EXPRESSION
In the chapter on the nose reference was made to our disposition to seize upon any sensation experienced inside the mouth and label it as a “taste,” whereas psychologic analysis shows that in most cases the sense of smell (excited during exhalation) has more to do with our enjoyment of food than taste; and that the nerves of temperature and touch likewise come into play in the case of peppermint, pungent condiments, alcohol, etc. We are also in the habit of including in the term “feeling” or “touch” the entirely distinct sensations of temperature, tickling, and some other sensations, to the separate study of which physiologists are only now beginning to devote special attention.
Similarly with the eyes. Being the most fascinating part of the face, on which we habitually fix our attention while talking, they are credited with various expressions that are really referable to other features, which we rapidly scan and then transfer their language to the eyes. Nor is this all. Most persons habitually attribute to the varying lustre of the eyeball diverse “soulful” expressions which, as physiologic analysis shows, are due to the movements of the eyeball, the eyebrows, and lashes. The poets, who have said so many beautiful things about the eyes, are rarely sufficiently definite to lay themselves open to the charge of inaccuracy. But there can be little doubt that the popular opinion concerning the all-importance of the eyeball is embodied in such expressions as these: “Love, anger, pride, and avarice all visibly move in those little orbs” (Addison). “Her eye in silence has a speech which eye best understands” (Southwell). “An eye like Mars to threaten or command.” “The heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, ’gainst which the world cannot hold argument.” “Behold the window of my heart, mine eye.” “Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages.” “For shame, lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.” “If mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.” “There’s an eye wounds like a leaden sword.” The last three of these Shaksperian lines were evidently echoing in Emerson’s mind when he wrote that “Some eyes threaten like a loaded and levelled pistol, and others are as insulting as hissing or kicking; some have no more expression than blueberries, while others as deep as a well which you can fall into.” “Glances are the first billets-doux of love,” says Ninon de L’Enclos.
In order to make perfectly clear the mechanism by which the eye becomes an organ of speech, it is advisable to consider separately these six factors, which are included in it—(a) Lustre; (b) Colour of the Iris; (c) Movements of the Iris or Pupil; (d) Movements of the Eyeball; (e) Movements of the Eyelids; (f) Movements of the Eyebrows.
(a) Lustre.—"The physiological problem whether the surface of the eyeball, independent of the muscles that cover and surround it, can express emotion, a near study of the American girl seems to answer quite in the affirmative." Dr. G. M. Beard remarks, without, however, endeavouring to specify what emotions the surface of the eyeball expresses, or in what manner it does express them.
Dr. Magnus, on the other hand, who has made a more profound study of this question than any other writer, is emphatic in his conviction that “the eyeball takes no active part in the expression of emotions, which is entirely accomplished by the muscles and soft parts surrounding it.” His view is supported by the fact that although some of the ancient sculptors endeavoured by the use of jewels or by chiselling semi-lunar or other grooves into the eyeball to simulate its lustre by means of shadows, yet as a rule sculptors and painters strangely neglect the careful elaboration of the eyeball; and in the Greek works of the best period, including those of Phidias, the eyeball was left smooth and unadorned, the artists relying especially on the careful chiselling of the lids and brows for the attainment of the particular characteristic expression desired.
Nevertheless Dr. Magnus goes too far in denying that ocular lustre can be directly expressive of mental states without the assistance of the movements of the eyebrows and lids. His own observations show that he has overstated his thesis. We can indeed, he says, infer from the appearance of the eyeball, “whether the soul is agitated or calm, but we have to rely on the facial muscles to specify the emotion. This is the reason why we can never judge the sentiments of one who is masked; for the fire in his eye can only indicate to us his greater or less agitation, but not its special character. That we could only read in the features which the mask conceals. It is for this reason that the orthodox Mahometan makes his women cover up their face with a veil which leaves nothing exposed but the eyes, because these cannot, without the constant play of the facial muscles, indicate the emotional state. The lustre of the corneal mirror therefore indicates to us only the quantity, but never the quality of emotional excitement.”
