Czytaj książkę: «Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843», strona 15

WOMAN'S RIGHTS AND DUTIES

BY A WOMAN

 
"Chose étrange d'aimer, et que pour ces maitresses,
Les hommes soient sujets à de telles foiblesses—
Tout le monde connoit leur imperfection,
Ce n'est qu'extravagance et qu'indiscrétion.
Leur esprit est méchant, et leur âme fragile,
Il n'est rien de plus foible et de plus imbécille,
Rien de plus infidèle—et malgrè tout cela,
Dans le monde on fait tout pour ces animaux-là."
 

Ecole des Femmes.

Such is the language of disappointment—but although a careful examination of ancient and modern manners might lead to a different conclusion, (for as the corruption of excessive refinement ends by placing her in the first condition, so does the brutal assertion of physical superiority begin by degrading her to the last,) woman is, we firmly believe, neither intended for a tyrant nor a slave—Not a slave, for till she is raised above the condition of a beast of burden, man, her companion, must continue barbarous—Not a tyrant, for terrible as are the evils of irresponsible authority, with whomsoever it may be vested, in her hands it becomes the most tremendous instrument that Providence in its indignation can employ to crush, degrade, and utterly to paralyze the nations within its reach. The former position will readily be conceded; and the history of Rome under the Emperors, or of France during the last century, affords but too striking an exemplification of the second. It is, then, of the last importance to society, that clear and accurate notions should prevail among us concerning the education of a being on whom all its refinement, and much of its prosperity, must depend. It is of the last importance, not only that the absurd notions which half-a-century ago deprived English ladies of education altogether, should be consigned to everlasting oblivion and contempt—not only that the system to which France is indebted for its Du Deffauds, Pompadours, and Du Barrys should be extinguished, but that principles well adapted to the habits and intelligence of man, in the most civilized state in which he has ever yet existed, should prevail among us, should float upon the very atmosphere we breathe, and be circulated in every vein that traverses the mighty fabric of society. Therefore it is, because we are deeply impressed with this conviction, that we hail with delight the appearance of a work so profound, eloquent, and judicious; combining in so rare an union so many kinds of excellence, as that which we now propose to the consideration of our readers. Since the days of Smith and Montesquieu, no more valuable addition has been made to moral science; and though the good taste and modesty of its author, has induced her to put, in the least obtrusive form, the wisdom and erudition—the least fragment of which would have furnished forth a host of modern Sciolists with the most ostentatious paragraphs—the deep thought and nervous eloquence by which almost every page of the volume before us is illustrated, sufficiently establish her title to rank among the most distinguished writers of this age and country. If, indeed, we were ungrateful enough to quarrel with any part of a work, the perusal of which has afforded us so much gratification, we should be disposed (in deference, however, rather to the opinions of others than our own) to alter the title that is prefixed to it. Many a grave and pompous gentleman, who is "free to confess," and "does not hesitate to utter" the dullest and most obvious commonplaces, would sit down to the perusal of a work entitled, "On the Government of Dependencies," or "Sermons on the Functions of Archdeacons and Rural Deans," though never so deficient in learning, vigour, and originality, who will reject with the supercilious ignorance of incurable stupidity, these volumes, in which the habits, the interests, the inalienable rights, the sacred duties of one half of the species, (and of that half to which, at the most pliant and critical period of life, the health, the disposition, the qualities, moral and intellectual, of the other half must of necessity be confided,) are discussed with exemplary fairness, and placed in the most luminous point of view. But we have detained our readers too long from the admirable work which it is our object to make known to them. It opens in the following manner:—

"It was once suggested by an eminent physiologist, that the greatest enjoyments of our animal nature might be those which, from their constancy, escape our notice altogether.

