SOME REMARKS OF A GIRTHAM GIRL ON FEMALE EDUCATION.
[This essay upon Female Education was evidently written when the future Professor of Girtham College was still in the lowlier condition of studentship, before she attained that eminence for which her talents so justly entitled her. Its unfinished condition tends to show that it was probably evolved during moments of relaxation from severer studies, without any idea of subsequent publication.]
Oh, why should I be doomed to the degradation of bearing such a foolish appellation! A Girtham Girl! I suppose we have to thank that fiend of invention who is responsible for most of the titular foibles and follies of mankind—artful Alliteration. The two G’s, people imagine, run so well together; and it is wonderful that they do not append some other delectable title, such as ‘The Gushing Girl of Girtham,’ or ‘The Glaring Girl of Glittering [2] Girtham.’ O Alliteration! Alliteration! what crimes have been wrought in thy name! Little dost thou think of the mischief thou hast done, flooding the world with meaningless titles and absurd phrases. How canst thou talk of ‘Lyrics of Loneliness,’ ‘Soliloquies of Song,’ ‘Pearls of the Peerage’? Why dost thou stay thine hand? We long for thee to enrich the world with ‘Dreams of a Dotard,’ the ‘Dog Doctor’s Daughters,’ and other kindred works. Exercise thine art on these works of transcendent merit, but cease to style thy humble, but rebellious, servant a Girtham Girl!
But what’s in a name? Let the world’s tongue wag. I am a student, a hard-working, book-devouring, never-wearied student, who burns her midnight oil, and drinks the strong bohea, to keep her awake during the long hours of toil, like any Oxford or Cambridge undergraduate. I often wonder whether these mighty warriors in the lists—the class lists, I mean—really work half so hard as we poor unfortunate ‘Girls of Girtham.’ Now that I am writing in strict [3] confidence, so that not even the walls can hear the scratchings of my pen, or understand the meaning of all this scribbling, I beg to state that I have my serious doubts upon the subject; and when last I attended a soirée of the Anthropological Society, sounds issued forth from the windows of the snug college rooms, which could not be taken as evidences of profound and undisturbed study.
Sometimes I glance at the examination papers set for these hard-working students, in order that they may attain the glorious degree of B.A., and astonish their sisters, cousins, and aunts by the display of these magic letters and all-resplendent hood. And again I say in strict confidence that if this same glorious hood does not adorn the back of each individual son of Alma Mater, he ought to be ashamed of himself, and not to fail to assume a certain less dignified, but expressive, three-lettered qualification. But before those Tripos Papers I bow my head in humble adoration. They sometimes take my breath away even to read the terrible excruciating [4] things, which seem to turn one’s brain round and round, and contort the muscles of one’s face, and stop the pulsation of one’s heart, when one tries to grasp the horrid things.
Here is a fair example of the ingenuity of the hard-hearted examiners, who resemble the inquisitors presiding over the tortures of the rack, and giving the hateful machine just one turn more by way of bestowing a parting benediction on their miserable victims:
‘A uniform rod’ (it is a marvellous act of mercy that the examiner invented it uniform; it is strange that its thickness did not vary in some complicated manner, and become a veritable birch-rod!) ‘of length 2c, rests in stable equilibrium’ (stable! another act of leniency!), ‘with its lower end at the vertex of a cycloid whose plane is vertical’ (why not incline it at an angle of 30°?) ‘and vertex downwards, and passes through a small, smooth, fixed ring situated in the axis at a distance b from the vertex. Show that if the equilibrium be slightly disturbed, the rod will [5] perform small oscillations with its lower end on the arc of the cycloid in the time
| 4π | √ | a{c² + 3(b - c)²} | , |
| 3g(b² - 4ac) |
where 2a is the length of the axis of the cycloid.’