Herein Dr. Magnus follows the assertion of Lebrun, a contemporary of Louis XIV., that “the eyeball indicates by its fire and its movements in general that the soul is passionately excited, but not in what manner.”
No doubt the Turk attains his object in leaving only the eyes of his women open to view, for thus the passing stranger cannot tell whether her eye flashes Love or anger. But he can tell whether she is agitated or indifferent: and is not that a language too? Do we not call music the “language of emotions,” although it can only indicate the quantity of emotion, and rarely its precise quality—just like the eyes? Therefore Dr. Magnus is wrong in denying to the eyeball the power of emotional expression. Vague emotion is still emotion.
It has already been intimated in what manner emotional excitement increases the eye’s lustre. It causes the blood-vessels in the sockets of the eye to swell, thus increasing the tension of the conjunctiva and the flow of the lachrymal fluid.
Besides quantitative emotion there is another thing which ocular lustre expresses, and that is Health. It is true that consumption, fever, and possibly other diseases may produce a peculiar temporary transparency of complexion and ocular lustre; but, as a rule, a bright eye indicates Health and abundant vitality.
As Health is the first condition of Love, and as the ocular lustre which indicates Health cannot be normally secured without it, women of all times and countries have been addicted to the habit of increasing the eye’s sparkle artificially by applying a thin line of black paint to the edge of the lids. The ancient Egyptians, Persians, Hindoos, Greeks, and Romans followed this custom. But the natural sparkle which comes of Health and Beauty-sleep [i.e. before midnight, with open windows] is a thousand times preferable to such dangerous methods of tampering with the most delicate and most easily injured organ of the body.
Still another way in which the eyeball itself can express emotion is by the varying amount on it of the lachrymal fluid, to which, in my opinion, its lustre is chiefly owing. There is a supreme and thrilling sparkle of the eye which can only come of the heavenly joys of Love; but there is also “a liquid melancholy” of sweet eyes, to use Bulwer’s words. Scott remarks that “Love is loveliest when embalmed in tears;” and Dr. Magnus attests that “especially in the eyes of lovers we often find a slight suspicion of tears.” He traces to this fact a peculiar charm that is to be found in the eyes of Venus, which the Greeks called ὑγρὸν (liquid, swimming, languishing). The sculptors produced this expression by indicating the border between the lower lid and the eyeball but slightly, thus giving the impression as if this border were veiled by a liquid line of tear-fluid.
What enables the lid to keep this fluid line in place is the fact that its edge is lined with minute glands secreting an oily substance. The presence of these glands in the upper lid, where they cannot serve to retain lachrymal fluid, suggests the important inference that the lustre of the eye may be partly due to a thin film of oil spread over the cornea by the up-and-down movements of this lid. Indeed, this may possibly be the chief cause of ocular lustre.
When the lachrymal fluid habitually present in the eye becomes too abundant it ceases to express amorous tenderness, and becomes instead indicative of old age, or, worse still, of intemperance. Alcoholism has a peculiarly demoralising effect on the lower eyelid, which becomes swollen and inflamed. This probably overstimulates the action of the oil glands in the lids, thus accounting for the watery or blear eye, eloquent of vice.
(b) Colour of the Iris.—There is nothing in which popular physiognomy takes so much delight as in pointing out what particular characteristics are indicated by the different colours of eyes. All such distinctions are the purest drivel. We have seen that differences in the colour of eyes are entirely due to the varying amount of the same pigmentary matter present in the iris. Now, what earthly connection could a greater or less quantity of this colouring matter have with our intellectual or moral traits? It is necessary thus to trace facts to their last analysis in order to expose the absurdities of current physiognomy.
