth the -bother. There is little or nothing worth -having to be got from them. And the fact -that you have made yourself even a trifle -more agreeable to a rich man or woman than -you would have done to a poor person, is -sure, sooner or later, to inflict upon you a -feeling of self-despite, of self-humiliation. It -is as well to have as few of those sorts of -feelings as possible. A visit to a house much -bigger than one’s own, overflowing with -butlers, so to speak, is but poor recompense -for the very smallest scratch to one’s self-respect. -A woman with scars on her self-respect -is never quite delightful. You will -find it easier to be delightful to men than -to women. With men, over and above the -cultivated charm of your art, you have always<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -your sex—that potent mystery—to trust to. -With women it tells rather against than for -you. Therefore double your efforts to be -delightful to women. In this matter I can -give you none of the specific details you ask -for. To them apply the golden rule—do -unto women as you would have women do -unto you. You will meet many fool-women—whom -in your heart and brain you will -contemn—but remember that the veriest -fool-woman of them all will probably be -clever enough to know exactly when and -where to stick her claws into the other -woman. Avoid those claws, my child.</p> - -<p class="center">Your devoted</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_GLAMOUR_OF_THE_FOOTLIGHTS">THE GLAMOUR OF THE FOOTLIGHTS</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> - -<h3>THE GLAMOUR OF THE FOOTLIGHTS</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Dec. 5, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">I was delighted to get your long letter on -Monday. It was just the sort of letter I like -to have, from a woman especially: a letter -with naught impersonal in it, full of the -familiar and intimate turns of phrase. I -fancied I could hear the very inflection of -your voice here and there. That is the way -to write; to write to a friend, I mean. Try -hard to remember all the time that you are -not writing to a newspaper, or labouring -to produce what, at school, used to be called -“a meritorious composition.” Avoid the -<i>cliché</i> as you would the devil; nay, even -more; for he, in some of his moods, might -be interesting; the <i>cliché</i> is always tiresome. -Your letter caught me in a moment of depression, -one of those mopish moments -which come upon me oftener than they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -should of late, and lie like shadows upon the -spirit’s surface, turning to monotone what -should be all iridescence. I went down into -the breakfast-room and fired off an epigram. -It is true I had already perfected and polished -that epigram while I lay wakeful in the dead -waste and middle of the night, but I should -never have summoned energy enough to part -with it so soon had it not been for your -letter. It was not appreciated. The bacon -had been served on a coldish dish. So you -see you are responsible for that wilful waste -of a good thing, Alexa; a thing that would -have (and mayhap will yet) set the club -smoking-room in a titter. At the breakfast-table -it raised only an acidulous smile, the -merest flicker. The family looked reprovingly -at me for beginning the day so -frivolously. Had you been there, now! -That is one of your chiefest charms, my -daughter, that is why I love you so; you -always appreciate your father’s efforts to -pervert the truth.</p> - -<p>There was one thing in your letter that -troubled me a little though, because I fancied -I saw in it a symptom, a foreshadowing, so to -speak, like the sore throat and little dry<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -cough that herald an attack of scarlet fever. -Do you remember when you had scarlet fever -and what a pale ghost your father was for -seven dreadful days until the danger was -over and gone? Ah me! But as to this -symptom. It was only two lines in which -you said something—I don’t remember -exactly what, and I have not your letter by -me at the moment—about your “favourite -actor.” You did not mention the fellow’s -name, and I thank you for that. It has -probably saved me from the crime of assassination. -Think how disgusting it would -have been! I don’t mean the assassination -itself, that would have been jolly, but the -newspaper boys bawling up and down the -Strand, “Horrible murder of Cyril, or -Claude, or Basil Somebody-or-other!” And -your poor mother in tears at home; and then -the squalid Old Bailey, and the glib counsel, -and the solemn ass on the Bench, and the -unsympathetic stodgers in the jury box. I -feel I could never survive a criminal trial. -My spirit would break through its fleshly -casings, and flee away from the deadly -commonplaceness of the thing before it was -half over. Therefore in the days of your<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -youth look not upon the mimes to admire -them, Alexa, and bring not your father’s gray -hairs in sorrow to the dock.</p> - -<p>But to return to seriousness and that -symptom I spoke of. I have noticed lately -in several young women of your age, though -I am glad to say not in you, an unsalutary -tendency to exalt the mummer. I have -heard them chatter to each other about him -in the drawing-room, here; I am told (Jane -tells me in fact, she tells me unblushingly) -that they buy his photographs, sometimes as -many as three or four of one of him in -different costumes; that they stick these -photographs up on their bedroom mantelpieces, -and that in some desperate cases, they -write him letters asking for his autograph, -and even go the length of sending him -flowers. Flowers! They had far better -send onions.</p> - -<p>I will not let myself think hardly of these -maidens of our day. I feel I must recognise -that after all they are but doing -what the young males of their species always -have done and still do. The glamour of the -footlights has always tempted youth to make -a donkey of itself. Young men of a like age<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -talk actress over their cheap cigars, spend -their sparse shillings on photographs of legs, -and go the full length of their limited credit -in flower shops. But, then, they <i>are</i> young -men, you see, and that makes all the difference. -It does, I assure you, and my fondest -hope is that the discovery that it does may -not come upon you as a shock. There may -be no reason, “in justice,” why there should -be one law for women and another for men, -but just now there is, and if ever there -isn’t what a deuce of a world it will be! Let -me imagine an instance of what I mean. If -a few years hence I were to come upon your -brother John with his arm round a dairymaid -(I shall not, for dairymaids are buried in the -picturesque past) I should give him a talking -to, but the amorous incident would not -break my night’s rest. But if, oh my child—if -I caught you kissing the postman! -There, you see. I know quite well you are -ill-treating that pretty mobile under-lip of -yours at the indelicate suggestion. “Indelicate,” -I feel sure that is the word you will -use. And it is, that is just what I mean it -to be. Well, there is something indelicate -in this fuss about the actor fellow.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p> - -<p>I don’t like doing it, but for once let me -pose before you as <i>laudator temporis acti</i>. -You were pretty good at Latin a year ago, -and you still keep enough of it to translate -that. I can’t conceal from myself that there -has been a change, and a change not for the -better, in the emotional atmosphere of the -young woman; it has become soppy, stuffy; -if I were to say sniffy I should not say too -much, but I won’t say quite that. Young -women have always fallen in love—I use the -phrase in its widest, vaguest sense—with Man, -with just the male creature. Had they not -we should none of us be here, I suppose. -When that nebulous emotion becomes more -definite, concentrates itself and gets directed -at a particular member of the species, it -becomes Love, the real thing, the motive -power of life, the subject matter of poetry, of -drama, of legend, of art generally. But in -its vague state it hovers over Man, just Man. -Obviously it must be over Man in some more -or less definite form. Well, now, what I -wanted to say was this. Once upon a time, -not so long ago either, young women “fell -in love” with, made a fuss over, Man in his -more heroic, more intensely masculine and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -vigorous aspects. It was the soldier, the -sailor, the adventurer of all sorts, that appealed -to their tenderest susceptibilities. -Even the highwayman was held a romantic -figure. Many a nice girl has tossed a -bouquet or waved a damp pocket-handkerchief -at a highwayman on his last drive to -Tyburn Tree. Women upon whom one -must not be too hard have before now -eloped with their grooms. I say “upon -whom one must not be too hard,” because -after all grooming is a <i>man’s</i> trade. Personable -prize-fighters, too, have had their share of -delicate feminine attentions. Now all these -types of manhood,—and, remember, it is -the type more than the individual who first -appeals to those vague unsettled amatory -emotions we are talking about,—were male -things who <i>did something</i>, something mostly -that had danger in it, that called for a spice -of hardihood, of courage, of some honest, -manly, simple quality in the doing. Venus, -you know, ’tis said, gave herself to Mars, -and tried it on—the hussy—with a robust -young hunter; but scandal does not connect -even her name with a mummer’s!</p> - -<p>Now, this change in the young woman’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -emotional outlook from the hero, of sorts, -to the actor, is a change I can’t help feeling -to be for the worse. For, you see, the -object of the emotional outpouring is no -longer a man who does something, but only -a man who pretends to do something, who -postures and poses and plays at doing something! -“The Captain with his whiskers” -of whom our grandmothers sang, and at whom -our mothers were not allowed to peep through -the slats of their Venetian blinds, may have -been a bit of a dog, not “a marrying man,” -mayhap, as another old song had it; but at -least his scarlet jacket and his gold lace stood -for something, for something worth having. -That scarlet was smoke-blackened at Waterloo, -that gold lace lost its lustre on the slopes at -Inkerman. Girls don’t sing “The Captain -with his whiskers” now, and, to tell you the -truth, I’m rather glad of that. May I not -live to see the day, though I am afraid I shall, -when they will hymn the seductions of “The -actor with his grease pot.”</p> - -<p>Please understand—but I need not ask -that, you always do understand me, you are -the only woman who ever has, and consequently -made the right allowances—that I do<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -not say one word in contempt of the actor’s -profession as such. It is an arduous trade, -and as honest as any other whose object is to -amuse the public. They call it an “art” -now, I notice, and, perhaps it is, a kind of -a sort of an art; but my point is that it -is not a business that calls out the best, the -virile, from a man. On the other hand, -it does evoke, by the confession of lots of -actors and actresses themselves, the malign -qualities of personal vanity, petty jealousy, -and peacockiness. The constant assumption -of other personalities does and must wipe -out such personality as the man may have to -begin with. If you are always pretending to -be somebody else you must inevitably lose -your own self at last. And then, it is so -quite awfully an affair of clothes; of clothes -and of powdered wigs, and of shaven faces -and smirks. Now, I put it to you, Alexa, -do you think a delightful woman ought to -fall in love with a suit of clothes bought in -Covent Garden? Further, do you think she -can be really delightful if she does?</p> - -<p>After all, perhaps, the change is not so -great, or the thing so serious as it seems. -Perhaps, when all’s said and done, it is only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -the actor in his character of hero with whom -the young woman “falls in love.” There -would be a sharp reaction, I make no doubt, -did she see the fellow himself in tweeds -guzzling brandy and soda in a Strand bar, or -even in evening dress sipping champagne at -the Savoy. And, to do him justice, sometimes, -on the stage, in the glare of the footlights, -an actor does look uncommonly like -a gentleman. You might almost fancy he -was the Sir Rupert Glenalmond or the Lord -Archibald Heavyswell he pretends to be. -But still it is, while you are about it, -better to “fall in love” with the reality than -with the sham, isn’t it? You must fall in -love with something, I know; but let it be -with the Man, not with the Mimic.</p> - -<p>Therefore, Alexa dear, next time you go -to the theatre spend the dressing hour in the -cultivation of the critical spirit. That shall -save you. Be a modern girl by all means; -be as modern as ever you can, and count on -my support to the utmost extreme of your -modernity, but don’t, don’t be a little duffer.</p> - -<p>Always your affectionate, if, this time, also</p> - -<p class="center">Your admonitory</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_RUDENESS_OF_WOMEN">THE RUDENESS OF WOMEN</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> - -<h3>THE RUDENESS OF WOMEN</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Dec. 17, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">As in your last letter you pose me with -no puzzling questions on the subject of -conduct, I may take it, I suppose, that for -the moment, at least, life has become less -problematical to you. That is well. Even -the youngest and most intelligent of us should -cease from bothering now and then, and be -content just to be onlookers, to banish that -fearsome word “ought” from our vocabularies -and from our minds. Conduct, as -Matthew Arnold pointed out a long time -ago, is three-fourths of life, a biggish fraction, -but, after all, a fraction only; and there come -periods when we thank our stars for the comparative -restfulness of that odd quarter. I -often think that Matthew might, with advantage, -slightly have expanded his formula. -Had he said that conduct is three-fourths of -life <i>for</i> three-fourths of life he had been -nearer the mark. Men and women, but more -often men than women, I fancy, who have -passed the third quarter rarely worry themselves<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -as to what they ought, or ought not, -to do. They just go ahead and do it, confident -that whether the action turn out for -weal or for woe it has been decided for them -in that other three-quarters left behind and -beyond recall or undoing. We spend the -greater part of our life in acquiring habits, -and the lesser in acquiescent obedience to -them. Therefore, if you are to be a delightful -middle-aged lady you must practise sedulously -to be a delightful young one. It is -worth a bit of hard work to begin with, for -middle-age lasts longer than youth, and -middle-aged ladies who are not delightful are -not anything; they simply don’t count.</p> - -<p>One little habit I advise you to cultivate, -to cultivate until it becomes as natural and as -spontaneous as eating peas with a fork; it is -the habit of saying “Thank you” for minor -services rendered. We are all of us taught -that in the nursery, I know, but an uncountable -number of us, or rather of you, seem to -forget it when you lengthen your skirts. -Let me tell you something that happened -only yesterday. I went up to Charing Cross -by a mid-day train from here. The only -other person in the carriage was a woman.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -She was a lady—you know what I mean—the -sort of woman who lives in a hundred-a-year -house, who keeps three maidservants -and a boot boy, possibly a carriage, and who -goes for a month or six weeks to the Continent -or elsewhere every autumn with her -husband. The sort of person who when -she gives a small dinner party has little -pink shades over the candles and at least -two sorts of wine. I think, by the way, she -was the sort who would call a table napkin a -serviette, but perhaps I’m prejudiced by what -happened. Well, when she reached Blackheath -she rose to leave the carriage. I was -sitting in the corner by the door through -which she had to get out, and, of course, I -opened it for her. If you sit by the door -you have to open it for all the outgoers. It -is a nuisance, but it has its compensation in -the extra comfort of the corner seat. This -woman did not say “Thank you”; she -passed me without even an inclination of her -sulky head. Presently two other women got -in, two women of the same social standing as -the one who had left. At Lewisham one of -these got out. I opened the door for her. -She didn’t say “Thank you.” At London<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -Bridge precisely the same thing happened -with the remaining third. All the way thence -I meditated on writing a stinging letter to -the <i>Times</i> on “The Decadence of Manners -in the Upper Middle Class,” but you -who know me know that the letter is still to -write. What happened psychologically to -me was this: that I felt just a trifle less -regard and respect for your sex, Alexa, than I -was conscious of when I left home. I daresay -it was unreasonable of me, but there it -was. Women of our class are not really -nice, I found myself saying to myself, not -really and truly nice in the innermost soul of -them. No wonder they don’t get on with -their servants, I thought to myself, for if -they are rude to their social equals, what -must they be to those whom they think their -inferiors? I rather hated your sex for about -twenty-five minutes. And please don’t tell -me that these impolite hussies were exceptions, -because on the balance of probabilities -it is most unlikely that I should have struck -three exceptions in the course of one short -train journey. No, Alexa, you are very rude. -You are attractive sometimes, I admit; you -are even, in passing moments of folly and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -madness, bewitching, but you are very rude. -I don’t mean you personally, of course, but -you regarded collectively—you women, you!</p> - -<p>I find myself getting cross even now as I -write when I recall that incident, getting cross -and asking myself all sorts of questions which -it were well for women that men should not -ask. As, for instance: Why do we put up -so tamely with so much of your cheek? -Cheek is a slang word, but made venerable -by long use, and I can think of no other so -exactly adequate, so comprehensively expressive. -Why do we not give you more severe -talkings to than we do? They would do you -no end of good, and we know it, and yet refrain. -You scarcely ever get a severe talking -to, any of you. Yesterday, after leaving -Charing Cross Station, I walked up Bond -Street. I was really going somewhere, oh -sceptical child; you must not think your -father was merely loafing. I was not in a -hurry, and I looked at the shops. There -were lots of pretty women driving up and -down in their carriages, but I did not look -at them; I was at odds with the whole sex. -Well, those shops! With the exception of -a fishmonger’s, a few most attractive tobacconists,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -in which you cannot get a briar root -pipe under 25s., and a stray tailor or two, all -those shops were women’s shops; full of hats -for women to wear, each hat to be worn about -twice, or at the most half-a-dozen times; -shops full of frocks, each frock costing more -than a week’s earnings of a man who works -hard to make, say, £2000 a year; shops -creaming over with fluffy, frilly under-things, -the fluffiest and the frilliest of which disappear -for ever when once they leave the shop, or, let -us say, almost disappear. And then the -jewellers! Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals -in little heaps on velvet-lined trays. Diamonds -and diamonds, and yet more diamonds -flashing in the sunlight, flashing scorn and -contempt upon all such as are too poor to -purchase them; and gold, gold enough to -have paved the street! Oh, and the pearls, -the ropes, nay, rather the cables of pearls. -Pearl fishing, they used to tell me in my -<i>Child’s Guide to Knowledge</i>, is a perilous -profession, and a profession followed wholly -by men. And all the things that these shops -displayed—of course, there was more than as -much again in drawers and cupboards and -stout iron safes within the shops—were to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -bought by men and given to women. For -what? For what, in the name of reason? -Men, merely as men, give to women as much -as women, just as women, give to men; and -so that part of the account is squared by -nature’s self, as it were. But all this balance, -this ransack of Bond Street, of South African -and Eastern and Australasian mines, of ocean -depths, of forest solitudes, all this is collared -by women, and they won’t even say “Thank -you.” It is true I did not give those three -women yesterday any jewels to speak of; but -still I did save them the soiling of their -light-coloured gloves, and you know by -experience, Alexa, that carriage door handles -on our railway are always filthy.</p> - -<p>Forgive this outburst, which, after all, so -far as you are concerned, is quite impersonal, -but out of the bitterness of the heart the -pen writeth. You want to be, and I want -you to be, an exceptional woman, and the -easiest way in which to be an exceptional -woman is to be a polite one. I don’t think -there is any radical difference between the -sexes in the way of politeness. We are all -born impolite—there is nothing much more -impolite than a young baby—but one sex<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -acquires politeness and the other doesn’t—that’s -where it is. I wonder if you have -ever noticed that. If not, just use your -eyes for the next four-and-twenty hours, and -once more you will be compelled to admit -and to admire the accuracy of your father’s -criticisms of life. Watch, watch closely, -next time you see two or three young men -talking to two or three women in a drawing-room -or at a garden party. Notice the -difference (it is not a subtle, it is a quite -blatant difference) between the attitude and -tone of the men to the women and those of -the women to the men. Unless the men be -rank outsiders, and that sort is not likely to -come your way, you will find in the men’s -attitude and tone a deference, a respectful -diffidence—how shall I put it?