A sweet pretty problem, truly! And there are hundreds of the same kind—birch-rods for every back! How the examiner must have rejoiced when he invented this diabolical rod, with its equilibrium, its oscillations, its cycloid, and other tormenting accessories. And yet, I suppose, before my days of studentship are over, I shall be called upon to attack some such impregnable fortresses of mathematics, when I hope to be declared equal to some twentieth wrangler, if I escape the misfortune of sharing a portion of the ‘wooden spoon.’
Ah, you male sycophants! You would prevent us from competing with you; you would separate yourselves on your island of knowledge, and sink the punt which would bear us over to your privileged shore. Of all the twaddle—forgive me, male sycophants!—that the world has ever [6] heard, I think the greatest is that which you have talked about female education. And the best of it is, you are so anxious about our welfare; you are so afraid that we should injure our health by overmuch mental exertion; you profess to think that our brains are not calculated to stand the strain of continued mental exercise; you think that competition is not good for the female mind; that we are too competitive by nature—too ambitious! Yes, we are so ambitious that we would enter the lists with those who are asked in Public Examinations to find the simple interest on £1,000 for 5 years at 6¼ per cent.; so ambitious that we would compete with those who are requested to disclose the first aorist middle of τυπτω. Oh, think of the mental strain involved in such questions! How it must ruin your health to find out how many times a wheel of radius 6 feet will turn round between York and London, a distance of 200 miles! It is quite wonderful how your brains, my dear male sycophants, can stand such fearful demands upon your intelligence and industry!
[7]
But you are so kind to us, so afraid of our health! Really, we are much obliged to you. If you married one of us, or became our guardian, or left us a legacy, we should then recognise your interest in us, and be very grateful to you for your good advice. But as matters stand, we are quite capable of taking care of ourselves. We will promise not to work too hard, if you will promise not to weary us with your paternal jurisdiction.
But, male sycophants, I want a word with you. Why do you object to our taking degrees, or going in for examinations in order to qualify ourselves for our duties in life? You need not speak out loud if you would rather not. Are you not just a little afraid that we might eclipse you? And it is not pleasant to be beaten by a woman, is it? And then you profess to think that we ought to be all housewives and cooks, and knitters of stockings, and sewers-on of our husbands’ buttons; but what if we have no husbands, no buttons to sew? And is it not a little selfish, my dear male sycophant, to wish [8] to keep us all to yourself? to attend upon the wants of the lords of creation, who often distinguish themselves so much in the domain of science?
Now, look me straight in the face (no shirking, sir!). Is it not jealousy—green-eyed, false-tongued jealousy—which saps your generous instincts, and makes you talk rubbish and nonsense about strains, and brains, and ambition, and the like? And if that is not hypocritical, I do not know what is.
Well, good-day to you, male sycophant! I really have not time to indulge myself in scolding you any more. You are a good creature, no doubt; and when you have shown us what you can do, and can estimate the capacity of the female brain, and take a common-sense view of things, we will recognise your privilege to speak; and when I am the presiding genius of Girtham College, I will grant you the use of our hall for the purpose of lecturing to us on ‘Women’s Rights,’ or, as you may prefer to entitle your discourse, ‘Men’s Wrongs.’
* * * * *
[9]
Oh, this is shameful! I really am very sorry. Here have I been wasting a good half-hour in dreaming, and slaying an imaginary enemy with envenomed words and frequent dabs of ink. If I cannot concentrate my mind more on these mathematical researches, I fear a dreadful ‘plough’ will harrow my feelings at the end of my sojourn in these halls of learning.
Concentration! How many of our words and ideas and thoughts are derived from that primal fount of all arts and sciences—mathematics! Here is one which owes its origin to the mathematically trained mind of some early philological professor, who had learnt to apply his scientific knowledge to the enrichment of his native tongue. He quoted to himself the words of the Roman poet:
‘Ego cur, acquirere pauca
Si possum, invideor, cum lingua Catonis et Ennî
Sermonem patrium ditaverit, et nova rerum
Nomina protulerit? Licuit, semperque licebit.’
