Chapter X: Part IV (5)

"Were it not for this, the necessary effect of habit both in the
physical and moral world, women might be expected to live in
daily and hourly exultation, who have been born in a Christian
and civilized country. Whatever theorists may have thought
occasionally of the happiness of men in barbarous or savage
conditions, no doubt at all can be entertained as to that of
women. It is civilization which has taken the yoke from their
neck, the scourge from their back, and the burden from their
shoulders. It is Christianity chiefly which has raised them from
the state of slaves or menials to that of citizens, and compelled
their rough and unresisted tyrants to call up law in their
defence; that potent spirit which they, who have evoked it, must
ever after themselves submit to. Religion, which extends the
sanctity of the marriage vow to the husband as well as to the
wife, has rescued her from a condition in which her best and most
tender affections were the source of her bitterest misery; a
condition in which her only escape from a sense of suffering too
unremitting for nature to endure, was in that mental degradation
which produces insensibility to wrong. The instances of primitive
communities, in which such injustice has not prevailed, are too
few and far between, to form any solid objection to the truth of
this general picture. The mere increase of numbers infallibly
obliterates the fair but feeble virtues that originate in nothing
but ignorance of ill; and the first inroads of want or discord,
usually settle the doom of the weak and defenceless. In restoring
to women their domestic dignity, religion has done more than
every other cause towards shielding them from the consequences of
weakness and dependence. From the dignified affections of the
other sex, they have gradually acquired some social rights, and
some share of that freedom, without which virtue itself can
scarcely exist. Opinion, the offspring, not of resplendent
genius, whose earliest fires burned indignantly against the
tyrant and oppressor, but of a religion which preached the
equality of all before God, has given them a share of those
blessings, without which life is not worth possession. At length
it has opened to them the portals of knowledge and wisdom, the
gradual, but effective supports against degradation; and has
sanctified its gifts by withholding from them every license that
leads to vice, every knowledge that detracts from their purity,
and every profession that would expose them to insult."

Then follows a masterly sketch of the condition of woman in uncivilized life, in which the subject is illustrated by the most apposite quotations from the works of different travellers and historians. It is the writer's opinion that in uncivilized life, the degradation of woman, though common, is not universal. The celebrated passage in Tacitus is quoted in support of this position; and among other less interesting extracts, is the following account of Galway by Hardiman, a country which, so great is the blessing of a paternal and judicious government, may furnish, in the nineteenth century, illustrations of uncivilized life, equally picturesque and striking with those which Tacitus has recorded in his day as familiar among the inhabitants of Pagan Germany.

"This colony, from time immemorial, has been ruled by one of
their own body, periodically elected, who somewhat resembled the
Brughaid or head village of ancient times, when every clan
resided in its hereditary canton. This individual, who is
decorated with the title of mayor, in imitation of the city,
regulates the community according to their own peculiar customs
and laws, and settles all fishery disputes. His decisions are so
decisive, and so much respected, that the parties are seldom
known to carry their differences before a legal tribunal, or to
trouble the civil magistrate. They neither understand nor trouble
themselves about politics, consequently, in the most turbulent
times, their loyalty has never been questioned. Their mayor is no
way distinguished from other villagers, except that his boat is
decorated with a white sail, and may be seen when at sea, at
which time he acts as admiral, with colours flying at the
masthead, gliding through their fleet with some appearance of
authority.... When on shore, they employ themselves in repairing
their boats, sails, rigging, and cordage, in making, drying, and
repairing their nets and spillets, in which latter part they are
assisted by the women, who spin the hemp and yarn for their nets.
In consequence of their strict attention to these particulars,
very few accidents happen at sea, and lives are seldom lost.
Whatever time remains after these avocations, they spend in
regaling with whisky, and assembling in groups to discuss their
maritime affairs, on which occasions they arrange their fishing
excursions. When preparing for sea, hundreds of their women and
children for days before crowd the strand, seeking for worms to
bait the hooks. The men carry in their boats, potatoes, oaten
cakes, fuel, and water, but never admit any spirituous liquors.
Thus equipped, they depart for their fishing ground, and
sometimes remain away several days. Their return is joyfully
hailed by their wives and children, who meet them on the shore.
The fish instantly becomes the property of the women, (the men,
after landing, never troubling themselves further about it,) and
they dispose of it to a poorer class of fishwomen, who retail it
at market.

"The inhabitants of the Cloddagh are an unlettered race. They
rarely speak English, and even their Irish they pronounce in a
harsh, discordant tone, sometimes not intelligible to the
townspeople. They are a contented, happy race, satisfied with
their own society, and seldom ambitious of that of others.
Strangers (for whom they have an utter aversion) are never
suffered to reside among them. The women possess an unlimited
control over their husbands, the produce of whose labour they
exclusively manage, allowing the men little more money than
suffices to keep the boat and tackle in repair; but they keep
them plentifully supplied with whisky, brandy, and tobacco. The
women seldom speak English, but appear more shrewd and
intelligent in their dealings than the men; in their domestic
concerns the general appearance of cleanliness is deserving of
particular praise. The wooden ware, with which every dwelling is
well stored, rivals in colour the whitest delft.

