| "Unaiming charms with edge resistless fall, And she who means no mischief does it all." |
3 Broussais, the materialist, supposes a difference in this respect between the sexes, founded on differences in irritation and animal sensibility, and this is the reason why "she is contented to win him [man] by gestures and speech, but never does she undertake to subdue him by force." Whether this be the fact, must be decided by physiologists. To those who wish to examine this subject, I can only refer them to Broussais's Physiology, ch. 13, sec 2.
It is easy to deduce from the foregoing, that what is called character or reputation, in the eyes of the world, is infinitely more necessary to woman than to man: her virtue is the true sensitive plant, which is blighted even by the breath of suspicion. Cæsar would not have a wife upon whom suspicion fell, even though convinced of her innocence. Man may, by reformation, regain a lost character, but woman rarely can. Man may, and often ought to rise superior to the opinion of the world; woman never can. Hence the bold assertion of Rousseau, in his Emile: "L'opinion est le tombeau de la virtue parmi les hommes et son trône parmi les femmes." Under these circumstances, does not the guilt of the individual, who undermines or asperses the female character, become a thousand times more atrocious? In regard to woman, Madame de Stael observes, in her work on literature, that "to defend themselves is an additional disadvantage; to justify themselves a new alarm. They are conscious of a purity and delicacy in their nature, which the notice even of the public will tarnish." And those who suppose themselves clothed in panoply complete, because of their superior talents, she likens to "Erminia in her coat of mail:" the warriors perceive the helmet, the lance, and the dazzling plume; they expect to meet with equal force; they begin the onset with violence, and the first wound cuts to the heart. Well then does it behoove every man of honor and chivalry to guard against the injury of a being so defenceless, and to contribute all in his power, to the elevation and amelioration of her position, if it be only as compensation for the many disadvantages to which she is subjected, in comparison with man. I have thus endeavored to trace out the causes which produce the modesty, gentleness and virtue, which certainly characterize the female sex.
Upon the same principles we may explain that extraordinary command over her feelings, which is certainly another of the characteristics of woman. She cannot give utterance to her passions and emotions like man. She is not to seek, but to be sought. She is not to woo, but to be wooed. She is thus frequently required to suppress the most violent feelings; to put a curb on her most ardent desires, and at the same time to wear that face of contentment and ease which may impose upon an inquisitive and scrutinizing world. How often do we see in the gay circles of fashion and of folly, that while apparent joy it beaming from the countenance, a secret grief is preying on the heart, and working the soul into an agony. We are told by Plutarch, that the institutions of Lycurgus had so disciplined the Spartans in the art of enduring pain without complaint, that a boy permitted a stolen fox to eat down to his bowels, without complaining or exhibiting his sufferings in his countenance. The education and position of woman, produces an influence in this respect similar to that produced by Spartan legislation. She can suffer much, and she can suffer long, in silence, without complaint. How admirably has Shakspeare described this trait of character, in the description of Viola, in the 12th Night: though so often quoted, I cannot forego the pleasure of repeating it:
| "She never told her love, But let concealment like a worm in the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief." |
All persons placed in situations requiring great self command, by constantly curbing the passions and allaying the rising emotions, arrive at last at that self control, that perfect apparent mental equilibrium which appears so wonderfully difficult to the ordinary spectator. This is often most strikingly exemplified in statesmen, diplomatists and gamblers, and sometimes in mercantile men. The great reserve of Washington on state affairs, is well known: Davilla, the historian, praises the deep dissimulation of Catherine de Medicis. Lord Clarendon, and Locke, have spoken with commendations of the same traits in the characters of the Earls of Bristol and Shaftsbury; whilst Cicero even, has bestowed his eulogy on the same qualities, and points to the characters of Homer's Ulysses, Themistocles the Athenian, Lysander the Spartan, and to Marcus Crassus of Rome, for examples. Talleyrand, the great diplomatic wonder of the nineteenth century, it is said, possesses this "talent pour le silence," on state affairs, in a most extraordinary degree. With such a being, every thing becomes a matter of calculation, down even to the responses to the ordinary questions of "how do you do?" and "how have you been?" Such a man may truly be said to carry his heart in his head, as was said of Mr. Pitt the younger.4
4 Bulwer, in his France, pp. 107 and 8, has given us the following little anecdotes illustrative of this trait of character; and the first admirably exhibits the opinion which that deep searching and wily politician entertained of the candor of statesmen. "But why is not M. de S. here?" said M. de Talleyrand. "M. de S. est malade," said an acquaintance. "Ha! ha!" replies the old statesman, shaking his head, "M. de S. est malade! mais qu'est ce donc qu'il gagne à être malade!" Again, "which do you like best, M. de Talleyrand," said a lady, "Madame de —— or myself?" The reply was not so decisive as the fair and accomplished questioner expected. "But now," said she, "suppose we were both to fall into the sea, which should you first try to save?" "Oh! Madame," said the Prince, "I should be quite certain that you could swim." After these, we may well believe the late response which he is said to have made to his physician, who asked him some questions about Spain. "Doctor," said he, "you must have remarked, that I never give an opinion, except upon subjects which I do not understand. I am happy to talk about physic."