His mind conceived endless figures of circles and ellipses scattered promiscuously over the page, defying the attempts of the [10] student to reduce them to order. What must he do before he can apply his formulæ and equations, determine their areas, or describe their eccentric motion? He must reduce them to a common centre, and then he can proceed to calculate the abstruse problems in connection with the figures described. They may be the complex motions of double-star orbits, or the results of the impact of various projectiles on the tranquil surface of a pool. It matters not—the principle is the same; he must concentrate, and reduce to a common centre.
This is the great defect of those who have no accurate mathematical knowledge; they cannot concentrate their minds with the same degree of intensity upon the work which lies before them. Their thoughts fly off at a tangent, as mine do very often; but then I have not been classed yet in the Tripos; and, O male poetical sycophant, you may be right after all when you say:
‘O woman! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy and hard to please,
As variable as the noon-day shade.’
[11]
Yes, as variable as the most variable quantities x, y, z. I, a student of Girtham College, blush to own that my thoughts very often fly off at a tangent.
‘Fly off at a tangent!’ All hail to thee, most noble mathematical phrase! Here is another fine mathematical expression, plainly exemplifying the action of centrifugal force. The faster the wheel turns, the greater is the velocity of the discarded particles which fly off along the line, perpendicular to the radius of the circle. The world travels very fast now; the increased velocity of the transit of earthly bodies, the rate at which they live, the multiplicity of engagements, etc., have made the social world revolve so fast that the speed would have startled the torpid life of the last century. And what is the result? Men’s thoughts fly off at a tangent; they are unable to concentrate their minds on any given subject; they are content with hasty generalisms, with short magazine articles on important subjects, which really require large volumes and patient study to elucidate them fully.
[12]
What we want to do is to increase the attractive force, in order to prevent this tangential motion—to increase the force of gravity.
‘Well,’ says the young lady who loves to revel in the ‘Ghastly Secret of the Moated Dungeon,’ or the ‘Mysteries of Footlight Fancy,’ ‘you are grave enough. Pray don’t increase your gravity!’
Thank you, gentle critic. I will, in turn, ask you one favour. Leave for once the ‘Mysteries of Footlight Fancy;’ seek to know no more ‘ghastly secrets,’ and increase your gravity—your mental weight; and hence your attraction in the eyes of all who are worth attracting will be marvellously increased, by understanding a little about Newton’s law of universal gravitation, and don’t fly off at a tangent.
At the end of this portion of the MS. the editor of these papers discovered a photograph which, from subsequent inquiry, proved to be that of the accomplished authoress of the above reflections. [13] The face is one of considerable beauty, with eyes as clear, steadfast, and open as the day. There is a degree of firmness about the mouth, but it is a sweet and pretty one notwithstanding; and a smile, half scornful, half playful, can be detected lurking about the corners of the lips, which do not seem altogether fitted for pronouncing hard mathematical terms and abstruse scientific problems. This photograph might have been the identical one which nearly brought an enamoured youth into grave difficulties by its secretion in the folds of his blotting-paper during examination. The said enamoured youth had evidently placed it there for the sake of its inspiring qualities; and it was said that all his hopes of gaining the hand of the fair original depended upon his passing that same examination. But the wakeful eye of a stern examiner had watched him as he turned again and again to consult the sweet face which beamed from beneath his blotting-paper; and he narrowly escaped expulsion from the Senate-house on the charge of [14] ‘cribbing.’ Certainly he took a mean advantage of his fellow-sufferers, if this were the identical photograph, for it portrays a most inspiring face. Forgive us, lenient reader; one moment! There—thank you—we have done. And now we will proceed to disclose the researches and original problems which the MS. contains.
Evidently the collegiate authorities were not slow in recognising the talents of the assiduous student, and elected her without much delay to a Professorship of Girtham. In this capacity the learned lady delivered several lectures, of which the second MS. contains the first of the series.