"At an early age they generally marry amongst their own clan. A
marriage is commonly preceded by an elopement, but no
disappointment or disadvantage from that circumstance has ever
been known among them. The reconciliation with the friends
usually takes place the next morning, the clergyman is sent for,
and the marriage celebrated. The parents generally contrive to
supply the price of a boat, or a share in one, as a beginning."

The writer then proceeds, in a strain of generous yet chastened energy, to comment on the false measure which people apply to the sufferings of others. Insensibility to wretchedness, or, as in the vocabulary of oppression it is called, content, is often a proof of nothing but that stupefaction of the faculties which is the natural result of long and blighting misery. A contented slave is a degraded man. His sorrow may be gone, but so is his understanding.

In the course of her enquiries into the condition of women under the Mahometan law, the author is led to make some reflections upon one by whom Mahometan manners were first presented in an attractive shape to the English public--a person celebrated for her friends, but still more celebrated for her enemies--known for her love, but famous for her hate--a girl without feeling, a woman without tenderness--a banished wife, a careless mother--on whom extraordinary wit, masculine sense, a clear judgment, and an ardent love of letters seem to have been lavished for no other purpose than to show that, without a good heart, they serve only to make their possessor the most contemptible of mankind. Lady Mary Wortley's heart was the receptacle of all meanness and sensuality--the prey of a selfishness as intense as rank, riches, a bad education, natural malignity, and the extremes of good and bad fortune, ever engendered in the breast of woman. The remarks on her character, in the volume before us, are, as might be expected, excellent.

The condition of women among the more polished nations of antiquity, is a subject which, if fully examined, would more than exhaust our narrow limits. It does not appear from Homer, says our author, that the condition of women was depressed. Achilles, in a very striking passage, declares that every wise and good man loves and is careful for his wife, and Hector, in the passage which Cicero is so fond of quoting, urges the opinion of

"Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,"

as a motive for his conduct. However this may be, certain it is, that the feelings and affections of domestic life are portrayed by Homer with a degree of purity, truth, and pathos, that casts every other writer, Virgil not excepted, into the shade; and which, to carry the panegyric of human composition as far as it will go, he himself, in his most glorious passages, has never been able to surpass. It has been so long the fashion to represent Virgil as the sole master of the pathetic, that this assertion may appear to many paradoxical; and it is undoubtedly true, that the fourth book of the Aeneid cannot he read by any one of common sensibility without strong emotion; but how different is the lamentation of Andromache over her living husband, uttered in all the glow and consciousness of returned and "twice blest" love, from the raving of the slighted woman, abandoned by the lover whom she has too rashly trusted, and to whom she has too plainly become indifferent! How different is the character of the patriot warrior, the prop and bulwark of his country, sacrificing his life to delay that ruin which he knew it was beyond his power to avert--snatching, amid the bloody scenes around him, a moment for the indulgence of a father's pride and a husband's tenderness, from the perfidious paramour flying from the vengeance of the woman he had wronged!

And how noble is the simplicity of Andromache, how affecting the appeal in which, after reminding her husband that all else to which she was bound had been swept away, she tells him that, while he remains, her other losses are unfelt! Let us trace the episode. "She had not gone," the poet tells us, "to the mansions of her brothers or of her sisters, with their floating veils; neither had she gone to the shrine of Minerva, where the Trojan women strove to appease the terrible wrath of the fair-haired goddess. No. She had gone to the lofty tower of Ilium, for she had heard that the Trojans were sore harassed, and that the force of the Greeks was mighty; thither, like one bereft of reason, had she precipitated her steps, and the nurse followed with her child." Then follows that interview, which no one can read without passion, or think of without delight--that exquisite scene, in which the wife and mother pours out all her tenderness, her joy, her sadness, her pride, her terror, the memory of the past, and the presage of future sorrow, in an irresistible torrent of confiding love. Not less affecting is her husband's answer. Conscious of his impending doom, he replies, that "not the future misery of his countrymen, not that of Hecuba herself, and the royal Priam--not that of all his valiant brethren slain by their enemies, and trampled in the dust, give him such a pang as the thought of her distress." Then, as if to relieve his thoughts, he stretches out his hand towards his child, but the child shrinks backwards, scared at the brazen helm and waving crest--the father and the mother exchange a smile--Hector lays aside the blazing helmet, and, clasping his child in his arms, utters the noble prayer which Dryden has rendered with uncommon spirit and fidelity:--

"Parent of gods and men, propitious Jove,
And you, bright synod of the powers above,
On this my son your precious gifts bestow;
Grant him to love, and great in arms to grow,
To reign in Troy, to govern with renown,
To shield the people, and assert the crown:
That when hereafter he from war shall come,
And bring his Trojans peace and triumph home,
Some aged man, who lives this act to see,
And who in former times remember'd me,
May say, 'The son in fortitude and fame,
Outgoes the mark, and drowns his father's name;'
That at these words his mother may rejoice,
And add her suffrage to the public voice."