—quite lacking -in the women. However foolish, jejune, -inconsequential be the remarks of any one of -the women the man immediately talking to -her will put on an air of interest; he will -treat her as though anything she said had -some real importance; he will receive her -feeblest joke as though it were wit of the -most polished. But she, well, if he doesn’t -amuse her she won’t even try to look amused,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -and if he bores her she will most unmistakably -look bored. It is horribly impolite to -look bored, you know. To bore is beastly, -but to look bored is damnable. Most women -behave as though their mere existence were a -blessing to men, as though all that men could -possibly ask of them was just to be there! -It is not enough, you know, Alexa; it really -isn’t, and in our saner moods we men feel -that. We don’t say unpleasant things of -you, but we feel them.</p> - -<p>The worst of it is that social custom accepts -the woman’s point of view and enforces -it. Think what happened to me last week. -It was on Wednesday—on Wednesday your -mother and I dined with the Devrients. -Your mother was all right from start to finish. -She was taken down by Forsyth—I know -you rather admire him, and you are right, -for he is about as clever as they make them, -and talks even better than he writes. But, -then, your mother is a woman, and these -sort of things are arranged for the likes of -her and you. But I! In obedience to that -monstrous social convention which pairs off -married men with married women—I never -felt it so bitterly before, for your friend, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -beautiful Janet, was there and sat opposite -me, hidden behind a tall epergne of tall -flowers, and I’m fond of Janet, and you say -she likes me—I was sent down with Mrs -⸺ (never mind, I won’t mention names), -a middle-aged woman, who has no beauty -nor traces of beauty, who is neither clever -nor interesting, who is nothing, so far as I -could make out, but stupid and rather greedy. -For the whole of that awful dinner—it lasted -from eight until a quarter to ten—I had to -make myself agreeable to that preposterous -person. And I did it. I was as nice and -kind as anything. I plied her with banalities, -such as her soul (what there was of it) -loved. I wouldn’t have minded her not -being intelligent had she been pretty. I -wouldn’t have minded her not being pretty -had she been intelligent; but she was neither, -and at the end of it I felt as though my brain -had been wiped out with a sponge. Now, -there was a man there with whom I particularly -wanted to talk, he is one of the few -men out of whom one always sets an idea or -two, but devil a word could I get with him, -and all because it is taken for granted that I, a -man, must needs want to sit next to a woman.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -On the way home your mother remarked -what a delightful evening it had been, and -how quickly it had passed! I said—but -you who know me, Alexa, know quite well -that I said nothing.</p> - -<p>The Registrar-General’s returns inform -me that men are marrying less freely than -they used, and that each year they marry less -freely than in the year before. It is almost -the one piece of evidence I can discover of -the growth and development of intelligence -among my sex. It means, say the commentators -in the newspapers and the magazines, -that men are getting more selfish, -more exacting. It does. As we get more -and more civilised so shall we demand more -and more from life. My savage ancestor -asked but little here below. I ask quite a -lot, and get some. My remote descendant -will ask more, and get all of it. Of course, -men who fall in love will continue to marry; -the Registrar-General will always have them -to go on with. For a man in love the <i>mere -girl</i> suffices. But hitherto the marriage returns -have been made up by the marriages of -a certain number, and a pretty large number, -of men who have not been in love and who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -consequently can see things, I mean women, -more or less as they really are. For them -the mere girl does not suffice. She has got -to be a nice girl as well, a girl who takes as -much trouble to be nice as she does, say, -to be clean. These are the fellows, I feel -certain, whose defection has caused, and will -further cause, the fall in the marriage rate. -Your sex is being found out, my child, found -out at long last by mine. When the discovery -is quite complete Lord only knows -what sort of a world we shall have!</p> - -<p>I don’t suppose it has ever struck you -before how nice we are to you—now -has it?—how patient we are with your -caprices, how tolerant of your tempers, -how semi-blind to your deficiencies, how -little and how rarely we use against you the -strength, moral, mental, and physical, that -is ours. An excellent French priest once -advised me, as a cure for discontent, to spend -half an hour three times a week in meditating -upon my blessings. You do that, Alexa, -and don’t forget that perhaps, on the whole, -the chiefest of yours is the possession of a -most wise and always a most loving</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="DRESS_AND_FASHION">DRESS AND FASHION</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p> - -<h3>DRESS AND FASHION</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Jan. 2, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">Don’t be alarmed at getting a letter -from me not in reply to one of yours. -Nothing has happened. “All is silver grey,” -as Andrea del Sarto says. I won’t add “placid -and perfect with my art” as he does, because -it is cheek to call one’s work perfect even -when it is, but, at any rate, both I and my -art are placid enough.</p> - -<p>No, nothing has happened. That is the -worst of it. When one reaches my age -nothing ever does happen unless one makes -it happen. When one is young adventures, -excitements, thrills, come suddenly out of -the void, thus adding to the ordinary joy of -them the throb of the unexpected. But when -one is older one has to fare forth out into the -void and seek diligently adventures, excitements, -thrills; and if one has one’s living to -earn, and a whole lot of little things to see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -after, why then one hasn’t much time for -excursions into the void.</p> - -<p>This is a purely selfish letter. It is written -to relieve my mind; by way of getting down -in black and white some thoughts that have -been twisting and twirling about like maggots -in my brain all the afternoon. In that respect, -at least, I am an artist, Alexa, and, forgive me, -my daughter, in that same respect, you are -not.</p> - -<p>The artistic temperament is not, as fools -of novelists appear to think, an itching to be -singular or noticeable in any way, an inclination -to wear ridiculous neck-ties, to omit to -wash behind the ears, or to live with people -to whom one is not married; and to quarrel -with them. It is the desire, the invincible -desire, to externalise and express in paint or -pencil, in clay or marble, in musical sounds -or in written words, one’s emotions, one’s -thoughts, one’s aspirations, one’s dreams.</p> - -<p>You, for instance, draw. For a girl of -your years and training you draw rather well. -But when you see a thing that appeals to you—a -face, a landscape, a little bit of an interior, -you do not ache and ache until you have got -it down in pencil upon paper. You are quite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -content to keep it within you. I, when I get -ever such a stupid idea in my head, am miserable -until I see it before me in words, in words -arranged as well as I know how to arrange -them. I would rather, far rather, keep an -aching tooth in my jaw than an aching idea -in my head. And so, though my neck-ties -are ever the correctest of their kind that Bond -Street knows, and though I never do any of -those other things peculiar to the artistic temperament -of rubbishy fiction, I do claim to -belong to the great company of artists.</p> - -<p>By the way, I have often wondered what -the author of the <i>Te Deum</i> was about not to -have added another line to it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The great Brotherhood of Artists, throughout all the world: Praise Thee.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Every artist, in every bit of honest work -he does, though he may not mean it or know -it, praises God. How supremely well Kipling -expressed the gist of our creed when he wrote -in that exquisite <i>Envoi</i> to “Life’s Handicap”; -you remember it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“One instant’s toil to Thee denied</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Stands all Eternity’s offence.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And now to come down from the heights<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -to the valley—I never could breathe freely -on mountain tops, Alexa; that’s why I hate -Switzerland so cordially. It is not the touring -Anglican clergy and their impossible wives I -object to so much; it is those appalling Alps. -But, as I was going to say, I write this letter -because I spent a whole half-hour this morning -reading a woman’s paper. At least, I’m not -sure it called itself a woman’s paper, it might -have been a woman’s page in an ordinary -paper. I don’t know where the thing has got -to now, so I can’t refer to it. I found it on -the hall table when I came down to breakfast.</p> - -<p>Doesn’t it make you feel a good deal -ashamed of your sex and of yourself, as one -of it, when you come across a woman’s page -in a newspaper? Doesn’t it make you feel -pretty much as you would feel if you saw -someone of your own standing behaving -rudely at dinner? or being impolite to a -child? Don’t you ask yourself, with something -as near to a swear word as you can get, -“Whom on earth is all the rest of the paper for -then? Are women so small, so narrow, such -children, such idiots as to have no interest in -politics, in art, in science, in literature; in all -the extraordinary doings of human beings all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -over the world, such as the rest of the paper -discusses and records?”</p> - -<p>“The Women’s Corner!” Think of it, -Alexa, child of my heart! The corner into -which the poor stunted, shrivelled, petty-minded -creature must betake herself to read -about dress. Pah!</p> - -<p>Here your feminine intuition will tell -you that I am in rather a bad temper. There, -there, I don’t mean to sneer at feminine -intuition. Heaven knows I have both -profited and suffered from it enough, and -more than enough in my time, and when the -sum comes to be cast up it will be found, I -daresay, that I have profited as much as -I have suffered.</p> - -<p>But I am in rather a bad temper with that -woman’s paper, not because it was all about -dress, but because it was all wrong about -dress. I don’t mean wrong in the absurd -details—I know nothing of them—but wrong -in the essence, wrong in the soul of it.</p> - -<p>Here anyone but you would say “What -in the world does the man mean by talking -about soul in an article on dress?” You -won’t say it because you know—we have -agreed about it often—that an article on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -anything whatever that has no soul in it, is -not an article at all; it is just a bladder of -rattling peas.</p> - -<p>It is not because I despise or even think -lightly of dress, that I am so unwontedly -annoyed with the person who wrote all this -slops. On the contrary, it is because I am -fulfilled with the idea of the importance of -dress and of the part it plays in the amenities -and pleasures of life. You have often told -me after we have been out together, or -people have been here, and I have been -admiring this lady or that, that I did not -even know what she had on. Precisely. -That was because she was well-dressed. Had -she been badly dressed I should have known -fast enough. The woman is well-dressed -of whose costume you remember only the -<i>ensemble</i>, what we artists call the total impression—an -impression of colour and contour. -Or sometimes of nothing even so -definite as that, of fluffiness merely.</p> - -<p>Now the writer of all this abominable -fustian knew nothing of that, that elementary -philosophy of dress. He, she, it—I don’t -know what the sex of the creature was—thought -all of the costume and nothing of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -woman. With him, her, it, the woman was -a thing to be worn with a costume, not the -costume a thing for a woman to wear. You -do see the tremendous difference, don’t you? -But, of course, you do.</p> - -<p>Really—but there, one must be tolerant. -These people are flatly ignorant, and, moreover, -they are the hirelings of others whose -business it is to make money out of dress. -That, nowadays, at anyrate, is the meaning -of fashion in the restricted sense of the word. -Fashion is not a mode of being beautiful or -even of changing from one variety of beauty -to another, or of changing to meet changing -circumstances. It is a means of putting -money into the pockets of dressmakers and -manufacturers. These people are getting -stronger and stronger, more and more -arrogant.</p> - -<p>Take a case in point. Once upon a time, -not so long ago, every woman in our class -had what was called “a set” of furs. It was -horribly expensive to begin with, but it was -taken care of and it lasted, oh, I don’t know -how long. Of course, that didn’t suit the -furriers and fur sellers—the fierce competition -of commerce and all the silly rest of it—and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -so, though the wearing of furs is still the -comfortable fashion, each season sees a change -in the smaller fashion of the furs, the cut of -them, the kind, and so on, and the women -even in our class, who don’t adopt the latest -thing, feel hopelessly uncomfortable and out -of it. They either go cold, or wear cat-skin -or rabbit-skin faked to look like something -expensive, or spend money that they haven’t -got.</p> - -<p>With that rabbit-skin and cat-skin I have -struck the note of fashion as it is in the -suburbs, the provinces, and everywhere else -except among the rich and idle people to -whom money does not matter, the people -who do nothing to make money, and so have -most of it to spend. The designers for the -big dressmakers design something that is -perhaps, though by no means certainly, -beautiful enough. If perchance it be beautiful, -its beauty lives in the artistry and science of -its fashioning, and the material of which it -is made. Now the people at the top can -purchase, without feeling it, the artistry, the -science, the rare and costly material. But -the others, you see, can’t.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, pricked and spurred by the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -low-down fashion journalists, they feel that -life is a desert without the new thing in some -shape or another. So they get it inartistically -designed, unscientifically cut, and of some -cheaper, commoner stuff. Result, they don’t -look a bit like Duchesses after all, but only -like what they are, silly and snobby women. -These are hard words, Alexa, but I am cross -to-day.</p> - -<p>Fashion in its smaller sense, “the fashion” -as it is forced upon women by the dressmakers -and designers, as a card is forced by a sharper -on a flat, is for nine people out of ten an -accursed thing, a monstrous thing. It assumes -that all women will look well dressed in the -same way. Now, if anything is certain, it is -that of any hundred women selected haphazard, -not more than ten can dress in the -same way and look anything but ridiculous. -The human body is, as you learnt when you -used to draw it at the Slade and at Colorossi’s, -a subtle thing, and demands the subtlest treatment. -There are idiosyncrasies of body as -there are of mind. I don’t mean merely -that some women are tall, some short, some -thick, and others thin, some curvy and others -angular. That has to be remembered, too,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -but I mean something more elusive than -that.</p> - -<p>Let us take a concrete case. You are not -very different in height or form from your -friend, Berta Roselli. You are not a bit -prettier. A person just looking casually at -you two—a second-rate milliner sort of person—would -say that the same sort of costume -would suit you both equally well. Yet how -delightful you used to look in those frocks -which you call, I think, “Princess” frocks, -and how completely they took away the -delightfulness from Berta. I told her so -once in so many words when we were walking -round the garden together, and she had -the good sense never to wear them again. -If you ask me why they enhanced your charm, -and destroyed Berta’s, I can’t tell you. Perhaps -there is no “why.”</p> - -<p>Then again, colour. It drives the artistic -soul furious to be told that “heliotrope is to -be fashionable in the approaching season,” -because one knows at once what one is in for. -Think of heliotrope or of any other colour -or tint in the universe worn beside every sort -of complexion, with every sort of shade of -hair! It makes one’s nerves stand on end<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> -like quills. There again, the rich women -score because they can, and do, change their -complexions and their hair to “match,” as -this putrid paper calls it, the fashionable -colour. The poorer women try to do the -same thing, and look—well. Or don’t even -try, and then!—</p> - -<p>This is merely a grumbling letter, not a -didactic essay, and so I will offer no advice in -it. To offer advice one should be in a judicial -mood, serene, detached! but I may just say -this. The one fatal thing in dress is to wear -anything because you happened to have admired -it on someone else, and for that reason -only. The one triumphant thing in the -matter of dress is to remember that you are -yourself and not that other person. In all -other matters women seem to remember it -easily enough. In the matter of dress only -do they lose their sense of identity.</p> - -<p>Now, Alexa, turn on me, do, and <i>riposte</i> by -telling me that men are every bit as bad; that -they too are the slaves of fashion. Say things -about my waistcoats if you like; I don’t care, -for I have a crushing retort up my sleeve. -Think of the things that tailor people have -tried to force upon us and how miserably they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -have failed; how they have tried to make us -go back to peg-tops, to wear coloured coats -and knee-breeches, as evening dress. Think -of these things and withhold the gibe. Or, -don’t. I do not mind. Sedate in my sense of -my sex’s immeasurable superiority,</p> - -<p class="center">I remain,</p> - -<p class="center">Your angry and æsthetic</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_MORAL_QUESTION">A MORAL QUESTION</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> - -<h3>A MORAL QUESTION</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Jan. 15, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">Your last letter interested and amused -me vastly, as I know you intended it -should. It is much the best thing in the -way of writing you have ever done. I read -and re-read and read it yet again after breakfast, -and then I carefully, though regretfully, -burnt it. One can spare oneself and others -a lot of unhappiness by the simple process -of burning letters, especially women’s letters, -more especially still charming women’s charming -letters. Indeed, the more charming the -woman and the more charming the letter the -more urgently do the flames clamour for -their rights of destruction. Had anyone -else read this last letter of yours, say, ten -years hence, they would have formed an -entirely false impression of you, and had even -you read it yourself after that lapse of time -you would have formed almost as false an -impression of yourself. Almost, I say, not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -quite, for you, I fain hope, would remember -the sort of man to whom it was written. -And it is the character of the recipient even -more than that of the writer which gives the -keynote of every letter worth the reading. -An intimate letter is the achievement of <i>two</i> -personalities—it is a kind of dialogue in -which one of the interlocutors is silent, or -rather, is heard only by the other. That -is why published letters nearly always lack -interest; we do not hear that other.</p> - -<p>Now, if anyone but your understanding -father had read that last letter of yours, they -would have thought you “not quite a nice -girl” to have repeated little bits of scandal -which you have picked up in a house in -which you are a welcome guest, and to have -criticised so freely your hosts and their -friends. They would have liked the letter, -mind you—they would have chortled over -it in pharisaical glee—I chortle, too, but -I chortle not as the Pharisees chortle—but -they would not have liked you, for they -would have feared and distrusted you, as -critics are always distrusted and feared by -the stodgy, especially critics of life. They, -you see, these hypothetical but now impossible<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -readers of your letter, would not have -known me—would not have known, as you -do, that I enjoy scandal and appreciate -criticism; and would therefore have failed -to realise how dutiful a daughter you were -in giving me the things I like.</p> - -<p>Need I, to a girl of your perceptiveness, -attempt to justify the enjoyment of scandal? -Surely it is the exceptional, not the ordinary, -which should and does interest us. If, for -instance, one were to discover a pork butcher, -who spent all the daylight hours in butchering -pork, witching the midnight with an -exquisite performance of Bach’s Chaconne -on a Strad, one would be interested in the -man, not because he was a pork butcher, but -because he was a virtuoso who loved Bach -and possessed a Strad. If Dr. Clifford were -caught with a guitar serenading a lady’s maid -in Gower Street, how one’s interest in the -man would spring to life—how much of his -windy rhetoric would instantly be forgotten? -One side of our heads would condemn him, -no doubt, but how the whole of our hearts -would warm to the man? Ah, that one -touch of nature! Forgive the banal quotation, -but I don’t often quote from other<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -people’s works, do I? Well, then, scandal -is interesting because it is exceptional. And -conduct that is not exceptional is not scandal. -No one would call the improprieties of -Messalina scandals; they were just the -commonplace occurrences of her daily life. -Now, these four persons of whose doings -you tell me are made interesting to me now -by the very fact that I have always held them -to be of the properest sect of the proper. -Next time I meet Mrs ⸺ (I had better -omit the name) I shall look at her from an -entirely different point of view. I shall make -an effort to talk to the woman, whereas, as -you know, last time I took her down to -dinner I devoted myself in esurient silence -to the entrées. See now, my daughter, what -a kindly act you have done her in repeating -that little morsel of scandal. For, as you -know, when I do try to talk—really to talk—I -generally succeed rather well. You have -assured the dear and erring lady at least one -pleasant dinner party.