"His investigations had led him to think, that even the involuntary motions carried on in our system, were productive of pleasure; and that the act of respiration was probably attended by a sensation as delightful as the gratifications of the palate. It is certain that every sense is a source of unnoticed pleasures. Sound and light are agreeable in themselves, before their varied combinations have produced music to our ear, or conveyed the perceptions of form to our mind. Innumerable are the emotions of pleasure conveyed to the imagination and the senses, by the endless diversities of form, colour, and sound; and the unbought riches poured upon us from these sources, are more prolific of enjoyment, than any of the far-sought distinctions which stir the hopes and rivalries of men. Yet, on these and other spontaneous blessings, no one reflects, or even enumerates them among the sources of happiness, till some casual suspension of them revives sensibility to the delight they afford.

"Such are the lamentations, though rarely so eloquently uttered, which we daily hear on the loss of some possession, which, while held, was scarcely noticed; and could preserve its owner, neither from the gloom of apathy, nor the irritation of discontent.

"Were it not for this, the necessary effect of habit both in the physical and moral world, women might be expected to live in daily and hourly exultation, who have been born in a Christian and civilized country. Whatever theorists may have thought occasionally of the happiness of men in barbarous or savage conditions, no doubt at all can be entertained as to that of women. It is civilization which has taken the yoke from their neck, the scourge from their back, and the burden from their shoulders. It is Christianity chiefly which has raised them from the state of slaves or menials to that of citizens, and compelled their rough and unresisted tyrants to call up law in their defence; that potent spirit which they, who have evoked it, must ever after themselves submit to. Religion, which extends the sanctity of the marriage vow to the husband as well as to the wife, has rescued her from a condition in which her best and most tender affections were the source of her bitterest misery; a condition in which her only escape from a sense of suffering too unremitting for nature to endure, was in that mental degradation which produces insensibility to wrong. The instances of primitive communities, in which such injustice has not prevailed, are too few and far between, to form any solid objection to the truth of this general picture. The mere increase of numbers infallibly obliterates the fair but feeble virtues that originate in nothing but ignorance of ill; and the first inroads of want or discord, usually settle the doom of the weak and defenceless. In restoring to women their domestic dignity, religion has done more than every other cause towards shielding them from the consequences of weakness and dependence. From the dignified affections of the other sex, they have gradually acquired some social rights, and some share of that freedom, without which virtue itself can scarcely exist. Opinion, the offspring, not of resplendent genius, whose earliest fires burned indignantly against the tyrant and oppressor, but of a religion which preached the equality of all before God, has given them a share of those blessings, without which life is not worth possession. At length it has opened to them the portals of knowledge and wisdom, the gradual, but effective supports against degradation; and has sanctified its gifts by withholding from them every license that leads to vice, every knowledge that detracts from their purity, and every profession that would expose them to insult."

Then follows a masterly sketch of the condition of woman in uncivilized life, in which the subject is illustrated by the most apposite quotations from the works of different travellers and historians. It is the writer's opinion that in uncivilized life, the degradation of woman, though common, is not universal. The celebrated passage in Tacitus is quoted in support of this position; and among other less interesting extracts, is the following account of Galway by Hardiman, a country which, so great is the blessing of a paternal and judicious government, may furnish, in the nineteenth century, illustrations of uncivilized life, equally picturesque and striking with those which Tacitus has recorded in his day as familiar among the inhabitants of Pagan Germany.

"This colony, from time immemorial, has been ruled by one of their own body, periodically elected, who somewhat resembled the Brughaid or head village of ancient times, when every clan resided in its hereditary canton. This individual, who is decorated with the title of mayor, in imitation of the city, regulates the community according to their own peculiar customs and laws, and settles all fishery disputes. His decisions are so decisive, and so much respected, that the parties are seldom known to carry their differences before a legal tribunal, or to trouble the civil magistrate. They neither understand nor trouble themselves about politics, consequently, in the most turbulent times, their loyalty has never been questioned. Their mayor is no way distinguished from other villagers, except that his boat is decorated with a white sail, and may be seen when at sea, at which time he acts as admiral, with colours flying at the masthead, gliding through their fleet with some appearance of authority…. When on shore, they employ themselves in repairing their boats, sails, rigging, and cordage, in making, drying, and repairing their nets and spillets, in which latter part they are assisted by the women, who spin the hemp and yarn for their nets. In consequence of their strict attention to these particulars, very few accidents happen at sea, and lives are seldom lost. Whatever time remains after these avocations, they spend in regaling with whisky, and assembling in groups to discuss their maritime affairs, on which occasions they arrange their fishing excursions. When preparing for sea, hundreds of their women and children for days before crowd the strand, seeking for worms to bait the hooks. The men carry in their boats, potatoes, oaten cakes, fuel, and water, but never admit any spirituous liquors. Thus equipped, they depart for their fishing ground, and sometimes remain away several days. Their return is joyfully hailed by their wives and children, who meet them on the shore. The fish instantly becomes the property of the women, (the men, after landing, never troubling themselves further about it,) and they dispose of it to a poorer class of fishwomen, who retail it at market.