"Thus having said, he placed the boy in the arms of his beloved wife, and she received him on her fragrant breast, sailing amid her tears;" her husband uttered a few words of melancholy consolation, "and Andromache went homewards, weeping, and often turning as she went." There is but one passage in any work, ancient or modern, which can bear comparison with this, and that is one in the Odyssey, in which is described the meeting of Ulysses and Penelope; and yet some unfortunate people, who write commentaries on the classics, only to show how completely nature has denied them the faculty of taste, affirm that these passages were written by different people. It is curious to what a pitch pedantry and dulness may be brought by diligent cultivation.

As the fanatics of the East, to prove their continence, frequented the society of women under the most trying circumstances, so these gentlemen seem to study the writers of antiquity with the view of showing that their understandings are equally inaccessible. In one respect the analogy does not hold good. History tells us that the fanatics sometimes sunk under the temptations to which they exposed themselves; but these gentlemen have never, in any one instance, yielded to the influence of taste or genius. Zenophon, in a beautiful treatise, has given an account of the manner in which an Athenian endeavoured to mould the character of his wife, and to this we would refer such of our readers as wish for more ample knowledge on the subject. There is one circumstance, however, which we the rather mention, as it has not found its way into the work before us, and as it furnishes the most conclusive and irresistible evidence of the value set upon matrimonial happiness at Athens, and of the servile vassalage to which women, in that most polished of all cities, were reduced. By the law of Athens, a father without sons might bequeath his property away from his daughter, but the person to whom the property was bequeathed was obliged to marry her. This was reasonable enough; but the same principle, that of keeping the inheritance in the stock to which it belonged, occasioned another law--if the father left his estate to his daughter, and if the daughter inherited his property after the father's death, her nearest male relation in the descending line, the [Greek: agchioteus], might, though she was married to a living husband, lay claim to her, institute a suit for her recovery, force her from her husband's arms, and make her his wife.

Such a law must, alone, have been fatal to that domestic purity which we justly consider the basis of social happiness--the very word, [Greek: hetairai], which the Athenians enjoyed to denote the most degraded of all women, if it proves the exquisite refinement of that wonderful people, serves also to show how different were the associations with which, among them, that class was connected. Can we wonder at this? Under that glorious heaven, such women might, when they chose, behold the statues of Phidias and the pictures of Zeuxis; they could listen to the wisdom of Socrates, or they might form part of the crowd, hushed in raptured silence, round the rhapsodist, as he recited the immortal lines of Homer--or round Demosthenes, as he poured upon a rival, worthy of himself, the burning torrent of his more than human eloquence.

In their hearing the mightiest interests were discussed--the subtle questions of the Academy propounded--the snares of the sophist exposed--the sublime thoughts and actions of heroes and demigods, embodied in the most glorious poetry, were daily exhibited to their view; while the wife, occupied solely with petty cares and trifling objects, without charms to win the love, or dignity to command the esteem, of her husband, was condemned, within the narrow walls of the Gynaeceum, (of which the drawings of Herculaneum and Pompeii may enable us to form some notion,) to drag out the insipid round of her monotonous existence.

True the Hetairai were stigmatized by law--but, as opinion was on their side, they might well submit to legal condemnation and formal censure, when they saw every day the youth, the intellect, the eloquence, the philosophy, and the dignity of Athens crowding round their feet. At Rome, the wife was not subject to the same rigorous seclusion, she was not cut off from all possibility of improvement; her influence was gradually felt, her rights were tacitly extended, and long after the letter of the law reduced her to the condition of a slave, she held and exercised the privileges of a citizen. At Rome, domestic virtues were more considered, domestic ties were held in great esteem. The family was the basis of the state. The existence of the Roman was not altogether public, it was not merely intellectual; in what Grecian poet after Homer shall we find lines that convey such an idea of domestic happiness as these?--

"Præterea neque jam domus accipiet te læta, neque uxor
Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati
Præripere--et tacitâ pectus dulcedinet tangent."