</p> - -<p>But you ask me—or seem to ask me, -though you do not put your query in so -many words, what ought to be your own -attitude to the lady in question—should you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -continue “to know” her, as the phrase goes, -in the future. Of course, you can’t help -knowing her just now, for a guest must -needs be courteous to fellow guests, or leave -the host’s house as quickly as is compatible -with politeness. Very well, Alexa, let us -go into this matter for a moment. What do -we, you and I, know of this lady, “know for -certain,” as the phrase goes? We know her -to be a kindly if not an obtrusively intelligent -person. We know, if you come to -think of it, quite a lot of nice, kind things -she has done for other people, things she -might have left undone and caused no -remark, superfluously kind things, that is. -We know her to be—for we have seen her -in her own home—a devoted and efficient -mother—alas that the two terms should not -be synonymous—to her little children. -Judging by her husband’s conduct to her, he -finds her an eminently satisfactory wife. -Personally, though I have never heard her -say a brilliant or even a clever thing, I have -never heard her say an unkind one. As to -this other matter of which you tell me, we -are not quite sure that it is true, are we? -A thing that is neither confessed nor proved<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -is doubtful, and according to the wholesome -custom of English law—and English law, -broadly speaking, is English common sense—the -accused has always the benefit of the -doubt. But, you seem to hint, you yourself -are “morally certain” that it is true. Moral -certainties lead often to immoral judgments, -Alexa, and, like moral victories, are always -eminently unsatisfying. But let us take it -for granted that it is true. What then? It is -assuredly nothing that immediately concerns -you or your relations with the woman, is it? -You do not catch yourself desiring to follow -her example in any way, do you? You find -no trace of her backslidings in her conversations -with you? So far as you can -perceive, and you have pretty sharp eyes, my -daughter, it does not affect her life or -manners in any way whatever. You told me -you know, that it came upon you as an -overwhelming surprise. You may reply that -such a thing “<i>must</i>” in some way affect a -woman’s life. I reply that it is not with -what <i>must</i>, but with what <i>does</i> perceptibly -happen that we in this practical work-a-day -world only are concerned. We do well to -leave <i>musts</i> to the hereafter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> - -<p>In asking yourself whether you shall or -shall not continue “to know” this lady, you -are really and essentially asking yourself -whether you shall act as judge, jury and -executioner to a person accused of an offence -against current convention, or, yes, if you -like, against current morality. But I would -point out to you that even in Law, which is -at best but a rough and ready attempt to -secure justice, the peculiar facts of the -offence, the temptations that led up to it, -are taken into some sort of account. The -plea of extenuating circumstances has weight. -Moreover, the accused is allowed to speak in -his defence either by his own lips or those of -skilled counsel. Now your court, the court -which you in secret hold, and where you -alone are judge, jury, prosecutor, and witnesses—your -court knows nothing, and can -know nothing, of peculiar facts, and of -special temptations—it can mitigate nothing -on account of extenuating circumstances, -because it is wholly ignorant of their existence -or non-existence. The accused’s lips are -sealed, and there is no counsel to plead for -her. Do you think, then, that a court so -constituted is at all likely to get anywhere<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -near to justice in its decisions? How would -you like to be tried, and executed, by such a -court, if you were charged with stealing a -yard of ribbon?</p> - -<p>You may reply, and I think you will, for -you are a persistent little dialectician when -you like, that an analogy is not an argument. -And, besides, that in talking of “execution” -I exaggerate: that anything so unimportant -a person as yourself may do can matter but -little to the lady. No, perhaps not, but it -matters a good deal to you, child, and it is -you with whom I am concerned. An unjust -act hurts the doer, hurts especially if it be a -stupidly unjust act. After it he will be a -trifle stupider, blunter, more prejudiced than -he was before. There is nothing roots -itself—no, not even the horse-radish in our -garden—so easily, and is so hard to eradicate, -as prejudice. Now prejudiced and -strong you may be, my child, but you can’t -be prejudiced and delightful, and, as I have -so often told you, above all things I want -you to be delightful.</p> - -<p>So far you are delightful, and you are -strong, too, and it is because you are strong -that I am going to say one thing more on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -this matter. The moral code of society is -not equally valid in all its clauses. Some -are of more importance and significance than -others. Those which say we must not -murder and we must not steal are of immeasurable -importance, because they apply -not to this time or that, or to that place or -this, but to <i>all</i> times and to every place. A -society which permitted or winked to any -extent at murder or theft would cease, almost -at once, to be a society. We are here now -living in comparative comfort and security -because societies in the past forbade murder -and theft; therefore the commands which -treat of these offences are of what we philosophical -old buffers call universal validity. -But there are other commandments in the -moral code of the day which are only “of the -day,” as it were. Time was when they were -not—places are where they are not, and possibly -time will come again when they will not -be. The morality which they seek to maintain -is never more than the morality of a -phase in human evolution. It may be valid <i>for -that phase</i>, but it has not universal validity. -Now, judgments and actions based on -universal validity must needs be ever so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -much more assured than judgments and -actions based on phasal validity, if you will -allow the phrase to pass. Don’t misunderstand -me. I don’t want to minimise the -importance of the rules and regulations which -are “only of the day,” for, after all, that day -is the day in which we live. Still, you see -there is a difference, isn’t there? Yes, and -it is just one of those differences of which a -wise and delightful young woman should -take count.</p> - -<p>Of course, I have not nearly exhausted my -subject, but I have very nearly exhausted -myself, and</p> - -<p class="center">I am your tired</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LIMITS_OF_FLIRTATION">THE LIMITS OF FLIRTATION</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span></p> - -<h3>THE LIMITS OF FLIRTATION</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Feb. 20, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">What a very short note! Its brevity -and its interrogativeness give it almost -the urgency of a telegram. And yet -how am I to answer it, how am I even to -begin to answer it in less than half a dozen -pages of quarto?</p> - -<p>I will not remind you of the old saying -that a certain sort of person can ask more -questions in five minutes than a wise man -can answer in a lifetime. I will not remind -you, I say, because you are not the sort of -person the old saying means, and I feel -sure that when you asked your question you -did not do it just to annoy, but because for -some reason or another you really wanted -to know. Was it personal, that reason? -Because, if so, I think, perhaps, on the -whole you had better come home.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span></p> - -<p>What, you ask me, are the limits of -flirtation? Where does it begin; where -end?</p> - -<p>I wish you hadn’t used the word: it is a -word I happen intensely to dislike, to dislike -with one of those prejudices of which we -can never give a satisfactory account. I -think, perhaps, I dislike it because it always -brings before me a mental image of one of -my own sex making a fool or a rogue of -himself. And yet I cannot blame you, for I -myself have been quite unable to find a -synonym for it.</p> - -<p>“Coquetry” is a pretty word, but -coquetry, I quite recognise, is a different -thing. Coquetry is exclusively feminine. -Now it takes two to make a flirtation, and -one of them must not be a woman. And -then, after all, the word has a worthy -ancestry.</p> - -<p>Do you know who invented it? A dozen -pairs of gloves to one you don’t? It was -that greatest of all gentlemen that ever were, -Lord Chesterfield, and he, like the gallant -fellow he was, modestly attributed it to some -unnamed lady of his acquaintance.</p> - -<p>I came across it quite a little while ago in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -Volume XVI. of my <i>British Essayists</i>. You -know them, those little books bound in -expensive calf with red labels, which nearly -fill a whole bookshelf in the library, and -which you always refuse to open because -you say they look so dull. Well, in No. -101 of <i>The World</i>, dated December 5, -1754, Lord Chesterfield is praising your sex -for the good service it has done to the -English tongue; and I can’t think how he -could! “I never see a pretty mouth opening -to speak,” he says, “but I expect, and -am seldom disappointed, some new improvement -of our language.”</p> - -<p>Happy times! Happy man! If only he -could have been here the other day when the -Darkleigh girls called. Their entire vocabulary -consisted of one word, “ripping.” No, -I do them wrong. There was another, -“rag.” And yet what an extremely charming -girl Muriel is, isn’t she? And, after -all, why should a woman be a dictionary?</p> - -<p>But to return to Lord Chesterfield. He -goes on to say:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I assisted at the birth of that most -significant word ‘flirtation,’ which dropped<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -from the most beautiful mouth in the world, -and which has since received the sanction of -our most accurate Laureate in one of his -comedies. Some inattentive and undiscerning -people have, I know, taken it to be a -term synonymous with coquetry; but I lay -hold of this opportunity to undeceive them, -and eventually to inform Mr Johnson -that flirtation is short of coquetry and -intimates only the first hints of approximation, -which subsequent coquetry may reduce -to those preliminary articles that commonly -end in a definitive treaty.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>I have quoted Chesterfield merely for the -sake of historic interest, not because his -definition is much to the point just now. -Since his time the word flirtation has changed -its meaning, just as the thing has changed its -character. It means a good deal more -to-day than those “first hints of approximation.” -Flirtation with us does not end -(except by some calamitous accident) in the -“definitive treaty” of marriage. The proof -of which is that when it does we usually say, -or think, “Oh, then it wasn’t a flirtation -after all, it was serious;” implying, of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -course, that that which is serious is not -flirtation.</p> - -<p>Not but what stupid people among us -misuse the word abominably. You will -sometimes hear a woman accused of flirting -with a man when she has been merely -making herself as delightful as she knows -how to him; doing her simple duty to herself -and to him, that is.</p> - -<p>But we need not trouble ourselves, you -and I, as to what stupid people say or think. -We agreed that we wouldn’t, a long time -ago, you remember. I have noticed, too, -that people who say things about us always -are stupid—which is one to us, isn’t it?</p> - -<p>No, no, flirtation to-day may go a long way -beyond those first hints of approximation and -still remain flirtation, without reaching those -limits you talk of. It may ... but perhaps -only concrete instances have value in a -discussion of this sort, so let me give you -one. A day or two ago, I went, rather late -in the afternoon, to the Exhibition of Old -Masters now on in Burlington House. I -wish you had been there too; there is -gorgeous Sir Joshua, which you would have -knelt down and worshipped. I should have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -done it myself but for a sense of humour -and a touch of rheumatism in the knee. -Well, in the water-colour gallery I came -upon a man I know and you know, with a -woman I know and so do you. They were -not looking at the drawings, they were sitting -on a seat between two screens. My almost -feminine intuition (don’t jeer) told me that -they had not looked at a picture since they -had passed the turnstile. However, please -understand, Alexa, that there was not the -slightest harm in those two people being -where they were on that afternoon.</p> - -<p>At our time of day and amongst our set, -I should hope, any man might go to any -picture gallery with any woman and escape -censure. But the point about these two -people was this. When they saw me, and -saw that I saw them, they seemed embarrassed. -And then the man gave me a look -which meant, if ever a look meant anything, -“I know you’re a decent chap, and I am -confident you will hold your tongue,” and the -lady did not look at me at all, she fidgeted -with the edge of her veil. The veil, by the -way, of course, gave the whole thing away. -It was thickish. People who want to see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -pictures don’t wear thick veils. Now, that -embarrassment, that look of the man’s at me, -that little nervous gesture of the lady’s, told -me that here was a flirtation. Nothing more -than a flirtation so far. I am confident of -that. But a flirtation, mind you, that had -almost reached the limits.</p> - -<p>An understanding, a secret understanding, -an understanding from which the rest of the -world is excluded, is of the very essence of -flirtation. The <i>entente</i>, the agreement, may -never have been made by words spoken -in corners, or written in notes, but it must at -least have been made in looks or, no, perhaps -not by anything so definite as they, by the -creation of that most impalpable but most -real thing, an atmosphere, an emotional -atmosphere.</p> - -<p>When does a flirtation begin, then? It -begins directly she has succeeded in convincing -him (of course you may reverse the sexes) -that he is more attractive to her than any of -the other men about. Mind, I say in convincing -him. Until he is convinced the -thing has not begun; it is only an attempt -at a flirtation—and to fail in such an attempt -is, with one exception, the most disastrous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -defeat a woman can sustain. No woman -can encounter two beatings of that sort and -retain her self-esteem. Her <i>amour propre</i> is -irreparably ruined. A man, on the other -hand, can survive any number of rebuffs and -come up smiling to face the next; for he can -always comfort himself with the thought -that it was the lady’s prudence and not his -own unattractiveness that was responsible -for the licking.</p> - -<p>A flirtation must be without serious intent. -If one of the parties to it have anything -more definite in view, consciously in view, -then he or she is not flirting; it is a one-sided -affair. It is in no way destructive -of the accuracy of my definition that most -affairs are one-sided affairs.</p> - -<p>There may be in a flirtation, there nearly -always is, a sort of subtle subconsciousness -of delightful possibilities, of dangerously -delightful possibilities, but that is all there -may be; and it is just these vague possibilities -that give the salt to the dish.</p> - -<p>Flirtation then you see, Alexa, is, like -virtue, its own reward. That, I think, is the -only respect in which it does resemble virtue. -Like art, it must exist only for its own sake;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -and it is remarkably like art. Indeed, it -is no inconsiderable part of the art of life. -The object of art, as Pater says somewhere, -is to render radiant, to intensify, our moments. -That and nothing else is the object, so far as -it has an object, of flirtation.</p> - -<p>Of course it gratifies our vanity, and of all -gratifications, or nearly all, the gratification -of vanity is the sweetest, the one with least -alloy or unpleasant after-taste. Vanity -suffers from hunger, but never from indigestion, -no, nor from satiety. There are few -things in this world which give a man, who -is a man and not a pudding, such a tingling -thrill of pleasure as the consciousness that a -woman, an ordinarily discreet woman, has -run the ever-so-slightest risk of compromising -herself for his sake.</p> - -<p>A woman once told me—quite a nice -woman, Alexa, not a cat, nothing like a cat—that -life’s height was the knowledge that -she could raise a man to the summits or cast -him down to the depths, by giving or withholding -a glance as she left the dinner-table -for the drawing-room. So you see flirtation -has its points as a form of sport.</p> - -<p>Obviously then, as I said, there must be an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -understanding, a tacit, if temporary, alliance -between the pair. They must have made a -little circle for themselves, a little circle in -which they two move alone, from which the -rest of the world is excluded, as it were, by a -burning bush. There may be a <i>ménage à trois</i>, -indeed, I am told that the <i>ménage à trois</i> is -one of the commonest of social phenomena, -but a flirtation <i>à trois</i> there can never be. A -woman may flirt with two men, or a man with -two women, but neither of the two must -know of the other’s existence or the thing -falls to pieces.</p> - -<p>It is in truth a sort of exercise preliminary -to the duel of sex. The combatants are combatants -only by courtesy; they fence with -the buttons on the foils. So long as the game -is played according to the rules, there is likely -to be naught more seriously discommoding -than a scratch or a tiny little blue bruise which -in a day or two will disappear. But, and here -is the spice of it, at any moment one of the -buttons may come off by accident, or be taken -off by fraud, and then—well, then certainly a -garment may be torn to rags, possibly a heart -may be pierced.</p> - -<p>Where does flirtation end? you ask. Well,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -I can tell you where it never ends. It never -ends in a row. Never, at any rate, when he -or she has more brains than a guinea-pig. -Of course, with downright fools there is no -telling. If there be ever so slight a row, ever -so faint a scandal, then there has been something -more than a flirtation. The limits have -been passed; a button, somehow or other, -has come off a foil. When somebody is trying -to get back somebody’s letters somebody has -leaped the limits: be sure of that.</p> - -<p>Miss Rhoda Broughton, an author whom -young women of to-day are a little apt -to slight, makes Sarah in <i>Belinda</i> say:—“I -may be a flirt, but thank heaven in the -whole length and breadth of Europe there -exists not a scrap of my handwriting.” Or -words to this effect. May be a flirt forsooth! -Of course she was a flirt, and a flirt of accomplishment, -or she could never truthfully have -made the boast.</p> - -<p>But the limits? Well, they are like most -other limits that determine the conduct of -men and women. They are shifting limits, -they change from age to age, and from climate -to climate; nay, more than that, from social -set to social set. Judging from what I hear<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -on the top and bottom levels of our present -society there is no fault to find with their -narrowness; and even with us though they -may be not so wide as a church door (horrid -simile that; a church should never even be -thought of in connection with a flirtation) -they will do, they will serve.</p> - -<p>Perhaps you want me to be practical though. -Well, here goes then. Secret assignations -should be avoided as beyond the limits, so -should the underground post. You know -what I mean by the underground post; letters -sent to clubs or to post-offices.</p> - -<p>Dark corners at dances? Well—yes. A -dark corner may just be inside the boundary, -but a clasped hand in that dark corner is -well over it. But by the way, Alexa, on the -whole it seems not wise in me to set out these -limits for you, because the limits of flirtation -are also the perilous edges of—find the word for -me in the <i>Thesaurus</i>. There is plenty of room -well within those limits for you to entertain -yourself, and others, in security. Keep away -from the limits, for, as I said, they are vague, -apt sometimes, in emotional moments, to -become blurred, invisible even perhaps. When -a girl of your tender years gets near to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -limits she is likely to call for the prompt -and most disagreeable intervention of a, and -particularly of</p> - -<p class="center">Your, stern and relentless,</p> - -<p class="center">Though never heavy,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MENS_LOVE">MEN’S LOVE</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span></p> - -<h3>MEN’S LOVE</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Jan. 20, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">Your appetite for knowledge does you -credit. It is inherited, doubtless. And -how comprehensive it is! You wish -you knew all about men, do you? A -moderate wish; a wish that if realised would -make you empress of the world. Yes, that -and nothing less than that is the destiny of -the woman, when she arrives, who knows all -about men. We shall not see her just yet -though, and when, if ever we do, then, as -Swinburne’s distressful lover says:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Content you, I shall not be there.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>So as things are I sleep peacefully o’ nights. -That masterful lady does not even trouble -my dreams.