This is how that absurd sexlessness, the Suffragette, has been able to come into existence. I heard a good deal about her the first day of the tour, but on discovering how strongly I felt on the subject, they kept off it, not liking, I suppose, to have their views knocked out of recognition by what I said. I did not, be it understood, deign to argue on such a topic: I just said a few things which frightened them off it.
And, indeed, who can take a female Suffragette seriously? Encouraged, I maintain, to begin with by being treated too well, she is like the insolent and pampered menial of a rich and careless master, and the more she gets the more she demands. Storchwerder does not possess a single example of the species, and very few foreigners come that way to set a bad example to our decent and contented ladies. Once, I recollect, by some strange chance the makings of one did get there, an Englishwoman on some wedding journey expedition or other, a young creature next to whom I sat at a dinner given by our Colonel. I was contemplating her with unconcealed pleasure, for she was quite young and most agreeably rounded, and was turning over the collection of amusing trifles I keep stored in my mind for purposes of conversation with attractive ladies when, before I had either selected one or finished my soup, she began to talk to me in breathless German about an Education Bill our Reichstag was tearing itself to pieces over.
Her interest could not have been keener if she had been a deputy herself with the existence of her party depending on it. She had her own views about it, all cut and dried; she explained her husband’s, which differed considerably; and she was anxious to hear mine. So anxious was she that she even forgot to smile when speaking to me—forgot, that is, that she was a woman and I a man able, if inclined, to admire her.
I remember staring at her a moment in unfeigned astonishment, and then, leaning back in my chair, giving myself up to uncontrollable mirth.
She watched me with surprise, which made me laugh still more. When I could speak she inquired whether any one at the table had said anything amusing, and seemed quite struck on my assuring her that it was she herself who was amusing.
“I am?” said she; and a faint flush enhanced her prettiness.
“Yes—you and the Education Bill together,” said I, again overcome with laughter. “It is indeed an amusing mixture. It is like,” I added, with happy readiness of compliment, “a rose in an inkpot.”
“But is that amusing?” she asked, not in the least grateful for the flattery, and with a quite serious face.
She had had her little lesson, however, and she did not again talk politics. Indeed, she did not again talk at all, but turned to the gentleman on her other side, and left me nothing to look at but a sweet little curl behind a sweet little ear.
Now if she had been properly brought up to devote herself to the woman’s function of pleasing, how agreeably we could have discoursed together about that curl and that ear, and kindred topics, branching off into all sorts of flowery and seductive byways of compliment and insinuation, such as the well-trained young woman thoroughly enjoys and understands. I can only trust the lesson I gave her did her good. It certainly cured her of talking politics to me.