There is no event to which women are more indebted for the improved situation they hold among us than the propagation of Christianity. It was reserved for religion to urge the weakness of woman as a reason for treating her, not with tenderness only, but with respect; it was reserved for religion to bring the charities that are lovely in private life into public service; to break down the barriers which had so long separated the husband from the citizen, and to pour around the private hearth the light which, up to the time of its revelation, had been reflected almost exclusively from the school of the philosopher or the forum of the republic, unless in a few rare and favoured instances when it had shed its radiance over the cell of the captive and the deathbed of the patriot. It was for religion to inculcate that purity of heart, without which mere forbearance from sensuality is a virtue which may be prized in the precincts of the seraglio, but to which true honour is almost indifferent. Nothing less powerful than such an influence prescribing a new life, and commanding its votaries to be new creatures, could have wrenched from their holdings prejudices as old as the society in which they flourished. Our limits will not allow us to descant at any length on the condition of women during the early ages of Christianity; but we transcribe on this subject, from a recent work, a passage which we are sure our readers will peruse with pleasure.

"Ce qui rendit les moeurs des familles Chrétiennes si graves, ce
qui les conserva si chastes, c'est ce qui a toujours exercé sur
les moeurs en général l'influence la plus profonde, l'exemple des
femmes. Douées d'une delicatesse d'organes, qui rend, pour ainsi
dire, leur intelligence plus accessible à la voix d'un monde
supérieur, leur coeur plus sensible à toutes ces émotions qui
enfantent les vertus, et qui élèvent l'homme terrestre au-dessus
de la sphère étroite de la vie présente, les femmes, étrangères à
l'histoire des travaux speculatifs du genre humain, sont
toujours, dans les révolutions morales et religieuses, les
premières à saisir, et à propager ce qui est grand, beau, et
céleste. Avec une chaleur entrainante elles embrassèrent la cause
Chrétienne, et s'y dévouèrent en héroines, depuis l'annonciation
du Sauveur jusqu'à sa mort; en effet, elles furent les premières
aux pieds de sa croix, les premières à son sépulcre. Présentant
avec leur tact si prompt et si fin, tout ce que cette cause leur
déferait d'élévation morale et d'avantages sociaux, elles s'y
attachèrent avec un intérêt toujours croissant. Depuis les
saintes femmes de l'évangile et la marchande de pourpre de
Thyatire jusqu'à l'impératrice Hélène, elles furent les
protectrices les plus zélées des idées Chrétiennes. Leur zèle ne
fut point sans sacrifices, mais avec empressement elles
renoncèrent à leurs goûts les plus chers, à la parure et aux
élégances du luxe, pour rivaliser avec les hommes les plus sages
de la société Chrétienne. Quelques rares exceptions ne se font
remarquer que pour relever tant de mérite."--Matter, _Hist. du
Christianime_, Vol. I.

"The tendency of this creed," to use the words of our author, "is
to direct the aim and purposes of mankind to whatever can exalt
human nature and improve human happiness. It represents us as
gardeners in a vineyard, or servants entrusted with a variety of
means, who are not 'to keep their talent in a napkin,' but to
exert their skill and ingenuity to employ it to the best
advantage. The moral principles themselves are fixed and
unchangeable; but their application to the circumstances by which
we are surrounded, must depend very much on the degree in which
reason has been exercised. By no imaginable instruction could the
mind be so tutored, as to see through all the errors and
prejudices of its times at once, but the principles possess in
themselves a power of progression. The generosity of one time
will be but justice in another; the temperance that brings
respect and distinction in one age, will be but decorum in one
more civilized, yet the principles are at all times the same."

It is difficult to read without a smile some of the passages in which the dress and manners of the first ages are described by the Fathers of the Church; the fair hair, (our classical readers will recollect the

"Nigrum flavo crinem abscondente galero"

of the Roman satirist,) which the daughters of the South borrowed from their Celtic and German neighbours, seems especially to have excited their indignation. Tertullian, in his treatise "De Cultu Foeminarum," declaims with his usual fiery rhetoric against this habit. "I see some women," says the African, "who dye their hair with yellow; they are ashamed of their very nation, that they are not the natives of Gaul or Germany. Evil and most disastrous to them is the omen which their fiery head portends, while they consider such abomination graceful." This charitable hint of future reprobation, savage as it appears, seems to have been much admired by the Fathers; it is repeated by St Jerome and St Cyprian with equal triumph. Well, indeed, might Theophilus of Antioch, in his letter to Autolycus, place the Christian opinions concerning women in startling contrast with the revolting scheme proposed in relation to them by the most refined philosopher of antiquity. Well might the matrons of Antioch refuse to gratify Julian by a sacrifice to gods whose votaries had steeped their sex in impurity and degradation. The death of Hypatia is indeed a blot in Christian annals, but she fell the victim of an infuriated multitude; and how often had the Proconsul and the Emperor beheld, unmoved, the arena wet with the blood of Christian virgins, and the earth blackened with their ashes! Indeed, the deference paid to weakness is the grand maxim, the practical application of which, in spite of some fantastic notions, and some most pernicious errors that accompanied it, entitles chivalry to our veneration, and prevented the dark ages from being one scene of unmixed violence and oppression. The flashes of generosity that gild with a momentary splendour the dreadful scenes of feudal tyranny, were struck out by the force of this principle acting upon the most rugged nature in the most superstitious ages. While the fire that had consumed the surprised city was slaked in the blood of its miserable inhabitants, the distress of high-born beauty, or the remonstrances of the defenceless priest, often arrested the career of the warrior, who viewed the slaughter of unoffending peasants and of simple burghers with as much indifference as that of the wild-boar or the red-deer which it was his pastime and his privilege to destroy. Who does not remember the beautiful passage in Tasso, where the crusaders burst into tears at the sight of the holy sepulchre?--