</p> - -<p>Don’t you know, child, that men are now, -and always have been, combined in a conspiracy -not to let women know all about -them; nay, more than that, to permit women<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -to know as little as possible? Men are not -very clever in other ways, but they are, I -fancy, clever enough to make that particular -conspiracy a success. They have done very -well so far, anyhow.</p> - -<p>Women know curiously little about men; -curiously little considering the long time they -have had to study the subject, and how -greatly it has always been to their interest to -know as much as possible. Take women -novelists, for instance—not the silly sort, but -the very best of them, the giantesses of -fiction—Georges Sand, George Eliot, Charlotte -Brontë—to say nothing of the second -string, the women writers of our day, the Mrs -Craigies, the Ouidas, the Mrs Humphrey -Wardses. Why is it, by the way, that when -there was no “Woman Movement” there -were great women artists, and that now when -woman is clamorous and obtrusive there are -none?</p> - -<p>But take, as I said, the big women. Scarce -one of them has presented us with a real live -man. Think of Charlotte Brontë’s Rochester! -George Eliot did better. Just now and then -some of her men do really think and feel as -men feel and think. But that, I suggest,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -was because George Eliot was herself something -more or less than a woman. The men -in women’s novels, it is true, act as men act, -but they rarely or never think as men think. -Women are keenly observant; they see what -men do; they don’t know, because men never -tell them, what men think.</p> - -<p>Now please don’t make, even in your own -mind, the obvious and inept reply, “Neither -do men know women,” because by the universal -consent of women themselves the great -men novelists, and some of the small ones, -have portrayed veritable women; Balzac, for -example, and George Meredith, and Thomas -Hardy and Flaubert! Was there ever a -realer woman than Madame Bovary?—I am -not sure, though, that you have made her -acquaintance.</p> - -<p>The concealment, conscious and unconscious, -begins almost at the beginning. The -smallest schoolboy never lets his sisters see -him as he sees himself and as he is seen of -his fellows. To his sisters he talks a different -language even, a different language from -the language of the playground, I mean. -And it is well for him that he does. If he -didn’t, and his father caught him at it, there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -would be sorrow and soreness for that boy. -No novelist, man or woman, has so much -as begun to depict the schoolboy as he is. -Kipling is nowhere near it, nor Eden -Phillpotts, nor the rest. And as for Tom -Brown...!</p> - -<p>No, not only do women not know men, -but they don’t even know boys, and that -really is queer, because women themselves -are curiously like boys in many ways, and, -after all, they do have a good deal to do -with the bringing up of boys. But it is -wonderful how much a boy manages to hide -even from his mother. I don’t think he -does it consciously; it is the inherited -instinct of his sex—the result of natural -selection, probably—explainable on Darwinian -principles, like most else in this -world.</p> - -<p>You see, for you know your Darwin, if -a man were to let women know all about -him no decently civilised woman would ever -be found so fond or so foolish as to mate with -him. Consequently he would never reproduce -his kind—he would not be the fittest -and would not survive.</p> - -<p>Rum, isn’t it? I have only just thought<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -of it, but I am quite sure it is a discovery -of vast importance—that the continuance of -the race depends upon women’s ignorance -of men.</p> - -<p>Let me give you an example of their -colossal ignorance of boys. Mrs Bates was -here the other day. You know she is an -exceptionally intelligent woman, and really -learned also. She had been reading some -Italian psychologist’s book on Love; and, -judging from what she told me, that -foreigner really appears to have known -something about it. It seems he gave a -case of a lad of fourteen who had a passion -for a lady of thirty or thereabouts. And -Mrs Bates asked me if such a thing were -possible! I enlightened her with frankness -and great wealth of detail. But I could see -she didn’t believe me; she thought I was -talking through my hat all the time; inventing -as I went on.</p> - -<p>I don’t ask you, Alexa, whence comes -this new-born desire of yours to know all -about men; but I warn you that I am -pretty good at guessing. However, let -that pass. Not only will you never know -all about men, but at present, my kiddie,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -you don’t know anything at all. Knowledge -of live things is not to be got from books -or plays. All you can get from books or -plays is—what shall I call it? there is no -one word that will do—a sort of vague and -deceptive hint of the reality. That is not -very well put, but it is the best I can do -for the moment. Knowledge of life means -knowledge of men and women, just that -and naught but that, and knowledge of life -can only be got by living. You can learn -no more of it from books than you could -learn of a country by merely studying a -map. You would, of course, learn more of -it in five minutes from some intelligent and -talkative traveller who had been there, and -who chatted freely.</p> - -<p>Well, your father is such a traveller, and -he has made a longish journey through the -territory of life, a territory in which he has -looked about him with the eyes of a man. -Even so, he can’t do much for his daughter, -but he can do something, he has done something, -and he will do more if time be -granted him.</p> - -<p>Bear in mind, then, when you read of -love, the love of the sexes, when you hear<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -it talked about, when you see it, apparently -going on under your eyes, that this traveller -towards the end of his journeyings often -catches himself doubting whether there is -such a thing as <i>love</i> of the sexes at all, -whether, in short, to call the thing -“love” is not to do an outrage to language -and to common sense.</p> - -<p>Of course, you can call any thing by any -name you like, but you have no sort of -right to call two widely and fundamentally -different things by the same name. And -to call the emotion I have for you, for -instance, by the same name as you call the -emotion a man experiences for a woman -when he is “in love” with her is monstrous. -The two things are dissimilar in almost -every respect.</p> - -<p>When a man and woman are infected by -what some scientific French gentleman -seriously declares to be the love-microbe -they are, it seems to me, the victims of all -sorts of curious delusions and illusions, and -they are unable to analyse their own states of -mind. The man feels capable of all sorts of -heroism and nobility, and the woman of any -amount of self-sacrifice. That feeling of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -theirs is sheer delusion. In point of fact -they are both in a state of highly inflamed -egoism. Introduce the slightest whiff of -jealousy and the heroism and the self-sacrifice -are converted into the lowest-down sort of -meanness. At once you get base and baseless -suspicions, spying, of the opening-letters -and listening-outside-doors order, and often, -to wind up with, cruelty and savagery more -frightful than the beast’s.</p> - -<p>Well now, is the thing, this in-loveness -which can be so easily transformed into -devilry, worthy of the name we give to the -feeling of parents for children, or friends -towards one another? Yet that first thing -is what is meant when one talks of the love -of the sexes!</p> - -<p>Mind you, there is no avoiding that -microbe, the anti-toxin has not yet been -found, and I don’t mind predicting that if -ever it be found the demand for it will be of -the slackest. I don’t mind confessing that -if that microbe were swept out of the world, -as we hope some day to sweep out the -tubercle bacillus, the little chap would leave -the world considerably duller than he found -it, so dull as to be no place for the likes of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -me. But still we may as well see the thing -for what it is. Because we are all mad -sometimes, and enjoy our brief deliriums, -there is no reason why in the sane intervals -we should not frankly recognise what we -were the last time we went mad and what -we are likely to be the next.</p> - -<p>Please don’t imagine that I have written the -above passage by way of a warning to you. -The philosopher neither warns against the -inevitable nor regrets it. He likes just to -look it straight in the face sometimes, that’s -all. It amuses him.</p> - -<p>But now, apart from this in-loveness—which -I will not call love, hang me if I will—do -men, men as a whole, men as a sex, -love women, women in the lump, women as -a sex? As I live, I don’t believe they do! -It would be interesting if some leisured and -industrious person—you might take on the -job, Alexa, when you return—would compile -a volume of proverbs, aphorisms, epigrams, -from all languages, which have women as -their subject. There is scarcely one of them—I -don’t remember one—that has a word to -say in her praise. As Dick Phenyl used to -say in <i>Sweet Lavender</i>, ... ah heaven!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -a senile shudder runs through me when I -think what a long time ago that was—“it’s all -blame, blame, nothing but blame,” and a -good deal more than blame, heavy vituperation, -acrid snarling, and, I freely admit it, -often disgusting and mendacious slander. -But still, there we are; men made these -proverbs and aphorisms, men cut and polished -these epigrams, and men have kept them as -current coin in the world.</p> - -<p>Now I put it to you, does one satirise, -ironise, slate, bully-rag, and squirt verbal -vitriol at the thing one loves?</p> - -<p>Then, watch men. You have the opportunity, -since I understand you have a full -house just now. Watch them, then. Do -they, for instance, hurry up to the drawing-room -after dinner, or do they linger down -there over their wine and their talk till the -hostess loses her patience and every feminine -eye keeps turning to the door? No doubt -if there’s any man there hopelessly “in love” -he would sneak up if he dared. But the -others? And oh! if you were to see us the -moment after the dining-room door has -closed behind you, you dears! If you were -to see how we draw our chairs up, to note<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -the change in our voices, the air of comfort -with which we finger our glasses, the heavy -reluctance with which we rise when the host -gives the word! Oh!</p> - -<p>I suppose there’s a little shooting still -going on, isn’t there, or is it all over? But -if there is, I dare say some of the women go -out with the guns, or at any rate meet the -men for luncheon. Well, watch the men’s -faces, watch closely (don’t listen to their -voices, we know how to school our voices) -when the women volunteer. You will see -how men pant for “women’s society!”</p> - -<p>They won’t have you in their clubs, Alexa; -think of that. Some years ago I, greatly -daring, did propose at the annual general -meeting of my club that women should be -admitted—to tea. I could not find a -seconder. One old gentleman who, to my -great surprise, did rise to second me turned -out to be deaf, and thought I was proposing -something quite different. That luckless -attempt of mine almost ruined my reputation; -the memory of it still clings to me -like the traces of some fell disease. They -thought I was, well—pretty much everything -but what I am.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> - -<p>And yet how polite and altogether nice -men are to you, aren’t they? How promptly -they spring forward to take the lightest -parcel from your hand, with what lackey-like -deference do they hold open the door that -you may pass out! Yes, but then you are a -woman, a pretty and attractive woman of -their own social standing. Again I say, -watch. Do they show quite the same -alacrity in the case of a less delightful or -of a much older woman than you? Still -further, do they show any disposition at all -to carry the coal-box upstairs for the housemaid—and -the housemaid, after all, is a -woman, you know.</p> - -<p>No; men do not love women. Or, if -they love them they love them as the hawk -loves the pigeon, or as you love chocolate -almonds. Men, as men, do not, I repeat, -love women as women; but I love you, and -I am always</p> - -<p class="center">Your devoted</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MANS_POINT_OF_VIEW">THE MAN’S POINT OF VIEW</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> - -<h3>THE MAN’S POINT OF VIEW</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>Feb. 9, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">No—that formal greeting inadequately -expresses my emotion at the moment—I will -say then, Alexa dearest—</p> - -<p>I am really sorry that my last letter should -have put you into such a flutter; should -have ruffled your mind’s plumage so quite -unduly. I find I nearly always do come to -grief in this way when I neglect the advice -given me years and years ago by a wise and -wicked old man, when I was a foolish and a -passably good young one.</p> - -<p>“My boy,” that old rapscallion said—he -was holding up a glass of his own port to the -candle when he said it, and enjoying the -delight of the eye previous to the pleasure of -the palate. “My boy, never tell the truth -to women. You’ll find it infernally difficult -to do any way, and it always turns out badly.” -He gave me much other counsel of a similar -sort. Sometimes I have acted upon it and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -sometimes I have not. When I have I have -always scored handsomely; when I haven’t -I have invariably been sorry for myself.</p> - -<p>He was a remarkable old gentleman, old -Gillion. He enjoyed the worst reputation -of any man of his set. When I say enjoyed -I mean enjoyed. He loved it; he cherished -it as a collector of books cherishes his rare -old editions. He died at the age of eighty-seven -in an odour of diabolism, tenderly -served and waited upon by a troop of affectionate -and expectant grandchildren, to whom -he left not a penny. Years before he had -invested all his money in an annuity. But -they didn’t know that. They say he died -with a smile on his lips. I can quite believe -it. He always loved irony.</p> - -<p>It is, as that sage reprobate said, infernally -difficult to tell the truth to women, and that, -I make no doubt, is why it so seldom gets -told. For one thing the truth, the bare -truth, is nearly always unpleasant, and so you -see, the temptation to lie attacks us on our -softer, our more kindly, side. I am quite -sure that nine times out of ten when men -deceive women they do it much less for their -own sakes than for the sakes of the women.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -Now, don’t raise your eyebrows and draw -down your lip-corners, because that really is -so. Moreover, they often feel (if they be of -a philosophic cast they know) that the deception -comes nearer to the truth than the actual -bald fact would be. Bald facts are seldom -or never true facts. Truth is ever a thing -of atmosphere, of light and shade, of fine gradations. -Truth is a point of view, sometimes -a very temporary and transient point of view.</p> - -<p>A point of view. Yes, that’s it. And -that is why it is not only difficult but, I -incline to think, impossible for men to tell -the truth to women. Suppose you have two -persons whose eyes are so constructed that -they can only see the world through glasses, -and suppose one of these persons is doomed -always to wear green glasses and the other -pink glasses. How on earth can any object -ever look the same to both? A can tell B -that a sheet of paper is green, but he may -say so for ever, and yet B will always see it -pink. And the fun of the thing is that it is -really white all the time! And what do I -mean by “really”? I don’t know.</p> - -<p>But are men and women so different as all -that, you will be asking yourself. Yes, they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -are. Quite as different as all that, and more -so. They are wonderfully different. The -longer I live and the more I look about me -the greater and more distinct do the differences -seem to become. I know it’s the -fashion just now, especially among strong -women and weak men, to deny this, and to -declare that as we evolve we grow nearer to, -more like, each other. Sheer nonsense, my -dear, sheer nonsense!</p> - -<p>One of the most notable marks of civilisation -is the way in which it differentiates the -sexes. A savage father is much nearer to his -daughter than I am to you. I am rather -sorry for it, but it can’t be helped, and this -letter of yours goes some way towards -proving it. And yet I don’t know that I -am quite honest in saying that I am sorry for -it—another instance of how difficult it is to -tell the truth, you see—for it seems to me -that a good deal of the joy, or at any rate of -the excitement, of life is brought about by -just that difference. Life has little that is -exciting to your civilised man, and if you -deprive him of that...!</p> - -<p>But to come to your letter. You say that -I picture the world to you, the world of men<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -and women, as a place full of ravening beasts -of prey, and you add that now whenever two -or three men are fluffing round you, you will -feel like a defenceless pigeon surrounded by -hungry hawks. Well, if my letter has done -that for you it must have wrought a transformation -indeed. I have seen you more -than once with two or three young men fluffing -(I like that word fluffing, it is apt; keep it -for future use) round you and somehow it -never struck me that they in the faintest -degree resembled hawks or that there was anything -of the silly pigeon about my daughter. -They generally, I seem to remember, looked -nervous and rather scared, though genuinely -anxious to please, very unhawk like; but -then they were young, and I dare say a callow -hawk is pretty well as timid as a newly hatched -chick. Courage comes with age, with the -hardening of the beak and the sharpening of -the talons.</p> - -<p>Yet I am not altogether sorry if my last -letter brought to you some realisation of some -part of the truth; one aspect of it, let us say. -Looked at from one point of view, the world -of men and women is full of ravening beasts -of prey. But take up another standpoint and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -you will see that the powers and opportunities -of the beasts are often pretty narrowly limited. -Limited sometimes by their own ignorance of -their own powers, limited always by the social -institutions which they themselves have established. -It seems rum, but the wolf has filed his -own fangs, the hawk has clipped his own claws.</p> - -<p>You may be a pigeon, Alexa, but, thanks -to many things, you are not a defenceless -pigeon. You are defended, for instance, by -your own brains, by the knowledge which I -have taken good care should be yours, by the -customs of the social circle in which you were -born, by the institution of marriage, and most -of all by the jealousy and suspicion the wolves -and hawks have of one another. So on the -whole you are tolerably safe, my birdie; you -need not flutter a feather. Remember what -I once told you in another letter when I was -employing a slightly different set of metaphors—it -is always the traitor in the citadel who -gives the fortress away.</p> - -<p>“If men don’t really love women, women -as a sex, as distinguished from their own -particular women,” you ask, “why is it that -they protect them to such an extent, to such a -so often unnecessary and troublesome extent?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -Why do they always rescue them first in shipwrecks -and fires, and so on?”</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, that was almost exactly -the question your friend Stella put to me only -yesterday when she called here at tea time and -everybody but I was out.</p> - -<p>By the way, what a ferociously advanced -young woman Stella is becoming! She quite -scared me now and then. I never felt at all -sure what she was going to say next. She -was in a great rage with one of her young -men cousins who had taken her to the theatre -the night before, or the night before that. I -forget for the moment what the play was, but -it doesn’t matter. She liked it and was -intensely interested in it, but the young man -violently disapproved of it—disapproved of -it for her, that is. Half way through the -second act he insisted on her leaving the -theatre there and then. Stella made a fight -of it, but she couldn’t make a scene, and so -she caved in, and now she swears she will -never speak to him again.</p> - -<p>The reason he gave her was that he could -not bear the idea of his cousin (“<i>his</i> cousin,” -you should have heard Stella emphasise the -possessive) listening to such a grossly improper<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -thing as that. Stella’s very pretty -face wrinkled with wrath when she told me. -“<i>His</i> cousin,” she repeated. “As though I -were his property. But that’s always the -way with men. The man’s point of view! -How I hate it! They can’t bear that anything -of which they disapprove should come near -any woman connected with them. They -don’t mind about the others.”</p> - -<p>And so, quite against my own will, I was -compelled—the while I soothed her with -chocolates—to defend, or rather to explain -(it comes to the same thing) the Man’s Point -of View. My explanation will go some way -to answering you.</p> - -<p>Stella was right in one thing. She put her -finger—what beautiful hands the girl has, by -the way, did you ever notice them?—directly -on the spot. It is the sense of proprietorship -that does it. Men do not love women as -women, but they do love, or at any rate have -some sort of feeling which serves the purpose -of love, their own women kind, the women -“connected with them.” There is nothing a -bit noble in it to begin with, it is just sheer -egoism; the same sort of feeling that makes -a child before it can talk hold on tight to a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -toy that you try to take away from it. I -remember you, when you were in your cradle, -punched me with one fist while you clung on -with the other to a woolly red ball that you -would cram into your mouth. Well, just so, -but more effectively would I punch a man -who tried to take you away from me. And -at the root the motive for the punching would -be the same. So, Alexa, unless the man be -quite of the right sort let him look to himself, -for I still keep my punching muscles in trim.