Inasmuch as black-eyed southern nations are, on the whole, more impulsive than northern races, it may be said in a vague, general way that a black eye indicates a passionate disposition. But there are countless exceptions to this rule—apathetic black-eyed persons, as well as, conversely, fiery blue-eyed individuals. Nor is this at all strange; for the black colour is not stored up in some mysterious way as a result of a fiery temperament, but is simply accumulated in the iris through Natural Selection, as a protection against glaring sunlight.
Although, therefore, the brilliancy of the eye may vary with its colour, the colour itself does not express emotion, either qualitatively or quantitatively. In reading character no assistance is given us by the fact that eyes are “of unholy blue,” “darkly divine,” “gray as glass,” or “green as leeks.” Shakspere calls Jealousy a “green-eyed monster”; and the green iris has indeed such a bad reputation that blondes in search of a compliment commonly abuse their “green” eyes, to exercise your Gallantry, and give you a chance to defend their “celestial blue” or “divine violet.”
Dr. Magnus suggests that the reason why we dislike decidedly green or yellow eyes is simply because they are of rare occurrence, and therefore appear anomalous; for in animals we do not hesitate to pronounce such eyes beautiful. He also explains ingeniously why it is that we are apt to attribute moral shortcomings to persons whose eyes are of a vague, dubious colour. Such eyes displease our æsthetic sense, and this displeasure we transfer to the moral sense, and thus confound and prejudice our judgment. In the same way our dislike of unusual green eyes disposes us to accuse their owners of irregularities of conduct. Moral: Keep your æsthetic and ethical judgments apart.
Conversely, in the case of snakes, our fear and horror make it difficult for us to appreciate the æsthetic charm of their colours. And all these cases show that the æsthetic sense, if properly understood and specialised, is independent of moral and utilitarian considerations: which knocks the bottom out of the theory of Alison, Jeffrey, and Co.
One more abnormality of colour in the iris must be referred to. It happens not infrequently that the colour of the two eyes is not alike, one being brown, the other blue or gray. In such cases, though each eye may be perfect in itself, we dislike the combination. What is the ground of this æsthetic dislike? Simply the fact that the dissimilarity of the eyes violates one of the fundamental laws of Beauty—the law of Symmetry, which demands that corresponding parts on the two sides of the body should harmonise.
(c) Movements of the Iris.—The jetblack pupil of the eye, as already noted, is not always of the same size. It becomes smaller if an excess of light causes the iris to relax, larger if diminution of light makes the iris contract its fibres. Another way of altering the size of the pupil is by gazing at a distant object, which causes it to enlarge, while gazing at a near object makes it smaller. According to Gratiolet and some other writers, there is still another way in which the pupil is affected, namely, through emotional excitement. Great fear, for instance, enlarges the pupil, according to Gratiolet. Dr. Magnus, however, remarks that, apart from the fact that some observers have denied that the pupil is affected by emotions, the alterations in its size are as a rule too insignificant to be noted by any but a trained observer; so that they could not play any important physiognomic rôle.
Yet a large pupil is everywhere esteemed a great beauty, and is often credited with a special power of amorous expression. “Widened pupils,” says Kollmann, “give the eye a tender aspect; they seem to increase its depth, and fascinate the spectator by the strangeness this imparts to the gaze. Oriental women put atropine into their eyes, which enlarges the pupil. They do this in order to give their eyes the soulful expression which they believe is imparted by large pupils, distinctly foreshadowing the joys of love.”
Whether emotionally expressive or not, so much is certain that large pupils are more beautiful than small ones, for the same reason that large eyes are more beautiful than small ones, i.e. because we cannot have too much of a thing of Beauty.