"The inhabitants of the Cloddagh are an unlettered race. They rarely speak English, and even their Irish they pronounce in a harsh, discordant tone, sometimes not intelligible to the townspeople. They are a contented, happy race, satisfied with their own society, and seldom ambitious of that of others. Strangers (for whom they have an utter aversion) are never suffered to reside among them. The women possess an unlimited control over their husbands, the produce of whose labour they exclusively manage, allowing the men little more money than suffices to keep the boat and tackle in repair; but they keep them plentifully supplied with whisky, brandy, and tobacco. The women seldom speak English, but appear more shrewd and intelligent in their dealings than the men; in their domestic concerns the general appearance of cleanliness is deserving of particular praise. The wooden ware, with which every dwelling is well stored, rivals in colour the whitest delft.

"At an early age they generally marry amongst their own clan. A marriage is commonly preceded by an elopement, but no disappointment or disadvantage from that circumstance has ever been known among them. The reconciliation with the friends usually takes place the next morning, the clergyman is sent for, and the marriage celebrated. The parents generally contrive to supply the price of a boat, or a share in one, as a beginning."

The writer then proceeds, in a strain of generous yet chastened energy, to comment on the false measure which people apply to the sufferings of others. Insensibility to wretchedness, or, as in the vocabulary of oppression it is called, content, is often a proof of nothing but that stupefaction of the faculties which is the natural result of long and blighting misery. A contented slave is a degraded man. His sorrow may be gone, but so is his understanding.

In the course of her enquiries into the condition of women under the Mahometan law, the author is led to make some reflections upon one by whom Mahometan manners were first presented in an attractive shape to the English public—a person celebrated for her friends, but still more celebrated for her enemies—known for her love, but famous for her hate—a girl without feeling, a woman without tenderness—a banished wife, a careless mother—on whom extraordinary wit, masculine sense, a clear judgment, and an ardent love of letters seem to have been lavished for no other purpose than to show that, without a good heart, they serve only to make their possessor the most contemptible of mankind. Lady Mary Wortley's heart was the receptacle of all meanness and sensuality—the prey of a selfishness as intense as rank, riches, a bad education, natural malignity, and the extremes of good and bad fortune, ever engendered in the breast of woman. The remarks on her character, in the volume before us, are, as might be expected, excellent.

The condition of women among the more polished nations of antiquity, is a subject which, if fully examined, would more than exhaust our narrow limits. It does not appear from Homer, says our author, that the condition of women was depressed. Achilles, in a very striking passage, declares that every wise and good man loves and is careful for his wife, and Hector, in the passage which Cicero is so fond of quoting, urges the opinion of

"Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,"

as a motive for his conduct. However this may be, certain it is, that the feelings and affections of domestic life are portrayed by Homer with a degree of purity, truth, and pathos, that casts every other writer, Virgil not excepted, into the shade; and which, to carry the panegyric of human composition as far as it will go, he himself, in his most glorious passages, has never been able to surpass. It has been so long the fashion to represent Virgil as the sole master of the pathetic, that this assertion may appear to many paradoxical; and it is undoubtedly true, that the fourth book of the Aeneid cannot he read by any one of common sensibility without strong emotion; but how different is the lamentation of Andromache over her living husband, uttered in all the glow and consciousness of returned and "twice blest" love, from the raving of the slighted woman, abandoned by the lover whom she has too rashly trusted, and to whom she has too plainly become indifferent! How different is the character of the patriot warrior, the prop and bulwark of his country, sacrificing his life to delay that ruin which he knew it was beyond his power to avert—snatching, amid the bloody scenes around him, a moment for the indulgence of a father's pride and a husband's tenderness, from the perfidious paramour flying from the vengeance of the woman he had wronged!