</p> - -<p>No, in this sense of ownership there is -nothing noble, nothing magnificent, nothing -to swagger about. But just as a very lovely -and exquisite flower may have a very dirty -and ugly root, so from this sense of ownership -has grown the fine flower of chivalry -and the less fine and flowerlike but, for work-a-day -purposes, the much more useful plant -of men’s protective attitude to all women, or, -not to exaggerate, to a good many women.</p> - -<p>It is sometimes inconvenient to the women -concerned, no doubt, as it was the other -night to Stella; but it is thanks to it that -they have any sort of a time in the world. -That feeling of proprietorship which a man -concentrates on his own women folk he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -extends in a diluted and attenuated form to -the women of his own class, and in a form -still more attenuated (sometimes very thin -indeed) to all women. Roughly put it -amounts to this, that each man is ready to -protect any woman against any other man. -There are occasions, spite of the proverb to -the contrary, when hawks do peck out other -hawks’ eyes.</p> - -<p>So you see on the whole it is a little ungrateful -to grumble at the Man’s Point of -View, isn’t it?</p> - -<p>I think I said a page or two back that one -of your defences was the institution of -marriage. Perhaps, lest you should think I -was talking mere conventional rubbish, I had -better explain what I meant.</p> - -<p>Men are not cowards; lots of them love -and choose danger for its own sake. Bernard -Shaw is quite wrong when he says in one of -his plays that fear is the greatest of all human -forces. That remark is only a little feat of -intellectual gymnastics, designed to startle. -But, valiant and daring blades though men -are, there is one thing that they fear with a -craven, shrinking, shivering terror. That -thing is marriage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span></p> - -<p>“They marry!” you reply. Why, yes, -and so also do they die, though often with -somewhat less reluctance; and they marry -just as they die, because they can’t help themselves. -The impulse to marriage (as things -are) is as irresistible as the spear-thrust of -Death. It would be interesting if in the -vestry after the ceremony one could apply -some species of Chinese torture to every -bridegroom and extort from him the truth -as to whether he did indeed want to marry -this woman. He wanted this woman, of -course, but did he want, actually want, to -take upon himself the life-long responsibilities, -the life-long expenses, the life-long -risks, the life-long limitation of liberty?</p> - -<p>Why the fact, this deep aversion of the -man from marriage, this recoil from the altar, -is marked in common speech, and anything -that is marked in common speech “is so,” as -the Americans say. Don’t you often hear it -said that Miss So-and-So has “caught,” -“hooked,” “captured,” young Thingamy? -When do you ever hear that a man has -caught, hooked, or captured (in a matrimonial -sense) a woman?</p> - -<p>The institution of marriage is the highest<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -and the stoutest barrier between the sexes -that society has ever set up. That is not -a paradox. It is a plain, almost an obvious -truth. Thus the pigeon (poor little pigeon!) -escapes many attacks from the hawks without -the trouble of moving a wing. In other -words, a woman meets with far fewer advances, -much less pursuit, and consequently -much less temptation, from men than she -would were it not for this institution of -marriage. The boldest and most hungry -hawk thinks twice before swooping on the -pigeon if he knows that the pigeon, harmless -as she looks, may turn and manacle him to -her for the rest of his natural life, before he -knows where he is.</p> - -<p>And so, Alexa, if you sometimes feel that -fewer young men fluff around you than your -many attractions might warrant, don’t be depressed -or self-distrustful. It is not because -you are not pretty or fascinating enough; it -is because they are afraid you might marry -them. Their self-restraint is really the -highest compliment they can pay you.</p> - -<p>Good-bye, and don’t be offended with your -truth-loving</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_DOMESTIC_HEARTH">THE DOMESTIC HEARTH</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<h3>THE DOMESTIC HEARTH</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>March 1, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">If you have a fault—and far be it -from your adoring father to suggest that -you have—but if you have a fault, it shows -itself in your trick of asking questions -beginning with an “ought.” I think my recollection -is right when it tells me that your -last three letters have, together with a good -deal that was both interesting and diverting, -contained a query as to whether you or somebody -else “ought” or “ought” not to do -something or other. When it is a case of -You, I feel myself more or less competent to -answer; for about You I do know a little, -you see; but when you ask me what somebody -else ought to do or to leave undone, -somebody else of whom I know nothing, why, -then I am stricken with a feeling of hopeless -futility. I sit here and dither, and cover -sheets of letter paper with my illegible handwriting -only to tear them up after a miserable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -half-hour’s boggling. For to know what a -person “ought” to do, one must know the -person, you see, and the circumstances in -which that person is posed. There are no -“oughts” unrelated to particular persons and -particular circumstances. If there were, what -plain sailing life’s perilous voyage would be, -wouldn’t it? In point of dismal fact that -voyage is made upon an uncharted sea. A -few plain general instructions in the principles -of navigation are all we get; we have to look -out for the rocks and shoals and whirlpools -and adverse currents for ourselves.</p> - -<p>There are not nearly so many “oughts” in -life as you in the solemn ingenuousness of -your youth doubtless imagine. As you grow -older you will find the “oughts” diminish -and the “musts” increase. That is to say -what looks like moral freedom gradually, and -not so very gradually either, gives way to -what in stern fact is practical necessity. But -I suppose I must come to the point.</p> - -<p>“Ought girls to earn their own livings?” -you ask in a postscript, which I can’t help -wishing you had forgotten to add. There is -no dodging a postscript, there is no pretending -one hasn’t noticed it. That is perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -why women are so fond of it. But—no -longer to dodge yours—see how the facts of -life limit the scope of your question. See -how your “ought” is, for the vast majority -of young women, at once converted into a -“must.” For the vast majority of young -women the question does not so much as -arise. They do earn their own livings as it -is, and they do it not because they ought or -because they choose, but just because they -must. The housemaid, for instance, who -made your bed this morning, and who, I hope, -dusted and put straight your room—a lengthy -business, Alexa, for I know your ways—do -you suppose that her action was the outcome -of any moral questionings or of personal predilection? -Do you suppose she did it from -a high sense of duty, because she felt that -something would go askew with the universe -or with her own soul if she left it undone? -Of course she didn’t. She did it because -she had to do it, to do either that or something -just a trifle more objectionable, on the -whole. She is probably one of a large and -poor family, and as soon as she had passed -the Sixth Standard, or whatever it is which -the law of her country demands that she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -should pass, she had to go out to service. -There was no “ought” about it. And those -young women whom you saw in Fleet Street, -at mid-day, when you were there with me, -you remember, a day or two before you left -home, and whose behaviour struck you as -being so vulgar and objectionable! They -were binders’ girls; they had already been -working several hours in a stuffy atmosphere, -and after a quarter-of-an-hour’s rollicking up -and down Fleet Street, they were about to -return and work several more hours. And -do you think that they had decided to do -all that work after mature deliberation as to -the rights and wrongs of it? Of course they -hadn’t. It was for them that, or something -infinitely worse than that, and so they chose, -if they can be said to choose, that. It was -a case of “must,” not of “ought.” And -when a thing must be, there is no more reckless -waste of honest time possible than that -spent in discussing whether it ought to be.</p> - -<p>Your question applies then, you see, only -to a very limited number of young women. -It was not a thoughtfully-framed question, -Alexa. It was, if you will forgive me, a -middle-class sort of question. When you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -wrote “girls,” you were thinking of yourself -and of young women in a social position -similar to yours, and they are rather a small -minority of the earth’s inhabitants; delightful, -but few, comparatively. So let me frame the -question for you as you would have framed -it if you had thought a little more about it, -and then let’s get to work upon it.</p> - -<p>What you meant to ask was, I think, this: -Ought a young woman of good education, -ordinary health, stature, and capacity (whose -parents can afford to keep her in idleness) to -live upon their income until such time as she -is asked by a nice young gentleman to come -and live upon his? That is about as near as -we can get to it, isn’t it?</p> - -<p>Well, even that very limited interrogative -proposition is not altogether easy to tackle. -One question leads always directly or indirectly -to another, and so we go on asking -“Why?” until we come flat up against a -dead wall before which we can do nothing but -gibber. In the affairs of practical life it is -necessary to treat some matters as settled, -and one of such matters is this:—If you -receive from a person services for which you -make no return, you are under an obligation<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -to that person; and to sit quiescent under -an obligation, to make no effort to get out -of it, is to suffer humiliation and indignity. -That, reasonably or unreasonably, is the view -of every decently honest man and woman, of -every man and woman whose hand you -would care to take in friendship. That is -your own view, Alexa, when you come to -think of it, isn’t it? I have noticed that -whenever a friend makes you a present you -begin to cast about for some way in which -you can make some return without doing it -too obviously. Moreover, you would not -accept a present at all from one who was not -a friend. If one of your fellow-guests now, -for instance, were to offer you a diamond -bracelet, you would be in no end of a rage, -and would probably write to me.</p> - -<p>Now then, everybody of full age and -capacity who is eating, drinking, dwelling in -a house and wearing clothes, and yet doing -nothing whatever to provide that food, drink, -house and apparel, is suffering that humiliation -and indignity of which we have just -spoken. He may not be conscious of it. -Obviously he is not (for there are many -millions of him) conscious of it, but the fact<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -remains. There is just one reply he can -make to the charge. He can say, if he likes, -“Oh, it is true I do nothing practical, -material, in return for the many services -which are done for me; but I consent to live. -I exist beautifully. I look nice, I talk, when -I take the trouble to talk, quite prettily. I -wear my clothes with an air. I am an -example of what a human being should be. -Thus, by merely being, do I recompense the -world for all the trouble it takes for me.” If -he does say that, then I for my part can think -of no adequate rejoinder. If it be a man -who talks like that, one kicks him and takes -the consequences; if a woman, one (perhaps) -kisses her and drops the controversy.</p> - -<p>But that tiresome “ought” of yours -which I feel buzzing round my head as I -write, like a bee, and a bee with a sting, too! -To deal with it properly I must assume -something to start with, and so here goes. -I assume this: One <span class="smcap">ought</span> to do that -which will enable one to live the happiest -life attainable in one’s circumstances and to -develop one’s capabilities to their fullest. I -assume that, and if you query it, Alexa, I -will wait until you return home and have a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -couple of hours’ <i>tête-à-tête</i> with you in my -study.</p> - -<p>Now then, does a grown-up young woman -live the happiest life attainable or develop -her natural capacities to their fullest while -she lives in her parents’ house, dependent for -every penny she spends upon her parents’ -bounty or caprice, acting under her parents’ -orders in all the great and in the most of the -smaller doings of her life, and subject to her -parents’ rules, regulations, and discipline?</p> - -<p>Judging from my own observation and -knowledge of the way in which human nature -is composed I haven’t the smallest hesitation -in answering “No.” My observation tells me -that there may be outward acquiescence, my -penetration tells me no less surely that there -is always hidden resentment. A thwarted -desire for freedom works like poison in the -blood; in the long run it sours the finest -temper. It gives birth to a fire which, -though it may never flame, continually -smoulders; and, remember, this desire for -freedom, for the power to do what we will, -to go where we wish, to say what we like, -subject always to the limitations of external -circumstances, is inherent in every human<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -breast. The restrictions of external circumstances -we most of us accept without over -much of rancour. What we do not accept, -that against which we are in eternal revolt, -is the restriction imposed upon us by other -wills than ours. That impulsive desire to -break away from pupillage, to strike out -“on our own,” is perhaps of all motives the -most legitimate that can stir the human -soul.</p> - -<p>The Home as we so often know it, the -Home which consists of father, mother, -and grown-up dependent sons or daughters, -or both, is not a place wherein such impulses -and motives can rightly develop or have anything -like free play. Such a Home is -necessarily and inevitably a tyranny; at best -a benevolent tyranny, at worst a tyranny in -which benevolence is far to seek. Don’t -imagine that I have joined the cult of Mr -Bernard Shaw and am about to say anything -so ridiculously untrue as that the Home is -the very worst institution in which to bring -up a child, except the school. That is a mere -paradox of Nihilism distraught. The Home, -so far, is the best of all institutions in which -to bring up a child—to <i>bring up a child</i>, mark,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -not to support a grown man or woman. It -has its analogy in the nests of birds and the -lairs of beasts; but Nature, for once in a -way, is wiser than modern man. The young -bird leaves the nest as soon as it is strong -enough on the wing; the young tiger says -good-bye to the lair on the day on which he -can kill his own prey. The Home of grown-up -sons and daughters who are not earning -their own livings—even the happiest of such -Homes—is a place of continual and constant -compromise and surrender, of suppression, of -restraint, of concealed (and not always concealed) -resentments and silent rebellions. -Just now and then maybe (for I want to -avoid extremes) it may draw forth the best -that is in us; but much more often it evokes -the worst. It narrows even when it does not -actually distort; it cripples even when it -does not actually slay. And there is no help -for it, Alexa. The profoundest wisdom, the -sincerest love, can do little more than slightly -ameliorate the essential, the immutable wrongness -of the Thing, the subjection of adult will -to adult will. Children of no matter what -age who are dependent upon their parents -economically, must needs be dependent in all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -else. The world is so constructed that he -who pays the piper calls the tune. And it is -well; for even worse than an ordered tyranny -is an anarchic republic.</p> - -<p>There is just another point. Marriages, -Alexa, are not made in Heaven as some are -still found to say, nor in Hell, as too many -just now are apt to declare. They are made -for the most part in the Home. The -strongest condemnation of the grown-up -Home is the enormous number of young -women who marry to get away from it. In -the name of my own sex I do resent and -protest against that. It is hard upon us that -we should be so often regarded by the Beloved -as a sort of melancholy alternative to the -Home. Girls, in our class at any rate, marry -much more often with a view to being their -own mistresses, as we say, than to being men’s -wives or children’s mothers. And I sometimes -fancy they are under no very serious -illusions as to the radiant possibilities of the -married state, these marrying maidens of -ours. There was once a man, you know, -who after several days’ suffering from acute -earache went out and had a tooth drawn. -When he was asked why he supposed that the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -extraction of a sound tooth would remedy -the agony of an unsound ear, he replied that -he had never supposed anything of the kind. -All he wanted was to change the pain, and -that the dentist had done for him! A -similar desire, I am sure, will alone account -for some recent marriages of your young -friends which have caused you so much -puzzlement. “I cannot make out what she -saw in him,” you have more than once -remarked to me. Well, she saw just that—a -change in the pain. Not nice for him, is -it? Nor so very nice for her.</p> - -<p>And now I wonder whether you consider -that I have answered your question at all -satisfactorily. I daresay not, for this world -is a welter, and the wisest of us is bemazed -with doubts. It is possible to have doubts -about everything—at least I should say about -everything but one, and that is that I am -always, my own kiddie,</p> - -<p class="center">Your loving</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_TREE_OF_KNOWLEDGE">THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE</h2> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<h3>THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>April 2, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">The question put in the last paragraph -of your last letter, to which I have -perhaps been a little overlong in replying, is -one which I should have thought I had -already answered, answered, too, in the only -way in which such questions can be answered -satisfactorily—by actual practice. You know -me well enough, I take it, to know that, like -every other decently-honest man, when I -have a conviction I act upon it. Mind, I -say a conviction, not a mere opinion. Mere -opinions, when they differ widely from the -opinions held by those around us, we often -do wisely to keep to ourselves. But convictions -are of another stuff. When we have -them (and we don’t have very many of them as -a rule) we must out with them, both in word -and deed, or we perish. Concealed convictions -set up in the soul a moral and intellectual -rot.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p> - -<p>Well, now, you ask me, or seem to ask -me, what are my views as to the amount of -censorship that should be exercised over the -reading of young women. That, I gather, -was your particular point. More generally -you seem to inquire what fruit of the tree of -knowledge should still be forbidden to those -of your sex after that cardinal day when they -have put their hair up and let their skirts -down.</p> - -<p>Now, for once in a way, I yield to the -temptation to reply by the stale rhetorical -device of asking another question. What -has been my practice with you, child—a -practice deliberately adopted and resolutely -persevered in, spite of the remonstrances of -some who had every right to remonstrate, -and of others who had none? Ever since -you were sixteen or thereabouts—I don’t -remember at what age exactly it was that you -began to show unmistakable proofs of -marked and hereditary (don’t smile!) intelligence—have -you not had a free run of my -library? A library, by the way, in which -there is only one locked book-case, and -that case kept locked, not because of the -dangerous character of the contents, but on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -account of the expensive nature of the bindings. -What happened when—but I won’t -go on with these tiresome interrogatives. -I will just recall to your memory what -happened now and then when I saw in your -hands a book about which, to express indefinitely -my indefinite state of mind, I had -my doubts. I just looked up from my table -and said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t read -that: it is rather dull and rather nasty”; or, -“The only points about that book that have -any merit are points you wouldn’t understand,” -and, like the sensible girl you always -were, you invariably put the books back in -their shelves again. But I was not always in -the library when you came there in search of -literary refreshment, and once, only once, I -remember I came upon you deep in a book -about which I had no doubts at all. I -noticed that you were rather more than half-way -through it, and that you looked interested, -though a little puzzled too. “Do -you like that book?” I asked. “No—yes—perhaps—I -don’t know—a little,” you -stammered, and you blushed. Now, a blush -does not in the least imply consciousness of -guilt, or even of offence, as is commonly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -supposed. People blush not when they find -themselves in the prisoner’s dock, but, rather, -when they are in a tight corner; more often -still when they believe themselves to be -suspected of something of which they are -entirely innocent. When you have to deal -with a child, Alexa, and you accuse it of, or -question it concerning, some little delinquency, -don’t, should it stammer and blush, leap to -the conclusion that it is guilty. But this is -by the way. “Don’t you wish me to read -this book; shall I put it back?” you asked. -“Oh, you had better finish it,” I said, and -turned away to my work. I did not explain -to you then, but I tell you now, because it -has a definite bearing on the subject in hand, -that I knew that, having already got half-way -through it, your interest was awakened and -your curiosity excited, and I knew that in a -young woman or in a young man either, for -the matter of that, excited or only half-gratified -curiosity is—well, I can’t use too -strong a term, so I will say, the very devil—the -most devilish of all the legion of devils -that beset the path of youth. I felt sure, -too, that if I forbade you the reading of the -second half of that book you would attach<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -undue importance to what you had learned -from the first half. You would see the -thing—the evil thing, let us frankly call it—exaggerated -out of all true proportion. You -would conceive it to be worse than it really -was, you would believe that it played a -greater part in life than as a fact it does. -Moreover, I did not feel sure—for you were, -thank God, a very human girl, that you -would not come back to that book when I -was not there, and finish it in private, and -thus do your own soul a thousand times more -harm by the deception than any undesirable -knowledge you might acquire could possibly -do you.