"Nudo ciascuno il pie calca il sentiero,
Ch'l'esempio de duci ogn' altromuove
Serico fregio d'or, piuma e criniero
Superbo dal suo capo ognon rimuove,
_E d'insieme del cor l'abito altero
Depone, e calde e pie lagrime piove_."

We now enter into the main object of the work, the condition of women in modern times; and the passage which introduces the subject is so luminous and eloquent, that we cannot resist the pleasure of laying it before our readers without mutilation.

"To pursue the history of woman through the ages of misrule and
violence that corrupted the spirit of chivalry, would be useless.
It is sufficiently evident, that in proportion as the vices of
barbarism renewed their dominion, the condition of women would be
more or less affected by their evils. But, on the whole, society
was improving: two great events were preparing to engage the
attention of Europe--the struggles for religious freedom and the
revival of learning. These produced effects on the human mind
very different from those of any revolutions that had taken place
during the age of barbarism.

"While the opinion reigned absolute, that war was the most
important affair of life and the most honourable pursuit, the
tendency of society was towards destruction. All the virtue
consistent with so false a principle was, perhaps, brought forth
by chivalry; but in the long run, the false principle overruled
the force of the generous spirit, and chivalry sank like a meteor
that owed its splendour to surrounding darkness. Its spirit gave
an impulse to opinion and sentiment, but its errors and ignorance
disabled it from supplying any corrective to the bad institutions
and mistaken policy which fostered barbarism. It was not every
mind that was capable of imbibing the generous sentiments of
chivalry, but ferocious passions could rarely fail to be
stimulated by the idolatry of war, and the contempt for civil
employments it produced. Among men, poor, restless, and to a
great degree irresponsible, the craving for distinction excited
by chivalry was a dangerous passion. No very general change over
the face of society could be reasonably expected, from the
attempts to engraft a spirit of gentleness and beneficence upon a
principle of war and destruction. The spirit was right, but the
principle was wrong. It was just the reverse in the next
enthusiasm which seized the minds of mankind. In the struggles
for religious freedom which followed, the principle was right,
but it was pursued in the horrible spirit of persecution. Men,
ready to die for the right of professing the truth, could not
divest themselves of that persecuting spirit towards others,
which was leading themselves to the stake. But there is a vigour
in a right principle which gradually clears men's eyes of their
prejudices. The dire and mistaken means by which successive
reformers defended each his own opinion, were abandoned, and men
began to perceive that civil and religious liberty were of more
use to society than martial feats or extended conquests; and that
it is still more important to learn how to reason than how to fight.

"The tendency of this principle was towards social improvement,
and civilization began to make progress.

"Before the extinction of chivalry, the airy throne on which
women had been raised was broken down; but the effects of her
elevation were never obliterated. There remained on the surface
of society a tone of gallantry which tended to preserve some
recollection of the station she had once held. As civilization
advanced, the idea that women might be disposed of like property,
seemed to be nearly abandoned all over Europe; but their
subsequent condition partook (as might be expected in the case of
dependent beings) of the character prevailing in each country.
The grave temper and morbid jealousy of the Spaniards, reduced
them almost to Eastern seclusion."

We entreat the attention of our readers to the following remark, which explains, in some degree, the mediocrity that characterizes the present day:--

"In the first ages after the rise of literature, the very want of
that multitude of second-rate books we now possess, had the
effect of compelling those who learned any thing to betake
themselves to studies of a solid nature; and there was
consequently less difference then, between the education of the
two sexes, than now. The reader will immediately recollect the
instances of Lady Jane Grey, Mrs Hutchinson, and others of the
same class, and will feel that it is quite fair to assume, that
many such existed when a few came to be known."