And how noble is the simplicity of Andromache, how affecting the appeal in which, after reminding her husband that all else to which she was bound had been swept away, she tells him that, while he remains, her other losses are unfelt! Let us trace the episode. "She had not gone," the poet tells us, "to the mansions of her brothers or of her sisters, with their floating veils; neither had she gone to the shrine of Minerva, where the Trojan women strove to appease the terrible wrath of the fair-haired goddess. No. She had gone to the lofty tower of Ilium, for she had heard that the Trojans were sore harassed, and that the force of the Greeks was mighty; thither, like one bereft of reason, had she precipitated her steps, and the nurse followed with her child." Then follows that interview, which no one can read without passion, or think of without delight—that exquisite scene, in which the wife and mother pours out all her tenderness, her joy, her sadness, her pride, her terror, the memory of the past, and the presage of future sorrow, in an irresistible torrent of confiding love. Not less affecting is her husband's answer. Conscious of his impending doom, he replies, that "not the future misery of his countrymen, not that of Hecuba herself, and the royal Priam—not that of all his valiant brethren slain by their enemies, and trampled in the dust, give him such a pang as the thought of her distress." Then, as if to relieve his thoughts, he stretches out his hand towards his child, but the child shrinks backwards, scared at the brazen helm and waving crest—the father and the mother exchange a smile—Hector lays aside the blazing helmet, and, clasping his child in his arms, utters the noble prayer which Dryden has rendered with uncommon spirit and fidelity:—

 
"Parent of gods and men, propitious Jove,
And you, bright synod of the powers above,
On this my son your precious gifts bestow;
Grant him to love, and great in arms to grow,
To reign in Troy, to govern with renown,
To shield the people, and assert the crown:
That when hereafter he from war shall come,
And bring his Trojans peace and triumph home,
Some aged man, who lives this act to see,
And who in former times remember'd me,
May say, 'The son in fortitude and fame,
Outgoes the mark, and drowns his father's name;'
That at these words his mother may rejoice,
And add her suffrage to the public voice."
 

"Thus having said, he placed the boy in the arms of his beloved wife, and she received him on her fragrant breast, sailing amid her tears;" her husband uttered a few words of melancholy consolation, "and Andromache went homewards, weeping, and often turning as she went." There is but one passage in any work, ancient or modern, which can bear comparison with this, and that is one in the Odyssey, in which is described the meeting of Ulysses and Penelope; and yet some unfortunate people, who write commentaries on the classics, only to show how completely nature has denied them the faculty of taste, affirm that these passages were written by different people. It is curious to what a pitch pedantry and dulness may be brought by diligent cultivation.

As the fanatics of the East, to prove their continence, frequented the society of women under the most trying circumstances, so these gentlemen seem to study the writers of antiquity with the view of showing that their understandings are equally inaccessible. In one respect the analogy does not hold good. History tells us that the fanatics sometimes sunk under the temptations to which they exposed themselves; but these gentlemen have never, in any one instance, yielded to the influence of taste or genius. Zenophon, in a beautiful treatise, has given an account of the manner in which an Athenian endeavoured to mould the character of his wife, and to this we would refer such of our readers as wish for more ample knowledge on the subject. There is one circumstance, however, which we the rather mention, as it has not found its way into the work before us, and as it furnishes the most conclusive and irresistible evidence of the value set upon matrimonial happiness at Athens, and of the servile vassalage to which women, in that most polished of all cities, were reduced. By the law of Athens, a father without sons might bequeath his property away from his daughter, but the person to whom the property was bequeathed was obliged to marry her. This was reasonable enough; but the same principle, that of keeping the inheritance in the stock to which it belonged, occasioned another law—if the father left his estate to his daughter, and if the daughter inherited his property after the father's death, her nearest male relation in the descending line, the [Greek: agchioteus], might, though she was married to a living husband, lay claim to her, institute a suit for her recovery, force her from her husband's arms, and make her his wife.