</p> - -<p>You tell me that your question to me arose -out of a discussion which took place a few -nights ago between your host, your fellow-guests, -and yourself: that it began an hour -after dinner and lasted well away beyond the -usual bed-time. Let me congratulate you, -Alexa, on staying with such sensible people -as the Mauleverers, and on being one of -several guests as intelligent as yourself. By -“sensible people” I mean people who are -able, and who like, to talk after dinner for -more than five consecutive minutes on any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -subject under the sun. Such people in -our, or in any other class, are rare, and are, -I fancy, growing rarer. It can’t have escaped -your intelligent observation, that ninety-nine-hundredths -of the talk of to-day is about -persons, and, as a rule, about uninteresting -persons. The very fact that a subject is important, -that it concerns us, that it has some -bearing on our lives and thoughts, is sufficient -to bar it out of what we ridiculously call -“conversation.” Is anybody interested in -anything? I often ask myself on my way -home from a dinner or an evening out -somewhere.</p> - -<p>But to return to this matter of the parental -or guardianly censorship of books. I am -convinced that if the censor could be all-wise, -and managed to use his restrictive powers -effectively, his censorship would work for -good. But in point of practical fact, not a -parent or a guardian of us all is all-wise, -or is able to make use of even such wisdom -as he has. An “effective blockade,” as they -call it in war time, over a young girl’s mind -is almost impossible to establish. All sorts -of contraband craft will manage to escape the -vigilance of the blockading squadron, do we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -what we may. Still, on the whole, the thing -is pretty thoroughly done in France. There -the novel, the novel of ordinary life, the -novel written by the best and most popular -writers of the day, or of past days, is never -suffered to fall into a young woman’s hands -at all. Books for girls are things apart. -They are written by inferior authors, and as -a rule are dull and insipid beyond words. -The French ideal of a young woman is that -until she is married her mind, so far as a -certain sort of knowledge is concerned, should -be a sheet of white paper. And in most -French families, outside Paris at any rate, -the ideal is fairly well realised. Now then, if -there be any value in that ideal—if it be an -ideal worth maintaining or worth following, -the outcome of it ought to be that the average -French married woman should have a higher -standard and habit of chastity and virtue than -her sister in England, where no such rigorous -supervision prevails. Well, she has not, -Alexa, I can confidently assure you of that. -Heaven forfend that I should say a word to -her discredit. She is often delightful, though -not quite so often as she herself imagines. -But in the matter of conduct—woman-conduct<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -let us call it, for want of a better term—she -is not a bit better than our women -over here. Observe I do not say that she -is worse: to say that would be to be guilty -of vulgar and insular British Philistinism; -but to be quite safe I content myself by -saying that she is not a bit better, and -consequently, is not worth all the blockading -trouble that is taken with her. I have met -young French ladies who have been married -less than a year, and, well—I need not -amplify, but my intimacy with them has left -me with the conviction that it was sheer -waste of time and energy to be at such pains -to preserve for twenty years an innocence -that four or five months were enough so -completely to dissipate and to destroy.</p> - -<p>The question, it seems to me, leads directly -to the larger issue: Is knowledge often hurtful? -I say “often,” not “ever,” for in this -life there are always exceptions. For the -exceptions we cannot, try we never so carefully, -provide. We must, willy-nilly, be -guided by general rules. In what other -department of life, then, is it even pretended -that knowledge, the fullest knowledge, works -for ill? Can you think of one? If a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> -traveller were about to set out on a journey -through some country where grew in rich -luxuriance any number of tempting fruits, -beautiful to look upon, delectable to the -palate, but charged with deadly poison, and -certain seriously to injure or to slay outright -whosoever should pluck and eat, would it, -or would it not, be desirable that that -traveller should be furnished with all the -knowledge available as to the number and the -nature of these fruits, their habits of growth, -the particular places where they were most -likely to be found, the antidotes to their -several poisons? Would you, if you could, -prevent his reading printed treatises descriptive -of them, or even poems and dramas that -told of them in a poetic or a dramatic way? -Who would be most likely to come through -the journey unscathed—the traveller who was -ignorant, or the traveller who was knowledgable? -Surely the questions answer themselves. -It is true, of course, that even the -best-instructed voyager, hard put to it by -hunger or thirst, and face to face with the -temptation of some specially seductive fruit, -might even so pluck, eat, and perish. The -clamour of his senses might prove too urgent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> -for the resistance of his intelligence. But -even so, by telling him all there was to tell, -you would have done your best for him, -wouldn’t you? And what poor chance -would the similarly-tempted ignoramus have? -Well, now, every young woman is just such -a traveller, and life is for her just such a -journey.</p> - -<p>On my honour, I think I have put the -case as fairly and as squarely as I know how. -If knowledge be our safeguard, our only -safeguard, in every other of life’s journeys, -why in the name of all that is rational -should ignorance be our best protection in -this? Why should there be one little corner -in the house of life in which the light shall -not be suffered to shine?</p> - -<p>You know Mr Findlater. He was here a -night or two ago, and was very angry because -one of his junior clerks, lately a Board School -boy, had been detected in a small forgery. -It was a very trifling affair, and did no harm -to anyone but the poor silly lad who had -been guilty of it. But Mr Findlater was -full to the brim of indignation. Not with -the lad—I’ll do him justice in that; he -didn’t even intend to prosecute, he told me—but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -with the whole system of national -education. “This is what comes of Board -Schools,” he declared. “You rate us for -teaching these gutter brats to write, and the -first use they make of their knowledge is to -forge our names to cheques!” He did really, -he said just that, and he is a man of not -much less than ordinary intelligence! And, -of course, if you come to think of it, if no -one were taught to write no one could commit -forgery, could they? And Mr Findlater’s -argument was quite as good as the arguments -of those who contend that a young woman’s -virtue is best established on a foundation of -ignorance.</p> - -<p>And now it occurs to me that I have been -wasting all the time taken in writing this -letter. I feel sure that you put all this yourself, -and put it quite as well, to your friends -the other night. But then, you see, you -have the inestimable advantage of a wise as -well as a loving</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_RIGHT_SORT_OF_MAN">THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span></p> - -<h3>THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>April 28, 19—.</i></p> - -<p>My surprise is not nearly so great, my dear -girlie, as you seemed to anticipate. I told -you, you remember, that I was good at guessing, -and I had already guessed this, or something -very like this. All the same it is a -blow, for a blow is none the less a blow -because one sees it coming. Indeed, recollections -of my sparring days seem to tell -me that the blow you see coming, and from -which you can escape neither by guard nor -duck, is just about the nastiest of all.</p> - -<p>Fate is a desperately skilled antagonist. -It hammers us and hammers us, and knocks -us out at last; but we do manage to -get a punch or two back at someone or -something now and then ... and that is -good to remember. It is curious, isn’t it, -that this letter of yours, the subject of which -I suppose is Love, should have set me to write -about fighting? And yet ... I don’t know<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -... they are never very far apart, Love -and Strife, are they? Love is the great -disintegrator, the breaker-up. See how he -is coming between you and me now!</p> - -<p>You are “not exactly engaged, but ...” -I will not quote the end of your sentence, -for I know how irritating it is to have one’s -words given back to one. Well, it is good -of you to refer the final word on the matter -to me. Even the most unconventional -woman does wisely at great crises to respect -the established conventions. Her life is -made easier, less stormy so. But there! It -was unjust of me to say that. I will—no, will -has nothing to do with it—I do believe that -in leaving this, to you so intensely personal, -matter still open, so that I may have my say -on it, you have not been motived by a desire -to do the right, the correct thing in such -cases, but by a real belief and trust in me. -You have done it not because it is always -done, but because you are you, and I am I, -and we are to each other what we are.</p> - -<p>But because you and I and this Third, this -Third to me so shadowy, yet so portentous, -to you, so substantial, are going to do all the -usual things, there is no reason why I should<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -write them to you, is there? So I will not -express my gratification and my hopes, and -end with a stuffy little lecture inculcating a -prudential course of conduct. I will practise -up the heavy-father style so as to have it all -perfect by the time he (no, I will not give -him a capital “h,” though I note that you -do) comes to see me. How I hope that at -the first glimpse of him I shall feel that I -may drop it. Does he expect a heavy father, -I wonder. Well, if he does, he shall have -one; be sure of that.</p> - -<p>The first glimpse of him! And I haven’t -had it yet! It is that which has given me -this queer indescribable sensation of unreality -from which I have been suffering ever since -I opened your letter this morning. By the -way I posted your other letter to your -mother on to her at once; she is staying -at Richmond until Friday. One always has -that curious, empty feeling when one part -of one’s mind fails to realise what another -part of one’s mind tells one is a fact. It is -thus we feel for the first few moments in -the presence of death. We know that it -has happened, but we can’t adjust our minds -to the knowledge. So to-day with me. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -know, or almost know, that your life, the -life of all others ... but there, I will not -be sentimental, so you fill in the rest ... -but your life is to be dominated—well, if -not dominated exactly, at anyrate directed -for good or ill or half of each, by a man -of whom I have never so much as caught -sight, of whose very name I am ignorant.</p> - -<p>Do you know that you forgot to mention -his name? Not that it matters so long as -it isn’t anything very distressing. I am not -afraid of that, for you know the names to -which I object, and which I would rather -die than have my name connected with, and -I remember that you share my prejudices. -We both agreed, didn’t we, that Walter -Pater was justified when he refused to vote -a Fellowship at Oxford to a man named -Juggins or something. So I take it for granted -that your future name will be beyond the -reach of æsthetic criticism. It ought to be -a single syllable name, of course, so as to -go rightly with Alexa. Christian names of -two or three syllables should always be -followed by a surname of one.</p> - -<p>But I take it you have seen to that. -You could not, I am sure, contemplate a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -life in which you would suffer from a spasm -of artistic horror every time you signed -your name.</p> - -<p>Whatever he is you know well enough -that I shall not be glad of him, don’t you? -You know that I shall wish every time I -see or think about him that he had never -been born. You won’t mind that, because -if it were not so you would feel that your -father was not one of the right sort of -men. Truly, I don’t believe that the right -sort of men ever look forward to their -daughter’s marriages with anything but -fierce distaste. When it comes to the -point, I mean. They wouldn’t like them -not to be married, and they hate it when -they are. From which you will gather what -a mistake it is to be the right sort of man, -and what supreme folly it is to beget -daughters, anyway.</p> - -<p>It is rum though, rum and inexplicable, -that feeling of savage resentment one has -against every other man who aspires to any -sort of intimacy with any woman for whom -one cares even a little. Of course, one -says to oneself that it is because one feels -that no other man is half good enough for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -her. It is quite astonishing how one can -lie to oneself. I know, for instance, when -I can get myself for a second or two into -a reasonable mood, that there must be at -least a hundred thousand or so of men in -England, not to mention the rest of the -world, who are quite half good enough for -you, and yet I hate with an incandescent -hatred the mere idea, the tenuous probability -that you will some day be married. If he, -the unnamed and unnamable, were to come -into this room now I should, or at least -should try to, break him up with my bare -hands and send the fragments of him home -in a cab.</p> - -<p>It was Nero or Caligula, wasn’t it, who -expressed the genial wish that humanity -had only one head that he might cut it -off? Well, I believe that at the bottom -of every right-minded man’s heart there is -a lurking wish that all femininity were -compact and personified in one woman and -that she might belong to him. “Turkish?” -you smile. Oh, much more than Turkish; -primitive rather.</p> - -<p>I shall not kill him, Alexa. I shall -probably be tremendously nice to him if<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -he wears the right necktie. You might -give him a hint about that. One never -does do the things one most passionately -desires to do—they are always so outrageous -those passionately desired things.</p> - -<p>Haven’t you often, when sitting at dinner, -say, with a lot of depressingly correct people, -ached and ached to rip out some hideous, -impossible, unspeakable expression, just to -watch their shocked, flabbergasted faces; and -then to disappear for ever from the cognisance -of man? I am sure you have; we -all have. But you have never done it, -thank heaven, and you know you never will. -It is almost irresistible that impulse, isn’t -it?</p> - -<p>And yet we resist it every time. That -is because we are sane. If we yielded we -should be mad; that’s all. That is what -sanity means, the power to resist the almost -irresistible impulse. Well, I am sane, so -far. I shall offer him my hand and a chair. -Perhaps a cigar. I hope he smokes.</p> - -<p>Oh yes, that reminds me. I must say just -this. If he does not smoke and if he refuse -wine at dinner in favour of water, or even of -whisky and soda—a hateful decadent modern<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -habit—then I will have none of him, Alexa, -nor shall you. If the worst come to the -worst, I will convince him by ocular and -tactile demonstration that there is lunacy in -our family, and I am quite certain that a -fellow who neither smokes nor drinks wine -will never have the hardihood or enterprise -to face that. It is not that smoking or -wine drinking (at dinner) are in themselves -virtues, but they are indications of the only -temperament and attitude towards life which -are compatible with true virtue.</p> - -<p>Mind, I will say nothing so widely embracing -as that a non-smoker and non-wine -drinker is not good for anybody—never mind -what I think, but I will not say it. What I -will say is that he would not be good enough -for you; for one of us. His very presence at -dinner and after would be a perpetual reproach, -a constant criticism. And you would not -like to be faced every evening by a criticism -and a reproach.</p> - -<p>A man who, in a world of good things, -tobacco and wine and other things, abstains, -is a man who makes exacting demands upon -himself, and a man who makes exacting -demands upon himself will inevitably<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -make exacting demands upon his womankind.</p> - -<p>And now, while I am about it, I may as -well mention one or two other things, one or -two other essentials which any man must -possess before he can even begin to think of -connecting his name with ours. By the way, -it is you who will change your name, isn’t it? -What an intolerable thought that is. He -must be what the Scots call “gleg in the -uptak’;” he must divine what you mean -almost before you have said it, certainly -before you have said it all. He must not, -when you happen to speak a trifle elusively, -stare at you blankly for half a minute or so, -and then say, “I am afraid I don’t quite -follow you,” or look it without saying it, perhaps -the worst outrage of all, for the remark -does at least imply a consciousness of inferiority -and a sort of commendable humility.</p> - -<p>A truly civilised woman, one of us, would -rather live with a Zulu (assegais and all) -who understood what she was after, than -with a thing in up-and-down collars (and -golf sticks) who was for ever asking her -to explain herself. Heavens, how I know -the look on the face of a woman after she has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -been married a year or two to that. No, the -man who marries you must talk our language, -think our thought, or there will be rocks -ahead on which you and I and he will get -ourselves badly grazed, not to say broken.</p> - -<p>Then he must read and admire Henry -James. I say must read, not must have -read, for if he have not it may be only -his misfortune and the fault not of him, but -of his upbringing. The novels of Henry -James (we have agreed, you remember) are -the touchstone of the modern spirit. If a -man can’t understand them, or gets bored by -them, or wishes they were shorter or less -involved, then that man, whatever else he -may be, is not of us or even of our time. I -would rather see my daughter mated to a -megatherium than to a man who could not -“make out,” as they put it, the novels of -Henry James.</p> - -<p>While I was on the subject of tobacco and -wine I ought to have added that he must not -be “anti” anything to any extent. Not anti-vaccination -or anti-vivisection, or anti-clerical, -or any of those things about which the faddist -rages. I don’t mean that he may not have -strong opinions, but he must not carry them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -to the point of being “anti.” When a man -reaches that point it always seems to me he -ceases to be human. A husband should be -human.</p> - -<p>And then—I had nearly forgotten this, -that accursed feeling of unreality is so strong -upon me to-day—he must be a man whom -other women like and who likes all other -women, or nearly all, all that count. I know, -of course, that his voice changes and takes on -another tone when he speaks to you. That -is all right. But does it change and take on -another tone when he speaks to the other girl? -That’s the thing that matters. When he hands -a—oh, well, a cup, let us say, to a woman, does -he do it in an altogether different way to that -in which he would hand a cigar-case to a man? -If he doesn’t his wife will soon find herself -wishing that he had never handed anything -at all to her. A man’s love for “the one -woman,” is after all only in a quintessential, -concentrated form the emotion he has for -all other women, the generalised thing -particularised.</p> - -<p>I don’t agree with the incorrect saying that -reformed rakes make the best of husbands, -but I do say that the man who has not in him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -the potentiality of rakehood should never be -trusted with a wife.</p> - -<p>But there! What does it all amount to? -I write, but all the time I am writing I am -conscious that for all practical purposes I -might as well go and shoot peas at the sun -as direct these wise observations at a girl in -the first bloom of what they call love. Of -course, I know well enough that just now you -see in this intrusive Third all these qualities -and attributes upon which I have been insisting. -Or if you don’t you think they don’t -matter; and that I don’t matter; and that -even you don’t matter; that nothing matters -but this new magic that bandages your eyes -and carries honey to your lips. Could I have -chosen for you I would have scaled the heights -of heaven if haply I might bring down to you -a god, and ... you would not have liked -him dear. You would have asked for a man -instead. And you would have been right, for -you are not a goddess, but a girl and the -heart of my heart:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And you must twine of common flowers</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The wreath that happy women wear,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And bear in desolate darkened hours</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The common griefs that all men bear.