Finally, there is this to be said regarding the lustre, colour, and size of pupil and iris, that they emphasise the language of the eye. If we play a love-song on the piano, we may admire it; but if it is sung or played on the violoncello, it makes a doubly deep impression; and why? Because the superior sensuous beauty of the voice, or the amorous tone-colour of the ’cello, paints and gilds the bare fabric of the song. A small dull-coloured eye, similarly, may speak quite as definite a language of command or entreaty, pride or humility, as any other; but the flashing large pupil and the lustrous deep-dyed iris intensify the emotional impressiveness of this language a hundredfold, by adding the incalculable power of sensuous Beauty. Thus lustre and colour are for the visible music of the spheres what orchestration is to audible music.
(d) Movements of the Eyeball.—The socket of the eye contains (besides the fat-cushion in which the eyeball is imbedded, the blood-vessels, and other tissues) seven muscles; one for raising the upper lid, and six for moving the eyeball itself upwards, downwards, inwards, outwards, or forwards and obliquely. To the action of these muscles the eye owes much of its expressiveness.
It has been noted that elating emotions have a tendency to raise the features, depressing emotions to depress them. The eyeball is no exception. Persons who are elated by their real or apparent superiority to others turn their eyes habitually from the humble things beneath them; hence the muscle which turns the eyeball upwards has long ago received the name of “pride-muscle”; while its antipode, the musculus humilis, is so called because humility and modesty are characterised by a downward gaze.
The muscle which turns the eyeball towards the inner corner, nosewards, is much used by persons who are occupied with near objects. If this convergence of the eyes is too pronounced, it gives one a stupid expression; whereas, if moderate, the expression is one of great intellectual penetration, as Dr. Magnus points out. He believes that the trick, made use of by some portrait-painters, of making the eyes appear to follow you wherever you go depends on this medium degree of convergence of the eyes.
Slight divergence of the eyeballs, on the other hand, is characteristic of children and of great thinkers—an item which Schopenhauer forgot to note when he pointed out that genius always retains certain traits of childhood. “Donders,” says Dr. Magnus, “has always observed this divergent position of the eyes in persons who meditate deeply. And the artists make use of this position of the eyes to give their figures the expression of a soul averted from terrestrial affairs, and fixed on higher spiritual objects. Thus the Sistine Madonna has this divergent position of the eyes, as well as the beautiful boy she carries on her arm.” It is also found in Dürer’s portrait of himself, and in a bust of Marcus Aurelius in the Vatican.
If, however, this divergence becomes too great, it loses its charm, for the eyes then appear to fix no object at all, and the gaze becomes “vacant,” as in the eyes of the blind or the sick. To appreciate the force of these remarks it must be borne in mind that there is only one part of the retina, called the “yellow spot,” with which we can distinctly fix an object. What we see with other parts of the retina is indistinct, blurred.
These details are here given because many will be glad to know that by daily exercising the muscles of the eyeballs before the mirror, they can greatly alter and improve their looks. Every day one hears the remark, “She has beautiful eyes, but she does not know how to use them.” When we read of a great thinker, like Kant, fixing his gaze immovably on a tree for an hour, we think it quite natural; nor does any one object to “the poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,” for we all know that a poet is merely an inspired madman. But a young lady who wishes to charm by her Beauty must learn to fix her wandering eyes calmly on others, while avoiding a stony stare. One of the greatest charms of American girls is their frank, steady gaze, free from any tinge of unfeminine boldness. Such a charming natural gaze can only be acquired in a country where girls are taught to look upon men as gentlemen, and not as wolves, against whom they must be guarded by dragons.
Eye-gymnastics are as important to Beauty as lung-gymnastics to Health, and dancing-lessons to Grace. But of course there is a certain number of fortunate girls who can dispense with such exercises, because they gradually learn the proper use of their eyes, as well as general graceful movements, from the example of a refined mother.
Goldsmith’s pretty line about “the bashful virgin’s sidelong looks of love,” is not a mere poetic conceit, but a scientific aperçu; for, as Professor Kollmann remarks, “the external straight muscle of the eye was also called the lover’s muscle, musculus amatorius, because the furtive side-glance is aimed at a beloved person.”