Upon the same principles we can explain a seeming moral paradox, in the fact, that phlegmatic men, when once suddenly excited, become perfectly ungovernable; exhibiting follies and extravagances, beyond those we see manifested by men of great imagination and warm feelings. Very phlegmatic persons, when suddenly in love, are sometimes to be ranked among the most amusing and laughable objects in nature: with them a new feeling has just been called, for the first time, into action: it entirely unhinges and deranges the whole internal man: it is a new power, which, for a moment, subjects every thing to its capricious dominion, and the man becomes instantly like Ahmed, the pilgrim of love, so beautifully described in the tales of the Alhambra, mounted upon the suddenly disenchanted steed, clad in the magic armor, and overturning, without the possibility of managing himself or steed, both friend and foe.
It has generally been supposed, that sudden love is a symptom of much imagination, and excitable feelings: this is not always true; it may sometimes be a proof of the reverse. Very cold phlegmatic men, may frequently be suddenly roused and enamoured, because they have no control over the little imagination and feeling which they possess, when once that little has been roused. One of the most phlegmatic men I ever knew, married in less than three months after the death of a wife, whom he had loved while alive, as much as such a nature was capable of loving; and an affectionate squeeze of the hand, and a more than usually tender tone of voice, were the simple means by which this sudden flame was kindled.
The remarks made above, are susceptible of extensive generalization. Mr. Stuart says, in the third volume of his Elements of the Philosophy of Mind, "In one of our most celebrated universities, which has long enjoyed the proud distinction of being the principal seat of mathematical learning in this Island, I have been assured, that if at any time a spirit of fanaticism has infected (as will occasionally happen in all numerous societies,) a few of the unsounder limbs of that learned body, the contagion has invariably spread much more widely among the mathematicians, than among the men of erudition. Even the strong head of Waering, undoubtedly one of the ablest analysts that England has produced, was not proof against the malady; and he seems at last (as I am told by the late Dr. Watson, Bishop of Landaff,) to have sunk into a deep religious melancholy, approaching to insanity. When Whitefield first visited Scotland, and produced, by his powerful though unpolished eloquence, such marvellous effects on the minds of his hearers, Dr. Simpson, the celebrated professor of mathematics at Glasgow, had the curiosity to attend one of his sermons in the fields, but could never be persuaded, by all the entreaties of his friends, to hear another. He had probably felt his imagination excited in an unpleasant degree, and with his usual good sense resolved not to subject himself to the danger of a second experiment." Now it is well known, that mathematical studies exercise the imagination less perhaps than any other whatever; and the powerful influence spoken of by Mr. Stewart, was no doubt owing to the fact, that the individuals in question, had no control over the imagination; when once excited, they had never learned to manage and restrain it. Upon the same principles we can explain the wonderful control which the coquette ultimately acquires over all her feelings. The general opinion is, that coquettes are cold and feelingless, and have always been so, and that all their demonstrations of emotion, are the result of hypocrisy. This may sometimes be the case, but not always. Persons of this description, may even have intense feelings; but from constantly watching, restraining and curbing them, after they have been called into action, they acquire perfect mastery over them. In some cases, the feelings may be so chained down by habit, as almost to be destroyed; in fact, this is generally the case with coquettes, and when they do marry, it is frequently more from policy than love. Ambition and vanity, in their case, triumph eventually over love and feeling; and the love of riches, standing, pomp, and show, determines their choice.5 There is one species of coquetry for which I have much compassion and sympathy; it is where the affections of a lady have really been won by an individual, whom prudence and the advice of friends, will forever prevent her from marrying. In this case it sometimes happens, that tenderness on her part, and a desire to avoid wounding his feelings, may cause her to excite hopes which are never to be realized. In this case, he may drink too deeply of what Shakspeare calls