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p> - -<p>Write to me again soon. Come home -soon, very soon. It is a long time that -you have been away; twice as long since -yesterday.</p> - -<p class="center">Your</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MODERN_MARRIAGE">MODERN MARRIAGE</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> - -<h3>MODERN MARRIAGE</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>May 3, 19—.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Alexa</span>,—</p> - -<p class="indent8">I resist gallantly the temptation to begin -much less formally, much more sentimentally -than that; but I feel that marriage is the -one subject on which a man may not be -sentimental. In matters of marriage it is -always sentiment that undoes us.</p> - -<p>He called here yesterday afternoon, as by -this time you are no doubt aware, for I feel -pretty sure that as soon as he left he -scribbled a note to you from the nearest post-office. -If I know anything about men I -know that. I should not be at all surprised -if he telegraphed; but I hope not, for it is -bad to begin matrimonial enterprises by a -present to the Post Office.</p> - -<p>So you see I have had a whole evening in -which to think him over; a night to sleep -upon my thoughts and a morning in which -to recast them, as it were. When I tell you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -that I really did sleep and that I found my -breakfast this morning not more hateful than -usual, you will realise that all is pretty much -as you would wish.</p> - -<p>Yes, the man will do. Except that he is -a man, and that he wants to marry my -daughter, my critical eye can find no serious -fault in him. Of course I wish he were -dead or in some distant colony—but no, no, -I don’t dislike him quite so much as that -last would imply—but that wish of mine -means little or nothing that need worry you. -One so often does wish dead people in whom -one can find no fault—indeed, they are more -often than not the very people one can do -so well without.</p> - -<p>I tried him by all the tests. I offered him -one of my very best cigars, the sort I never -have enough of in the house, and he smoked -it like a fellow of taste. Even when we -were talking seriously about serious matters—you -are a serious matter to him and to -me—he held it now and then so that the -perfumed smoke could titillate his nostrils. -Had it been a bad cigar and he had done -that, I should have known him for a charlatan -and sent him about his business.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> - -<p>He came in a frock coat too, a frock coat -fullish in the skirts—I hope you didn’t put -him up to that. Had he worn one of those -cut-away things that fasten with one button -in the middle of the waistcoat! Words fail -me as to what would have happened had he -worn one of those.</p> - -<p>He knows how to sit in an arm chair -without getting into trouble with his elbows -or showing too much sock. Has it ever -occurred to you, Alexa, that in the matter -of the disclosure of ankles a man should be -as discreet as a woman?</p> - -<p>We did not talk of you all the time. I -should have learnt little by permitting that, -for the veriest oaf can say the right things -about a girl with whom he is in love; but -we talked of books, of pictures, of music, of -cathedrals, of the things that really matter, -and he was all right there.</p> - -<p>He has a good deal to learn, but then he -has some time in which to learn it; and if -you do justice to your upbringing he will -not lack a competent tutor. There—that’s -the prettiest compliment I have paid you for -many a long day.</p> - -<p>Your mother was charmed with him. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -rather think she is writing to you at this -moment to tell you so. I confess that fact -does not vastly impress me, because mothers -look always with a friendly eye upon their -daughters’ suitors, supposing, of course, that -they are anywhere near the mark.</p> - -<p>Has it ever struck you as queer and rather -significant that while women are always -anxious for their daughters to marry, men, -for the most part, boggle at the thought of -it? It looks almost as though your sex got -more out of the arrangement than ours, -doesn’t it? That if they stand to lose more, -as they indubitably do, they stand to win -more too?</p> - -<p>The inveterate belief of women in the -glory and beauty of marriage always stupefies -me. I suppose there is not one married -woman alive who does not know at least half -a dozen others who have come hopelessly to -grief in their marriages, and yet they go on -believing! Such robust faith is touching -and a tremendous compliment to us.</p> - -<p>Indeed, it is a wonderful institution this -marriage—marriage as it exists among -civilised people, I mean: civilised Western -people, I should add.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p> - -<p>I suppose if a committee of ingenious -men and women of the world had met -together to devise the scheme of sex relationship -best calculated to ensure unhappiness -to the two parties concerned, they could not -have hit upon anything more likely to secure -this object ... well, perhaps not unhappiness -exactly, but uncomfortableness, let us -say ... than modern marriage, monogamic -marriage.</p> - -<p>From that point of view it is almost perfection. -The object of it would seem to -be to destroy as quickly as possible all the -feelings with which people start off on it. -The end, it would seem, is the negation of -the beginning. Rum!</p> - -<p>Think, now. What is it that gives the -quintessential charm to that state of mind -we call being in love? What is the magic -of it? You can’t be expected to know just -now, because you are not in an analytical -mood; emotion of any kind is fatal to -accurate analysis.</p> - -<p>Well then, I’ll tell you. It is romance—a -sense of strangeness, of something to be -discovered, of infinite, thrilling, and perilous -possibilities.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p> - -<p>Why do sisters and brothers not fall in -love with each other? Not because to do -so would be “unnatural,” not a bit of it, -never believe that. Nature has nothing -whatever to do with it. It is because they -have been brought up together in close and -daily intimacy; because there is no romance, -no glamour of the undiscovered, no possibilities -just beyond the horizon line.</p> - -<p>Now marriage, as we know it, is the -inevitable slayer of romance. Before the -intimacy of marriage romance disappears -like a mist wreath in the blazing sun.</p> - -<p>Mind, I do not say that in losing romance -you lose everything; there are many other -things that are worth having, perhaps even -more worth having, but you lose romance, -and lose it in something less than six weeks.</p> - -<p>And when you have lost romance you are -no longer “in love.” You may still love -and be loved. You do and are, if all things -go well with you, both; but you are no -longer “in love.” The very feelings which -attracted you to start with, which brought -you together, are gone, and gone for ever.</p> - -<p>That is the stupendous fact of marriage; -it kills the thing that made it. It is the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -outcome of illusion. People in love imagine -that marriage is a continuance of the feelings, -intensified, which they have for each other -before they enter upon it. That, Alexa, is -exactly what it is not. It is the very opposite -of that.</p> - -<p>Most people will tell you—one hears it -said all about, especially just now—that the -reason why marriage is not the success it -might be is that married people “see too -much of each other.” There is something -in that, no doubt, but there is more not in -it, so to speak. It is not, I am convinced, so -much because married folk see each other -every day that romance takes wings; it is -rather because <i>they can make sure</i> of seeing -each other every day. It is the sense of -security that kills.</p> - -<p>I verily believe that an odalisque in an -Oriental harem, for whom a visit from her -lord is some sort of an event, a thing which -may or may not happen on any particular -day, has a better emotional time of it than -the wife in a suburban villa who knows that -her husband will appear at the front door, -little black bag and all, ten minutes after she -has heard his train puff into the station, or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -the still more unfortunate lady who can -always get speech of him by just calling up -the stairs.</p> - -<p>Your poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti once -told a friend of his, and of mine, that all -those exquisite sonnets of his, dedicated to -his wife and to wedded love, were written -when Mrs Rossetti was away on long visits. -That I can well believe, and I believe moreover -that they were written not only when -she was away, but when he was not at all -sure when she would come back.</p> - -<p>Once in a little walled town in the South -of France I saw a play in which the husband -and wife used to make assignations to meet -and dine in a private room at a restaurant, -although they had an excellent cook at home. -It was a silly little play, but the dramatist -knew something of human nature and of -marriage, all the same. Poor dears, they -were trying after something which they -could not get, of course, but still, the very -fact that they did try proves something, -doesn’t it?</p> - -<p>Intimacy, security—these are the fatal -diseases of marriage. I think I see you gibe -a little at the word “security,” and murmur<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -something cynical about divorce. You are -right in a way and wrong in another way. -One has only to look around one to learn -that marriage is by no means synonymous -with security; but all of us, when we marry, -believe it is, and so the result is the same.</p> - -<p>Mention of divorce suggests to me to say -this. I don’t believe that the sort of thing -which leads to the divorce court, and, where -quite uncivilised people are concerned, to the -Old Bailey, is half so often, as most suppose, -the outcome of wilful incontinence or of -sheer naughtiness, no, nor even of the -waning of love. It is the passion for something -that marriage does not satisfy—the -passion for Romance. The unfortunates -yearn, yearn with an irresistible yearning, for -something to happen, something unusual, -something with a spice of danger in it, something -which pulls at the heart’s strings, -something to make one wake up in the -morning with a feeling that the eggs and -bacon for breakfast are not the most exciting -prospect of the day. Ah, heaven! Don’t -we all know it—the coldest, the oldest, the -most austere of us!</p> - -<p>I formed this opinion entirely out of my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -own head years ago, and it was curiously -confirmed by an experience of three days -I once spent in the divorce court. It was -when I had that tiresome Chancery suit—you -remember, about Ida’s marriage settlement—and -I had to waste a lot of time in -the law courts.</p> - -<p>I could not sit and listen to the Chancery -counsel prosing over technicalities, and so I -passed the days in a court which touches -human nature a trifle more shrewdly and less -expensively.</p> - -<p>In those three days I saw about a dozen -cases tried and disposed of. And what sort -of people do you think they were who came -there with and against their wills? The -gay, the frivolous, the debonnair? Oh, dear -me, no; not in the least. I saw not one -gallant gentleman, not one lovely lady. On -the contrary, they were the dusty, the dowdy, -the humdrum, and, this is the odd thing, the -middle-aged! They were the kind of -women who make their own hats, make them -very badly, and talk about their servants at -afternoon tea; and of men who go up to -town at 8-45 of a morning, and come home -by the 6-15. Some of them, of course, had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -occasionally lost the 6-15, and that was where -the trouble began.</p> - -<p>It is grossly unfair to the aristocracy to -say that it is they who keep the divorce court -going. “Aristocratic divorce cases,” as the -Radical papers absurdly call them, make not -one per cent. of the whole. It is the dull, -stodgy middle-class among whom immorality -is rampant! And it is just because they are -dull, stodgy, and middle-class.</p> - -<p>The pleasures, the emotional outlets of -art, the distractions which intelligence can -always find in the world, are closed against -them. Meanwhile, beneath their commonplace -domesticity the passion for Romance, -though smothered, smoulders on. One fine -day, on the most ridiculously inadequate -provocation, it bursts into a flame and then—“decree -<i>nisi</i> with costs.”</p> - -<p>Poor devils, poor, poor devils, they haven’t -brains enough to outwit a Slaters’ detective -or even a prying housemaid.</p> - -<p>Brains, ah! yes. Brains are your stand-by -in marriage as in most other of life’s perplexities, -Alexa. It is brains that keep you -out of matrimonial troubles, and even, when -in a slack moment, you do get into difficulties,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -it is brains that will pull you out of -them.</p> - -<p>Looking at those of my personal acquaintances -who have come bad croppers over -their marriages, I find that in every case -there has been want of wit on one side or the -other, often on both. Brains! That is why -I have considerable confidence in your -future, my daughter.</p> - -<p>One word more. Romance, in-loveness, -cannot survive six weeks of the appalling -intimacy of marriage. That is past praying -for. What shall follow its departure then? -Mere emptiness, a tramp across a sandy -desert or a treacherous bog? That depends. -The thing that should follow is -friendship, friendship of a peculiar, a -unique, sort; friendship touched by tenderness, -mixed with memories, coloured by -emotion.</p> - -<p>But again remember this—it takes as much -brains to build up and to maintain a friendship -of that kind as it does to ... well ... -more than it does to do anything else in the -world so well worth doing. Fools may make -satisfactory lovers, only the wise can be -lasting friends.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> - -<p>You return on Friday, isn’t it? I shall -be at Paddington to meet you. See to it -that He is not there—just for this once!</p> - -<p class="center">Your</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SUBTLE_SOMETHING">THE SUBTLE SOMETHING</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p> - -<h3>THE SUBTLE SOMETHING</h3> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>June 5, 19—.</i></p> - -<p>It is all right, child. I have not a -word of blame, not a word of criticism even. -You are valiant and original. I am sorry, -of course, sorry for you, sorry for -him, for myself, for everyone remotely -concerned. But I am congratulatory too. I -congratulate you, him, and myself. You -are prepared for blame of course, for blame -from everybody but your own consciousness -and your own father. A young woman who -engages herself to a man, remains engaged -for nearly a month and then “breaks it off” -when there is no conventionally agreed-upon -cause for the rupture is, in the eyes -of the world, a jilt. It can’t be helped. It’s -no use grumbling. The world will have its -labels—and small blame to it, they spare it the -trouble of thinking, of exercising the faculty -of discrimination. And we upon whom its -labels are stuck, must just grin and wear<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -them. Let us see to it that we do grin and -wear them—with a grace.</p> - -<p>That “subtle something” of which you -can’t say more even to me—there is no need -of greater definiteness, I, as always, understand—is -the true, almost the only, irremovable -hindrance to happiness in marriage, the -marriage of sensible people. Anything does -to make fools unhappy. It is unpardonable -and unforgettable. Unpardonable, because -it is not a deed or even a thought or a look; -unforgettable because it is always there. -And the worst of it is, it can by its very -nature discover itself only in intimacy. One -has to jump into the water before one finds -out with certainty that one can’t swim. -That subtle something, so colossal, so inexpugnable -yet so elusive! What is it? -Where is it? Is it in the blood, or in the -brain, or is it some attribute of that unthinkable -but must-be-thought-of entity, the Transcendental -Ego? I hate to seem so grossly -materialist, but I think it is in the blood, and -will be discovered some day by chemical -analysis, or by an improved microscopy; -caught and put into a little bottle.</p> - -<p>At present only something finer than<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -chemical analysis, personal perceptiveness to -wit, can discern it, and it must be the personal -perceptiveness of the one most interested. -All the others must needs be the veriest -bunglers. That is why I am not kicking -myself to any extent for having thought, in -my blindness, my inevitable blindness, that -he was all right, that he would do. He -would have done for me, but how could -I know that he would not have done for -you? And yet I did just once have the -vaguest, dimmest, shadowiest ghost of a -suspicion that all was not quite well. It -scurried past me that thought, that thought -that was not quite a thought, across the -darkness of my mind as a small mouse -scurries across a dark room. It was one -night when you had been seeing him off -downstairs and we were all in the drawing-room. -When you came back I caught a look -upon your face ... no, something less than -that ... just a flicker across your lips ... -and it made me uneasy, gave me a tiny -twinge in that rickety old heart of mine, it -kept me awake for an hour or two, as a -mouse, fidgeting, has often done.</p> - -<p>I am glad of one thing though; that -except in the matter of which I could not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -judge, I did not judge him wrongly. He <i>is</i> -made of the right stuff. I had a letter from -him last night—a letter from a man to a -man. He doesn’t whine, he doesn’t rage, -he doesn’t wrangle. He doesn’t even -complain. He accepts the inevitable. I -think the final test of a man is his attitude -in face of the inevitable. I will never show -you that letter—of course you would not -wish it. I feel in a curious way as though -it were I and not you who had hurt him.</p> - -<p>Once more then, my daughter, you are -right. You have done well. Let no -misgivings on that point ever gnaw or even -nibble. There are not many things that can -justify the breach of a betrothal deliberately -entered upon. That subtle something is -one of them. Had the case been reversed, -had it been he instead of you who had made -the discovery, I should have said the same.</p> - -<p>Now let the subject be dropped for ever. -We will not even refer to it, no, not by -a look, when you come home next week.</p> - -<p class="center">Your approving</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Father</span>.</p> - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - -<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="noindent larger">Camp Fires<br> -in the<br> -Canadian Rockies.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -WILLIAM T. HORNADAY.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>With 70 illustrations, from photographs taken by -<span class="smcap">John M. Phillips</span>, and two maps.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Demy 8vo, 16s. net.</i></p> - -<p>This is the narrative, racy, unconventional, and -full of adventurous interest, of an expedition which -Mr. Hornaday and Mr. Phillips, the latter a famous -mountain climber and camera expert, made into -the well-nigh inaccessible mountains of British -Columbia in search of the elusive mountain goats -and mountain sheep. The expedition was in every -way successful, one of its results being a series of -extraordinarily interesting and valuable photographs -of the mountain goat, taken under great difficulties -and dangers at short range. Grizzly bears and -other big game were incidents of the chase. Mr. -Hornaday’s story of the expedition is full of freshness, -charm, and racy humour.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="noindent larger">Literary London.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -ELSIE M. LANG.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">With Introduction by <span class="smcap">G. K. Chesterton</span>.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>42 Illustrations by W. J. Roberts.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo, Cloth gilt, 6s. net.</i></p> - -<p>The object of this book is to add interest to -rambles in London by a careful alphabetical -record of the homes and haunts of the distinguished -literary men and women who are no -longer living. In many cases, as is duly noted, -the houses themselves are still standing; in -others the sites are definitely pointed out, and -short extracts are given from biographies, showing -with what particular events in the lives of their -occupants these residences are identified. London -is full of memories, and this volume is an ideal -guide book to its literary landmarks.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Night Side<br> -of London.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -ROBERT MACHRAY.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>With 95 Pictures by</i> <span class="smcap">Tom Browne</span>, R.I., R.B.A.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>1s. net.</i></p> - -<ul> -<li><span class="smcap">Preface.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">Piccadilly Circus (11 P.M. to 1 A.M.).</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">In the Streets.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">In the Streets</span>—<i>continued</i> (<span class="smcap">Ratcliff Highway</span>).</li> -<li><span class="smcap">“In Society.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">Still “In Society.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">Not “In Society.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">An East End Music Hall.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">Earl’s Court.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">The Masked Ball.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">The Shilling Hop.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">Club Life.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">A Saturday Night with the “Savages.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">With the “Eccentrics” (3 A.M.).</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">“La Vie de Bohème.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">Sunday Night at the New Lyric.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">A “Night Club.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">The National Sporting Club.