All the women in the audience applaud. So they should; but how many of them would behave in the same manner if such a letter from a woman came to their husband?
Meanness in a man is revolting to woman; but although many women cannot be accused of the defect, it must be admitted that it is often found in them.
Many a man who was sure that his wife was in earnest love with another man would be found ready to sacrifice himself and give his wife to that man. A celebrated English writer did it. Under similar circumstances a woman would rather give her husband or lover to the tiger of Mr. Frank R. Stockton.
A man will admit the possibility of his wife loving another man and being loved by him. He may grieve over it, but he will not despise her for it, or necessarily impute any low or degrading motive to her. But a woman will never admit that her husband can have fallen in love with another woman. She will only accuse him of being too amorous, and in her eyes that other woman can only be a 'low creature.' She will not stop a moment and reflect that by lowering that 'creature' she lowers herself, since her husband, for a time at any rate, may prefer that woman to her.
It will not enter her head that, maybe, her husband goes down on his knees and prays that he may forget that woman, but is conquered in the struggle, and cannot resist the fascination. No; for her the woman is an abandoned creature and her husband a blackguard. Every day in the novels she reads, she will give her sympathies to a man who has met with the misfortune which has befallen her husband and herself.
She will forget that if there was no passion in this life, no human weaknesses, no pits and falls in the path of man and woman, there would be no drama, no great poetry—in fact, no literature, no art.
She will admit that no heart (man's or woman's) is free from the danger of being lost. She will admit that this may happen to any man, but not to her husband. You may give her to read and study all the works of Balzac, of Alexandre Dumas the younger, and of all the greatest dissectors of the human heart; she will learn nothing. The mind of a woman is a mixture of obstinacy and prejudice. When she reads the accounts of the proceedings of the Divorce Court, she exclaims of the respondent, if she be a woman: 'Poor thing! romantic, I suppose.' When the respondent is a man, she dismisses the whole thing with: 'Man's a beast.' She sometimes sympathizes with a co-respondent.
What women admire particularly in men is indulgence, the spirit of forgiveness, magnanimity. Their hero is the man of the play who, when his wife, falling at his feet, shrieks, 'I am not guilty!' takes her gently by the hand, embraces her, and whispers softly in her ears, like Dr. Primrose to his misguided daughter: 'And if thou wert, child, am I not here to protect thee, to comfort thee?' And, true enough, the situation is pathetic, thoroughly human, and that husband's rôle is sublime; but in real life not one woman out of a thousand would play that part.
For, even when woman forgives, it is out of consideration for her children—for her own sake, as it were, in order to avoid a scandal, an open avowal of the situation. She may forgive, but she will not forget. It is true that in Mr. Arthur Pinero's beautiful play, 'The Profligate,' the wife forgives, and tells her husband she will help him bear it. But the offence was committed before the marriage. She has not been personally wronged or deceived, except in her estimation of the man she has married. Therefore she may forgive, although I do not envy that man's future in matrimonial life.
Conclusion: If a man should be unfortunate enough to deviate from the path of virtue after entering the holy estate of matrimony, let him follow the advice given by a great French jurisconsult to all prisoners about to appear before their judges: 'Never confess.' Only a very lofty woman will take him by the hand and, putting in the scales all he has done for her in life, will say: 'It leans on the right side.' A rara avis this woman.