Such a law must, alone, have been fatal to that domestic purity which we justly consider the basis of social happiness—the very word, [Greek: hetairai], which the Athenians enjoyed to denote the most degraded of all women, if it proves the exquisite refinement of that wonderful people, serves also to show how different were the associations with which, among them, that class was connected. Can we wonder at this? Under that glorious heaven, such women might, when they chose, behold the statues of Phidias and the pictures of Zeuxis; they could listen to the wisdom of Socrates, or they might form part of the crowd, hushed in raptured silence, round the rhapsodist, as he recited the immortal lines of Homer—or round Demosthenes, as he poured upon a rival, worthy of himself, the burning torrent of his more than human eloquence.

In their hearing the mightiest interests were discussed—the subtle questions of the Academy propounded—the snares of the sophist exposed—the sublime thoughts and actions of heroes and demigods, embodied in the most glorious poetry, were daily exhibited to their view; while the wife, occupied solely with petty cares and trifling objects, without charms to win the love, or dignity to command the esteem, of her husband, was condemned, within the narrow walls of the Gynaeceum, (of which the drawings of Herculaneum and Pompeii may enable us to form some notion,) to drag out the insipid round of her monotonous existence.

True the Hetairai were stigmatized by law—but, as opinion was on their side, they might well submit to legal condemnation and formal censure, when they saw every day the youth, the intellect, the eloquence, the philosophy, and the dignity of Athens crowding round their feet. At Rome, the wife was not subject to the same rigorous seclusion, she was not cut off from all possibility of improvement; her influence was gradually felt, her rights were tacitly extended, and long after the letter of the law reduced her to the condition of a slave, she held and exercised the privileges of a citizen. At Rome, domestic virtues were more considered, domestic ties were held in great esteem. The family was the basis of the state. The existence of the Roman was not altogether public, it was not merely intellectual; in what Grecian poet after Homer shall we find lines that convey such an idea of domestic happiness as these?—

 
"Præterea neque jam domus accipiet te læta, neque uxor
Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati
Præripere—et tacitâ pectus dulcedinet tangent."
 

There is no event to which women are more indebted for the improved situation they hold among us than the propagation of Christianity. It was reserved for religion to urge the weakness of woman as a reason for treating her, not with tenderness only, but with respect; it was reserved for religion to bring the charities that are lovely in private life into public service; to break down the barriers which had so long separated the husband from the citizen, and to pour around the private hearth the light which, up to the time of its revelation, had been reflected almost exclusively from the school of the philosopher or the forum of the republic, unless in a few rare and favoured instances when it had shed its radiance over the cell of the captive and the deathbed of the patriot. It was for religion to inculcate that purity of heart, without which mere forbearance from sensuality is a virtue which may be prized in the precincts of the seraglio, but to which true honour is almost indifferent. Nothing less powerful than such an influence prescribing a new life, and commanding its votaries to be new creatures, could have wrenched from their holdings prejudices as old as the society in which they flourished. Our limits will not allow us to descant at any length on the condition of women during the early ages of Christianity; but we transcribe on this subject, from a recent work, a passage which we are sure our readers will peruse with pleasure.