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">A School for Neophytes.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">“Wonderland.”</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">New Year’s Eve at St. Paul’s.</span></li> -<li><span class="smcap">The Hoppers’ Saturday Night.</span></li> -</ul> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="noindent"><i class="u">JUST PUBLISHED.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>A Long Complete Novel by</i><br> -VICTORIA CROSS.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Life’s Shop<br> -Window.</p> - -<p>A brilliant young girl awakening into -womanhood views herself, and determines -that her beauty shall get her -anything she wants from the World. -She looks into “Life’s Shop Window” -and surveys all that her beauty -entitles her to. What she buys from -Life is brilliantly told by Victoria -Cross, in the longest and most important -book that remarkable and -talented author has yet written.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Price 6s.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="noindent larger">What Men Like<br> -in Women.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -E. J. HARDY</span>,<br> -<span class="smaller">Author of “How to be Happy -Though Married.”</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo. 1s. net, Paper. 2s. gross, Cloth.</i></p> - -<p class="center">“THE MURRAY OF MATRIMONY—THE BAEDEKER OF BLISS.”</p> - -<p>An interesting and useful book for young people -entering, or about to enter, the marriage state. -Mr. Hardy is an expert on this question, and his -book is packed with useful information and advice, -and leavened with many good stories.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">How to Live the Simple Life.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -CALVIN PATER.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo, Paper, 1s. net.</i></p> - -<p class="center">CONTENTS:</p> - -<table> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The New Crusade.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Simple-Selfish Life.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Wisdom of Wagner.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Stomach.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Soul.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Mind.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Body.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Mammon and Manners.</span></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="noindent larger">Six Women.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p>By<br> -VICTORIA CROSS.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Price 6s.</i></p> - -<p class="hanging"><i>THE QUEEN says of Victoria Cross’s “Six -Women”</i>:</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p>“What is so marked in these stories is the -beauty of the writing. Her atmosphere is delightful. -The Eastern stories are full of the colour and the -atmosphere of the East. No one can do anything -but envy the author’s touch in the description of -Eastern buildings and gardens. It makes no -difference to Victoria Cross whether she is -writing of India or Damascus or Omdurman, she -invests them all with an atmosphere which is not -only enchanting but carries the stamp of truth -on it.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hanging"><i>LITERARY WORLD</i>:</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p>“Full of powerful writing and fertile imagination.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hanging"><i>SCOTSMAN</i>:</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p>“Studies in the passions of love and jealousy -admirably arranged.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hanging"><i>MADAME</i>:</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p>“‘Six Women’ is written with the artistic touch -which is associated with the best French fiction, -and which is too often lacking in English novels. -It is only the prudish and the prurient who will -object to ‘Six Women.’”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="smaller">T. WERNER LAURIE’S</span><br> -Cathedral Series.</p> - -<p>This Series is probably the most artistic, scholarly, complete, and -cheap set of books yet published. Infinite pains have been expended -on every branch of reproduction employed.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The Daily News” said of the “Cathedrals of -Northern France”:—“In paper, print, binding, -and reproduction, this record is a joy to the reader.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Some Opinions of the Press on “The Cathedrals of -England and Wales.”</span></p> - -<p>“Of each Cathedral an admirable historical sketch is given, detailing its -architectural growth, and the volumes make admirable handbooks for those -who wish to study our English Cathedrals intelligently.”—<i>Literary World.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Bumpus’ book is a valuable guide in the case of these buildings, -not only describing them very fully, but also pointing out what parts of -them are original and what new. Mr. Laurie is to be heartily congratulated -on this series, which is illustrated by numerous plates from good photographs.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Bumpus’ style has a refreshing air of the enthusiastic ecclesiologist, -and of that ‘Domine, dilexi decorum domus Tuæ,’ which is ill -replaced by the cold professionalism of the mere expert.”—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> - -<p>“The description of St. Paul’s, surrounded by the City church steeples, -is a magnificent tribute to Wren.”—<i>Yorkshire Post.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">List of Series.</span></p> - -<p class="hanging">1. The Cathedrals of Northern France. By <span class="smcap">Francis -Miltoun</span>. With 80 illustrations from original drawings, and many -minor decorations, by <span class="smcap">Blanche McManus</span>. 1 vol., decorative cover, -7¾ × 5¼ × 1⅜. Cloth gilt, 6<i>s.</i> net.</p> - -<p class="hanging">2. The Cathedrals of Southern France. By <span class="smcap">Francis -Miltoun</span>. Cloth gilt, 6<i>s.</i> net.</p> - -<p class="hanging">*3, 4, 5. The Cathedrals of England and Wales. By -<span class="smcap">T. Francis Bumpus</span>, Author of “Summer Holidays Among the -Glories of France.” With many plates and minor decorations, and -specially designed heads and tailpieces to each chapter. 3 vols., 8vo, -decorative cover, cloth gilt, 6<i>s.</i> net each; in leather, 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net -per vol.</p> - -<p class="hanging">*6. The Cathedrals of Northern Germany and the -Rhine. By <span class="smcap">T. Francis Bumpus</span>. With many plates and minor -decorations. 8vo, cloth gilt, 6<i>s.</i> net; leather, 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</p> - -<p class="hanging">7. The Cathedrals of Northern Spain. By <span class="smcap">Charles -Rudy</span>. Many illustrations. 6<i>s.</i> net.</p> - -<p class="hanging">8. The Cathedrals of Northern Italy. By <span class="smcap">T. F. Bumpus</span>. -6<i>s.</i> net. 40 plates.</p> - -<p class="right smaller">[<i>In preparation</i></p> - -<p>* <i>These volumes are issued also in leather binding (bound by the Oxford -Press) at 10s. 6d. each net.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i>RECENT NOVELS. 6s. each.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Cubs.</p> - -<p class="indent2">By <span class="smcap">Shan F. Bullock</span>.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Six Women.</p> - -<p class="indent2">By <span class="smcap">Victoria Cross</span>.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Poison Dealer.</p> - -<p class="indent2">By <span class="smcap">Georges Ohnet</span>.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Thurtell’s Crime.</p> - -<p class="indent2">By <span class="smcap">Dick Donovan</span>.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Rowena.</p> - -<p class="indent2">By <span class="smcap">Agnes Giberne</span>.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Mummy and Miss Nitocris.</p> - -<p class="indent2">By <span class="smcap">George Griffith</span>.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Three Books by James Huneker.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Melomaniacs.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Visionaries.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Iconoclasts: A Book of Dramatists.</p> - -<p class="right">6<i>s.</i> <i>net.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent" style="margin-left: 2em;">Illuminating critical studies of modern revolutionary playwrights.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i class="u">The Novel Of The Season.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Sinews of War.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -EDEN PHILLPOTTS and<br> -ARNOLD BENNETT.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>With cover design by Charles E. Dawson. 6s.</i></p> - -<p>A thrilling story of mystery and imagination. It is an -attempt to show how, given immense histrionic genius, a -man without principle might use it to the confusion of -Society and be responsible for seemingly inexplicable -mysteries. The romance deals with modern days in -London, and a phase of life hidden largely from -Londoners themselves. An astonishing murder opens -the way to the story, and the coroner’s inquest introduces -to the reader one of the most original characters -in modern sensational fiction. From the lodging-houses, -clubs, and theatres of the metropolis, the scene changes -to London Docks, thence to mid-ocean, and finally to -the West Indies. There the mystery of “The Sinews of -War,” becomes at last unravelled and a title that will -puzzle the reader until the end, is explained.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i>TWO BOOKS BY LOUIS BECKE.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Sketches in<br> -Normandy.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -LOUIS BECKE</span>,<br> -<span class="smaller">Author of “By Reef and Palm.”</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Illustrated, Cloth gilt, 6s.</i></p> - -<p>It is quite a new departure for Mr. Louis Becke -to take as his theme stories of Normandy life, -but his three years’ wanderings along the coasts -of Normandy and Brittany, and among the fisher-folk, -has resulted in his giving us some charming -and amusing pictures.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Notes from my<br> -South Sea Log.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -LOUIS BECKE.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. net.</i></p> - -<p>An account of Mr. Becke’s sporting and fishing -adventures whilst supercargo in the South Seas, -together with many notes on the habits and -superstitions of the Islanders.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i class="u">“The Up To Date Doctor.”</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Modern Medicine for<br> -the Home.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -ERNEST WALKER, M.R.C.S.,<br> -L.R.C.P.</span> (Lond.)</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo, Paper 1/- net. Cloth 1/6 net.</i></p> - -<p>This work is scientific and up to date; all technical -and misleading terms are omitted, and the diseases are -classified alphabetically and under their popular names.</p> - -<p>The treatment is scientific and simple and nothing is -advised that cannot be carried out at home.</p> - -<p>The description of complicated symptoms and treatment -is avoided.</p> - -<p>The signs of severe illnesses are given, so that the -disease may be recognised and the patient comforted by -simple home remedies till skilled help is obtained.</p> - -<p>The want of a little medical or surgical knowledge has -led to the loss of many lives which might have been -saved, and this book conveys to the unskilled reader in a -few trenchant and simple sentences the best way to act -in all emergencies.</p> - -<p>An invaluable volume and one which ought to be in -every home library.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i>THE MUSIC LOVER’S LIBRARY.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Chats on Violins.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -OLGA RACSTER.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Fully Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net.</i></p> - -<p>Under this title are grouped a series of pleasant chats telling -the early history of the violin, and also dealing with all the -better known forms of the violin. All the great makers, from -Gaspar di Salo, Maggini, Amati, to Stradivarius are described, -the whole being interspersed with many anecdotes about makers -and players, and useful chapters on violin music and playing.</p> - -<p>The pictures are delightfully uncommon, comprising as they -do the representations of all the ancient members of the violin -family from the ninth century. The whole work is full of -interesting information and is written in a bright and unconventional -manner.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Stories from the Operas.</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -GLADYS DAVIDSON.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center"><i>First Review.</i></p> - -<p>“Each Opera is adequately and interestingly dealt with. It is the -best book of its kind we have seen.”—<i>Sheffield Daily Independent.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p>A charming series of tales arranged from the Grand Operas. -Few people seem to know the actual stories contained in the -great music dramas of Wagner and others.</p> - -<p>Most of them are very beautiful and interesting, and this -volume contains twenty of the more popular tales simply -written and in accordance with the libretto.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><i>IN PREPARATION</i>:</p> - -<table> - <tr> - <td>Vol.</td> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td>“Chats on the Violoncello.” <span class="smcap">Olga Racster.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Vol.</td> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td>“Chats with Music Lovers.” <span class="smcap">Dr. Patterson.</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Vol.</td> - <td class="tdr">V.</td> - <td>“Stories from the Operas.” Second Series.</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i>NEW NOVELS. 6s. each.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Last Miracle.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">M. P. Shiel</span>.</p> - -<p>This long-since-promised novel of Mr. M. P. Shiel is the third of -the trilogy of novels which commenced with the “Lords of the -Sea,” and was continued by the much-translated “Purple Cloud,” -all the three purporting to be the words dropped from the lips of a -clairvoyant in her swoons, as memorandumed in the note-books of -her doctor.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">A Russian Coward.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">Fred Whishaw</span>.</p> - -<p>The story gives a vivid picture of the corruption of the Grand -Dukes and Army Contractors, and is altogether a thrilling, sensational, -and unhackneyed story.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Financier’s Wife.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">Florence Warden</span>.</p> - -<p>Miss Warden takes the City for her theme, and her story is -reminiscent of a recent financial crash which paralysed Lombard -Street for some time.</p> - -<p>The character of the great financial magnate is wonderfully -drawn, and the description of his downfall is most graphically told.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">A Widow by Choice.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">Coralie Stanton</span> and <span class="smcap">Heath Hosken</span>.</p> - -<p>The principal action of this story takes place in Italy—in Florence -and near Perugia; and the book is a human document peopled with -living characters. Readers who want a glowing and absorbing story -of Italy should get this book.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">A King’s Wife.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">Hélène Vacaresco</span>.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo. Cloth. Decorated Cover. 6s.</i></p> - -<p>This is a novel which will assuredly create a great sensation. The -brilliant authoress was barely 18 when the Academy crowned her -first volume of poems, “Chants d’Aurore.”</p> - -<p>The close friendship between the Queen of Roumania, Carmen -Sylva, and Hélène Vacaresco is well known, and also the romance -of the projected marriage between the young poet and the royal -prince of Roumania; this project was abandoned for State reasons, -but it created an idyllic and legendary atmosphere round the -authoress.</p> - -<p>Her book, while pure fiction, may be said to mirror the mode of -living and sentiments of certain royal personages, and probably no -more intimate picture of Court Life from the inside has ever been -published. It is a story full of passion and interest.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Salving of a Derelict.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">Maurice Drake</span>.</p> - -<p>The <i>Daily Mail</i> offered a prize of £100 for the best novel, -and over 600 competitors sent in manuscripts. -The prize was awarded to this thrilling and romantic -adventure story.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">Lucy of the Stars.</p> - -<p class="indent8">By <span class="smcap">Frederick Palmer</span>.</p> - -<p>With Four Illustrations.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">First Reviews.</span></p> - -<p>“Delightful reading—the study of the central figure is work of which -the author may well be proud.”—<i>Country Life.</i></p> - -<p>“This is a remarkably clever novel, and Lucy is as delightful a personage -as any of recent fiction.”—<i>Dundee Advertiser.</i></p> - -<p>“We have not recently read anything which left upon us so profound an -impression of the writer’s ability.”—<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p> - -<p>“Far above the average.”—<i>Birmingham Post.</i></p> - -<p>“Good, sincere, and readable.”—<i>Belfast N. 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Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center"><i>5th Thousand now ready, with additional Chapters on -<span class="smcap">Misery Bridge and Specimen hands</span>.</i></p> - -<p class="center smaller">THE NEW LAWS OF BRIDGE<br> -AND COMMENTS THEREON.</p> - -<p class="noindent larger">The Complete<br> -Bridge Player</p> - -<div class="indent5"> - -<p><span class="smcap">By<br> -EDWYN ANTHONY<br> -(“Cut Cavendish”).</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo, 244 pages, 2s. 6d. net.</i></p> - -<p>A bright and cheery guide, carrying the reader through Bridge -in all its varying stages, and finally landing him on the high -road to success.</p> - -<p>Although the treatise will be readily understood by beginners, -the more advanced player will derive considerable pleasure -and profit from a study of its contents.</p> - -<p>The arrangement of the book is excellent, its advice sound -and practicable, and attention to its precepts should qualify the -reader as an expert in the game.</p> - -<p>The chapters on Dummy, Cut Throat, Auction, Duplicate, -Progressive, and Misery Bridge will also no doubt be widely -appreciated, whilst the revised laws of the game are included -in the volume.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Introduction. A Vocabulary of Bridge. How to -Play the Game. A First Lesson in Bridge. The -Declaration in No Trumps. The Play in No Trumps. -A Red Suit Declaration. A Black Suit Declaration. -The Play to a Suit Declaration. The Double -and Redouble. The Original Lead. The Finesse -and the Discard. The Play of the Hand. Some -Bridge Maxims. Penalties, and When to Enforce -Them. Etiquette of the Game. English and -American Codes. The New Laws of Bridge. Dummy -Bridge. Cut Throat Bridge. Auction Bridge. -Progressive Bridge. Duplicate Bridge. Specimen -Hands. Misery Bridge.</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>T. Werner Laurie, Clifford’s Inn, London.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="hanging"><b>LADY JIM OF CURZON STREET.</b> By <span class="smcap">Fergus Hume</span>, -author of “The Mystery of a Hansom Cab.” Cover design by -Charles E. Dawson. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>While this is a smart Society novel in place of his more familiar -detective work, Mr. Hume gives his readers plenty of mystery and excitement -from his first page to his last, and they will find in the book just -those qualities which have made his work so popular.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hanging"><b>PLAYING THE KNAVE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Florence Warden</span>, author -of “The House on the Marsh.” Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>A LINDSAY’S LOVE.</b> A Tale of the Tuileries and the Siege -of Paris. By <span class="smcap">Charles Lowe</span>, author of “A Fallen Star,” -etc. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I can recommend this book to all readers who appreciate a fresh and -vigorous story of romance and war, told with a freshness of touch which -is becoming more and more rare in modern fiction.”—<i>T. P.’s Weekly.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p class="hanging"><b>THE BELL AND THE ARROW.</b> An English Love Story, -By <span class="smcap">Nora Hopper</span> (Mrs. Hugh Chesson). Crown 8vo, -cloth, 6s.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Mrs. Chesson is to be congratulated on her first novel. This is a -book of great promise and of a considerable performance.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p class="hanging"><b>CONFESSIONS OF A YOUNG MAN.</b> By <span class="smcap">George -Moore</span>, author of “Esther Waters,” “The Mummer’s Wife,” -“Evelyn Innes,” etc. A new edition, revised, and with a new -foreword. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“It is difficult to convey a sense of the book’s brilliance in a brief -review. His style has the delicious freshness of youth. His paragraphs -reveal blossom after blossom, with a promise of a rarer beauty yet to -come at each full stop.”—<i>Manchester Guardian.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>SECOND PRINTING.</i></p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>THE WILD IRISHMAN.</b> By <span class="smcap">T. W. H. Crosland</span>, author -of “The Unspeakable Scot,” “Lovely Woman,” etc. Crown -8vo, cloth gilt, 5s.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Disthressful—The Shillelagh—Blarney—Whiskey—The -Patriot—Orangemen—The Low Scotch—Priestcraft—Morals—Pretty -Women—The London Irish—Tom Moore—Mr. W. B. 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