It was during the reign of the last princes of the House of Valois, that the women of the French court began to exercise that malignant and almost universal influence, which, for a while, poisoned the well-springs of refinement and civility. Eclipsed for a while by the mighty luminaries which, during the life of Louis XIII., and the early part of Louis XIV.th's reign, were lords of the ascendant when they had sunk beneath the horizon, their constellation again blazed forth with greater force and more disastrous splendour. Hence the Dragonnades, the destruction of Port-Royal, the persecution of the Jansenists, the death of Racine, the disgrace of Fénélon. Hence, in the reign of Louis XV., orgies that Messalina would have blushed to share; while cruelties[A] of which Suwarrow would hardly have been the instrument, were employed to lash into a momentary paroxysm nerves withered by debauchery. Here let us pause for a moment, to remark upon the effect which false opinions may produce upon the happiness and well-being of distant generations. Nothing is so common as for trivial superficial men--the class to which the management of empires is for the most part entrusted--to ridicule theories, and, by a mode reasoning which would place any cabin boy far above Sir Isaac Newton, to insist upon the mechanical parts of government, and the routine of ordinary business, as the sole objects entitled to notice and consideration--

"O curvæ in terris animæ, et coelestium inanes!"

[Footnote A: This does not apply to Louis XV. personally.]

We would fain ask these practical people--for such is the eminently inappropriate metaphor by which they rejoice to be distinguished--we would fain ask them (if it be consistent with their profound respect for practice to pay some attention to experience) to cast their eyes upon the proceedings and manners of the French court (wild and chimerical as such an appeal will no doubt appear to them) during the dominion of Catharine of Medicis and her offspring, those execrable deceivers, corrupters, and executioners of their people. To what are the almost incredible abominations, familiar as household words to the French court of that day, to be ascribed? To what are the persecutions, perjuries, the massacres that pollute the annals of France during that period, to be attributed? To a false theory. Catharine of Medicis brought into France the practical atheism of Machiavelli's prince--the Bible, as she blasphemously called it, of her class. The maxims which, when confined to the petty courts of Italy, did not undermine the prosperity of any considerable portion of the human race, when disseminated among a valiant, politic, and powerful nation, brought Iliads of desolation in their train. We subjoin Jeanne d'Allrep's account of the private manners of the court of Charles IX:--

"J'ai trouvé votre lettre fort à mon gré--je la montrerai à
madame, si je puis; quant à la peinture, je l'enverrai querir à
Paris; elle est belle et bien avisée, et de bonne grâce, mais
nourrie en la plus maudite et corrompue compagnie qui fut jamais,
car je n'en vois point qui ne s'en sente. Votre cousine la
marquise (l'épouse du jeune Prince de Condé) en est tellement
changée qu'il n'y a apparence de religion en elle; si non
d'autant qu'elle ne va point à la messe; car au reste de sa façon
de vivre, hormis l'idolâtrie, elle fait comme les Papistes; et ma
soeur la Princesse (de Condé) encore pis. Je vous l'écris
privément, le porteur vous dira comme le roi s'émancipe--c'est
pitié; je ne voudrois pour chose du monde que vous y fussiez pour
y demeurer. Voilà pourquoi je désire vous marier, et que vous et
votre femme vous vous retiriez de cette corruption; car encore
que je la croyois bien grande, je la trouve encore davantage. Ce
ne sont pas les hommes ici qui prient les femmes--ce sont les
femmes qui prient les hommes; si vous y étiez, vous n'en
échapperiez jamais sans une grande grâce de Dieu."

Thus women were alternately tools and plotters, idols and slaves. The ornaments of a court became the scourges of a nation; their influence was an influence made up of falsehood, made up of cruelty, made up of intrigue, of passions the most unbridled, and of vices the most detestable, and it seems to the student of history, in this wild and dreadful era as if all that was generous, upright, noble, and benevolent--as if faith and honour, and humanity and justice, were foreign and unnatural to the heart of man. But let us turn to our author.

"But the times were about to change. The great and stirring
contests in religion and politics, which had given such scope to
the deep fervour of the British character, subsided, as if the
actors were breathless from their past exertions. The struggle
for freedom sank into acquiescence in the dominion of the most
worthless of mankind; and zeal for religion fled before the
spirit of banter and sneer. The enthusiasm of 'fierce wars and
faithful loves,' of piety and of freedom, were succeeded by the
reign of profligacy and levity.

"During that disastrous period, the sordid and servile vices seem
to have kept pace with the wildest licentiousness; and the dark
and stern persecutions in Scotland form a fearful contrast with
the bacchanalian revels of the court. The effects on the
character and estimation of the female sex, sustain all that has
been said upon the connexion of their interests with the
elevation of morals. It became the habit to satirize and despise
them, and on this they have never entirely recovered. The
demoralization which led to it was, indeed, too much opposed to
the temper of the English to be permanent; but women, for a long
time after, ceased to keep pace with their age. Notwithstanding
the numerous exceptions which must always have existed in a free
and populous country like England, where literature had made
progress, it is certain, that in the days of Pope and Addison, the
women, in general, were grossly ignorant.