"Ce qui rendit les moeurs des familles Chrétiennes si graves, ce qui les conserva si chastes, c'est ce qui a toujours exercé sur les moeurs en général l'influence la plus profonde, l'exemple des femmes. Douées d'une delicatesse d'organes, qui rend, pour ainsi dire, leur intelligence plus accessible à la voix d'un monde supérieur, leur coeur plus sensible à toutes ces émotions qui enfantent les vertus, et qui élèvent l'homme terrestre au-dessus de la sphère étroite de la vie présente, les femmes, étrangères à l'histoire des travaux speculatifs du genre humain, sont toujours, dans les révolutions morales et religieuses, les premières à saisir, et à propager ce qui est grand, beau, et céleste. Avec une chaleur entrainante elles embrassèrent la cause Chrétienne, et s'y dévouèrent en héroines, depuis l'annonciation du Sauveur jusqu'à sa mort; en effet, elles furent les premières aux pieds de sa croix, les premières à son sépulcre. Présentant avec leur tact si prompt et si fin, tout ce que cette cause leur déferait d'élévation morale et d'avantages sociaux, elles s'y attachèrent avec un intérêt toujours croissant. Depuis les saintes femmes de l'évangile et la marchande de pourpre de Thyatire jusqu'à l'impératrice Hélène, elles furent les protectrices les plus zélées des idées Chrétiennes. Leur zèle ne fut point sans sacrifices, mais avec empressement elles renoncèrent à leurs goûts les plus chers, à la parure et aux élégances du luxe, pour rivaliser avec les hommes les plus sages de la société Chrétienne. Quelques rares exceptions ne se font remarquer que pour relever tant de mérite."—Matter, Hist. du Christianime, Vol. I.

"The tendency of this creed," to use the words of our author, "is to direct the aim and purposes of mankind to whatever can exalt human nature and improve human happiness. It represents us as gardeners in a vineyard, or servants entrusted with a variety of means, who are not 'to keep their talent in a napkin,' but to exert their skill and ingenuity to employ it to the best advantage. The moral principles themselves are fixed and unchangeable; but their application to the circumstances by which we are surrounded, must depend very much on the degree in which reason has been exercised. By no imaginable instruction could the mind be so tutored, as to see through all the errors and prejudices of its times at once, but the principles possess in themselves a power of progression. The generosity of one time will be but justice in another; the temperance that brings respect and distinction in one age, will be but decorum in one more civilized, yet the principles are at all times the same."

It is difficult to read without a smile some of the passages in which the dress and manners of the first ages are described by the Fathers of the Church; the fair hair, (our classical readers will recollect the

"Nigrum flavo crinem abscondente galero"

of the Roman satirist,) which the daughters of the South borrowed from their Celtic and German neighbours, seems especially to have excited their indignation. Tertullian, in his treatise "De Cultu Foeminarum," declaims with his usual fiery rhetoric against this habit. "I see some women," says the African, "who dye their hair with yellow; they are ashamed of their very nation, that they are not the natives of Gaul or Germany. Evil and most disastrous to them is the omen which their fiery head portends, while they consider such abomination graceful." This charitable hint of future reprobation, savage as it appears, seems to have been much admired by the Fathers; it is repeated by St Jerome and St Cyprian with equal triumph. Well, indeed, might Theophilus of Antioch, in his letter to Autolycus, place the Christian opinions concerning women in startling contrast with the revolting scheme proposed in relation to them by the most refined philosopher of antiquity. Well might the matrons of Antioch refuse to gratify Julian by a sacrifice to gods whose votaries had steeped their sex in impurity and degradation. The death of Hypatia is indeed a blot in Christian annals, but she fell the victim of an infuriated multitude; and how often had the Proconsul and the Emperor beheld, unmoved, the arena wet with the blood of Christian virgins, and the earth blackened with their ashes! Indeed, the deference paid to weakness is the grand maxim, the practical application of which, in spite of some fantastic notions, and some most pernicious errors that accompanied it, entitles chivalry to our veneration, and prevented the dark ages from being one scene of unmixed violence and oppression. The flashes of generosity that gild with a momentary splendour the dreadful scenes of feudal tyranny, were struck out by the force of this principle acting upon the most rugged nature in the most superstitious ages. While the fire that had consumed the surprised city was slaked in the blood of its miserable inhabitants, the distress of high-born beauty, or the remonstrances of the defenceless priest, often arrested the career of the warrior, who viewed the slaughter of unoffending peasants and of simple burghers with as much indifference as that of the wild-boar or the red-deer which it was his pastime and his privilege to destroy. Who does not remember the beautiful passage in Tasso, where the crusaders burst into tears at the sight of the holy sepulchre?—