Nor is this the only way in which the movements of the eyeball are concerned with Romantic Love. By constantly exercising certain muscles of the eyeball in preference to others, the eyes gradually assume, when at rest, a fixed and peculiar gaze which distinguishes them from all other eyes. It is comparatively easy to find two pairs of eyes of the same colour or form, but two with the same gaze, i.e. characteristic position of the eyeballs, never. Hence Dr. Magnus boldly generalises Herder’s statement that “Every great man has a look which no one but he can give with his eyes,” into the maxim that “Every individual has a look which no one else can make with his eyes.”
Bungling photographers commonly spoil their pictures by compelling their victims to fix their eyes in an unwonted position. The result is a picture which bears some general resemblance to the victim, but in which the characteristic individual expression is wanting.
Our habit of masking our eyes alone when we wish to remain unrecognised, and leaving the lower part of the face exposed, affords another proof of the assertion that the eye is the chief seat of individuality. For though the eyeball itself remains visible, the surrounding parts are covered, so that its characteristic position cannot be determined.
Now we know that Individual Preference is the first and most essential element of Romantic Love. Hence Dante was as correct in calling the eyes “the beginning of Love,” as in terming the lips “the end of Love.” And Shakspere agrees with Dante when he speaks of “Love first learned in a lady’s eyes”; and again: “But for her eye I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes.”
(e) Movements of the Eyelids.—Although the foregoing pages considerably qualify Dr. Magnus’s thesis that the eyeball owes all its life and expressiveness to the movements of the eyelids and brows, yet the physiognomic and æsthetic importance of lids, lashes, and brows can hardly be too much emphasised. A very large proportion of the pleasure we derive from beautiful eyes is due to the constant changes in the apparent size of the eyeball, and the gradations in its lustre, produced by the rapid movements of the upper lid. This is strikingly proved by the fact, noted by Dr. Magnus, “that the eyes of wax figures, be they ever so artistically finished, always give the impression of death and rigidity,” whereas “artificial eyes, such as are often inserted by physicians after the loss of an eye, have, thanks to the constant play of the lids, an appearance so animated and lifelike that it requires the trained eye of a specialist to detect the dead, lifeless glass-eye in this apparently so animated orb.”
A complete emotional scale is symbolised in these movements of the upper eyelids. A medium position indicates rest or indifference. Joyous and other exciting emotions raise them, so that the whole of the lustrous iris becomes visible. Thus we get the eye “sparkling with joy” or the “angry flash of the eye,” as well as Cupid’s darts: “He is already dead; stabbed with a white wench’s black eye.” “Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords.”
But if the lids are raised too high, so that the white above the iris becomes visible, the expression changes to one of affectation, or maniacal wildness, or extreme terror. There are persons, says Magnus, in whom the aperture between the lids is naturally so wide as to reveal the upper white of the eyes; and in consequence we are apt to accuse them of hollow pathos. I have seen not a few beautiful pairs of eyes marred by the habitual tendency to raise the lids too much—a fault that can be readily overcome by deliberate effort and practice before the mirror.
On the other hand, if the aperture between the lids is too small, that is, if the lids are naturally (or only transiently) lowered too much, we get an apathetic, drowsy expression. The Chinese eye displeases us not only by its oblique set, and the narrowness of the lid, but also because the natural smallness of the eyeball is exaggerated by the narrow palpebral aperture. The negro appears more wide awake to us, because in his eyes this aperture is wider—so wide, in fact, that he is apt to displease us by showing too much of the white sclerotic.
A very drooping eyelid being expressive of fatigue, physical or mental, blasé persons affect it in order to indicate their nil admirari attitude. But there is another secret reason why they drop their eyelids. If we lower the head and open our eyes widely, they retire within their sockets and appear hollow, suggesting dissipation or disease; whereas, if we raise the head, throwing it slightly backwards, and lowering the eyelids, we obliterate this hollow, and give the impression of languid indifference. This, rather than the “raising of the eyebrows,” is what constitutes the “supercilious” expression.