"The tone of gallantry and deference which had arisen from
chivalry, still remained on the surface, but its language was
that of cold, unmeaning flattery; and, from being the arbiters of
honour, they became the mere ministers of amusement. They were
again consigned to that frivolity, into which they _relapse as
easily as men_ do into ferocity. The respect they inspired, was
felt individually or occasionally, but not for their sex. Any
thing serious addressed to them, was introduced with an apology,
or in the manner we now address children whom we desire to
flatter. They were treated and considered as grown children. In
the writings addressed to them expressly for their instruction in
morals, or the conduct of life, though with the sincerest desire
for their welfare, nothing is proposed to them that can either
exalt their sentiments, invigorate their judgment, or give them
any desire to leave the world better than they found it. They
inculcated little beyond the views and the duties of a decent
servant. Views and duties, indeed, very commendable as far as
they go, but lamentable when offered as the standard of morals
and thought for half the human species; that half too, on whom
chiefly depends the first, the often unalterable, bent given to
the character of the whole."

The dignity of character which rivets our attention on the "high dames and gartered knights" of the days of Elizabeth, the simplicity and earnestness and lofty feeling, which lent grace to prejudice and chastened error into virtue, were exchanged, in the days of Charles II., for undisguised corruption and insatiable venality, for license without generosity, persecution without faith, and luxury without refinement. Grammont's animated _Mémoires_ are a complete, and, from the happy unconsciousness of the writer to the vices he portrays, a faithful picture of the court, to which the description Polydore Virgil gives of a particular family, "nec vir fortis nec foemina casta," was almost literally applicable.

Various as are the beauties of style with which this work abounds--beauties which, to borrow the phrase of Cicero, rise as naturally from the subject as a flower from its stem--we doubt whether it contains a more felicitous illustration than that which we are about to quote. The reader must bear in mind that the object of the writer is to establish the proposition, that there is an average inferiority of women to men in certain qualities, which, slight as it may appear, or altogether as it may vanish, in particular instances, is, on the whole, incontestable, and according to which the transactions of daily life are distributed.

"All inconvenience is avoided by a slight inferiority of strength
and abilities in one of the sexes. This gradually develops a
particular turn of character, a new class of affections and
sentiments that humanize and embellish the species more than any
others. These lead at once, without art or hesitation, to a
division of duties, needed alike in all situations, and produce
that order without which there can be no social progression. In
the treatise of _The Hand_, by Sir Charles Bell, we learn that
the left hand and foot are naturally a little weaker than the
right; the effect of this is, to make us more prompt and
dexterous than we should otherwise be. If there were no
difference at all between the right and left limbs, the slight
degree of hesitation which hand to use or which foot to put
forward, would create an awkwardness that would operate more or
less every moment of our lives, and the provision to prevent it
seems analogous to the difference nature has made between the
strength of the sexes."

The domain of woman is the horizon where heaven and earth meet--a sort of land debatable between the confines where positive institutions end and intellectual supremacy begins. It includes the whole region over which politeness should extend, as well as a large portion of the territories over which the fine arts hold their sway.

Those lighter and more shifting features which elude the grasp of the moralist, and escape the pencil of the historian, though they impress upon every age a countenance and expression of its own, it is her undoubted province to survey. Consequently, if not for the

"Troublous storms that toss
The private state, and render life unsweet,"

yet for whatever of elegance or simplicity is wanting in the intercourse of society, for all that is cumbrous in its proceedings, for any bad taste, and much for any coarseness that it tolerates, woman, as European manners are constituted, is exclusively responsible. The habits of daily intercourse represent her faults and virtues as naturally as a shadow is cast by the sun, or the image of the tree that overhangs the lake is reflected from its undisturbed and silent waters. Where the desire of wealth and respect for rank engross an excessive share of her thoughts, conversation will be insipid; and instead of that, "nature _ondoyante_," that disposition to please and be pleased, which is the essence of good nature and the foundation of good taste--instead of frankness and urbanity, youth will engraft on its real ignorance the dulness of affected stupidity--will assume an air of selfish calculation--of arrogance at one time and servility at another--debased itself, and debasing all around it. When, on the contrary, whatever may be their real sentiments, the external demeanour of men to each other is such as benevolence, gratitude, and equity would dictate--and we do mean this phrase to include Russian manners--where, whatever may be the principles that ferment within, the surface of society is brilliant and harmonious--where, if the better politeness which dwells in the heart be wanting, the imitation of it which springs from the head is habitual--women are entitled to the praise of exact taste and skilful discrimination. There are women whom the world elevates, only afterwards the more effectually to humble. For a time the best and wisest submit to their caprices, study their humour, are governed by their wishes--every one avoids as a crime the slightest appearance of collision with any motive that, for the moment, it may suit their purpose to entertain--a smile upon their face is hailed with rapture, any faint proof that humanity is not dead within their breasts draws down the most enthusiastic applause. During their hour of empire, people are grateful to them for not being absolutely intolerable--when they deviate into the least appearance of courtesy or good nature, they are angels. Their sun sets, and they soon learn what it is to be a fallen tyrant. The woman who pleases at first, and as your acquaintance advances gains the more in your esteem, is the most charming of all companions; the countenance of such a person is the most agreeable of all sights, and her voice the most musical of all sounds. "Une belle femme qui a les qualités d'un honnête homme est-ce qu'il y a au monde d'un commerce plus delicieux; l'on trouve en elle tout le mérite des deux sexes."