It cannot be said that a supercilious appearance is specially attractive, yet the obliteration of the eyes’ hollowness is an advantage; and it may be added that, since perfect health is not a superabundant phenomenon, the same reasoning explains why many faces are so much more fascinating in a reclining or semi-reclining position than when upright. Fashion, of course, being the handmaid of ugliness, does not object to hollow eyes encircled by blue rings, but even cultivates them. Yet in her heart of hearts every fashionable woman knows that nothing so surely kills masculine admiration—not to speak of Love—as sunken eyes with blue rings.
A slight drooping of the eyelids, on the other hand, gives a pleasing expression of amorous languor. The lid, with its lashes, in this case, coyly veils the lustre of the eye, without extinguishing it. Hence, in the words of Dr. Magnus, the sculptors of antiquity made use of this slight lowering of the lid to express sensuous love; and accordingly it was customary to chisel the eyes of Venus with drooping lids and a small aperture.
In their task of moderating and varying the lustre of the eyeball, the lids are greatly assisted by the lashes. An eye with missing or too short lashes is apt to appear too fiery, glaring, or “stinging.” Long dark eyelashes are of all the means of flirtation the most irresistible. Note yonder artful maiden. How modestly and coyly she droops her eyes, till suddenly the fringed curtain is raised and a glorious symphony of colour and lustre is flashed on her poor companion’s dazed vision! No wonder he staggers and falls in love at first sight.
“White lashes and eyebrows are so disagreeably suggestive,” we read in the Ugly Girl Papers, “that one cannot blame their possessor for disguising them by a harmless device. A decoction of walnut juice should be made in season, and kept in a bottle for use the year round. It is to be applied with a small hair-pencil to the brows and lashes, turning them to a rich brown, which harmonises with fair hair.” Another recipe given, by a good authority, is as follows: “Take frankincense, resin, pitch, of each one half ounce; gum mastic, quarter of an ounce; mix and drop on red-hot charcoals. Receive the fumes in a large funnel, and a black powder will adhere to its sides. Mix this with fresh juice of alderberries (or Cologne water will do), and apply with a fine camel-hair brush.”
Those who wish to make their lashes longer and more regular may find the following suggestions, by Drs. Brinton and Napheys, of use: “The eyelashes should be examined one by one, and any which are split, or crooked, or feeble, should be trimmed with a pair of sharp scissors. The base of the lashes should be anointed nightly with a minute quantity of oil of cajuput on the top of a camel-hair brush, and the examination and trimming repeated every month. If this is sedulously carried out for a few months the result will be gratifying.”
All such operations should be performed by another person, for the eye is a most delicate organ. Yet, not even this organ has been spared by deforming Fashion. The fact that some Africans colour their eyelids black may have a utilitarian rather than a cosmetic reason. But what shall we say to the Africans who eradicate their eyebrows, and the Paraguayans, who remove their eyelashes because they “do not wish to be like horses?”
Twin sisters ever are Fashion and Idiocy.
(f) Movements of the Eyebrows.—Herder called the arched eyebrow the rainbow of peace, because if it is straightened by a frown it portends a storm. In plain prose, the eyebrow partakes of the general upward movement from joyous excitement, and the downward movement in grief. If the eyebrows are too bushy, they overshadow the eye and produce a gloomy or even ferocious appearance. The Chinese, possibly from an instinctive perception that their eyes are not too large or bright, shave their eyebrows, leaving only a narrow fringe. Dr. Broca also notes that the eyebrow adds to the oblique appearance of the Chinese eye through a particular movement, the two internal thirds of the eyebrows being lower, and the external third higher than with us.
Though not, perhaps, directly concerned in the expression of Love, the eyebrow is not to be under-rated. No detail of Beauty escapes Cupid’s eyes; for do we not read of “the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad made to his mistress’s eyebrows”?