"In the heart of the best woman," says a German writer, "there glows a shovelful, at least, of infernal embers; in that of the worst, there is a little corner of Paradise."

The real benefits which depend on the influence of the softer sex are thus described:--

"One of the peculiar offices of women is to refine society. They
are very much shielded by their sex from the stern duties of men,
and from that intercourse with the basest part of mankind which
is opposed to the humanizing influence of mental cultivation. On
them, the improvement of society in these respects chiefly
depends; and they who consider the subject with the views here
offered, will become more and more convinced of the service they
might render. Manners are, in truth, of great importance. If real
refinement be a merit, it is surely desirable that it should show
itself in the general deportment. Real vulgarity is the
expression of something mean or coarse in sentiments or habits.
It betrays the want of fine moral perceptions. The peculiarities
in manner and deportment, which proceed from the selfishness of
the great world, when stripped of the illusory influence of their
apparent refinement, become grossly offensive. A cold repulsive
manner, such as is commonly assumed by persons in high life, is
sometimes a necessary shield against the pushing familiarity of
underbred persons. Their tasteless imitations of habits and
manners which do not belong to their station or character,
deserve the ridicule they meet with. The most offensive form
vulgarity can take, is an affectation of the follies and vices of
high life. It is true that the notion of vulgarity is affixed, in
the fine world, to many trifling modes of dress and deportment,
which in themselves have no demerit whatever, except that
something opposed to them has acquired an ephemeral propriety
from the fancy of the great. But in real good breeding there is
always a reason. It is far too little attended to in England in
any class, though, from acting as a continual corrective to
selfish and unsocial affections, it is peculiarly requisite in
all. Good manners consist in a constant maintenance of
self-respect, accompanied by attention and deference to others;
in correct language, gentle tones of voice, ease, and quietness
in movements and action. They repress no gaiety or animation
which keeps free of offence; they divest seriousness of an air of
severity or pride. In conversation, good manners restrain the
vehemence of personal or party feelings, and promote that
versatility which enables people to converse readily with
strangers, and take a passing interest in any subject that may be
addressed to them."

The writer takes occasion to regret the narrow spirit which prevents our nobility, or, to speak more properly, our fashionable coteries, from acquiring a healthier tone, by mixing with societies in which habits of more vigorous thought predominate. In France, to whatever degree frivolity may be carried, a French lady would be ashamed not to affect an interest in the great writers by whom her country has been ennobled; and to betray an ignorance of their works, or an indifference to their renown, would be considered a proof not only of the greatest stupidity, but of bad taste and unrefined habits. Here we are distinguished unfavourably from our neighbours--exceptions, of course, there must always be--but in general to betray an acquaintance with any literature beyond the last novel, or the current trash and gossip of the day, might provoke the charge of pedantry, but at any rate would fail in exciting the slightest sympathy. Hence men of letters, and women of letters, form a caste by themselves much to their own disadvantage, and still more to the injury of those to the improvement of whom they might imperceptibly contribute; hence the statesman, or the lawyer, or the writer, generally keeps aloof from the great world, which he leaves to idle young men and aged coxcombs; or, if he enters it, takes care to abstain from those topics on which his conversation would be most natural, instructing, and entertaining. Instances, indeed, may be found, where men, eminent for science and literature, or of high professional reputation, inflamed with a distempered appetite for fashionable society, "drag their slow lengths along" among the guardsmen and dowagers who frequent such scenes; but they are rather tolerated than encouraged, and the sacrifices by which they purchase their admission into the dullest society of Europe are so numerous, their appearance is so mortifying, and the effect produced upon themselves so pernicious, that hitherto such instances have served not as models to imitate, but as bywords to deter. Instead of improving others, they degrade themselves; instead of inspiring the frivolous with nobler aims and better principles, they condescend to be the echoes of imbecility; instead of raising the standard of conversation, they yield implicitly to any signal, however corrupt, worthless, or utterly unreasonable may be the quarter from which it proceeds, that the most submissive votaries of fashion watch for and obey. The system is denounced by our author in the following vigorous and eloquent passage:--

"The assembly-room or dinner-table _is the very focus of care and
anxiety_, so that a funereal dulness often overhangs it; and
there, where there is the greatest amount of money, time, and
contrivance expended on pleasure--there is least animation of
spirits. For one who is pleased, a dozen are chewing the cud of
some petty annoyance, and _the flow of spirits excited and
animated by rapid interchange of ideas is scarcely known._ When
it occurs, it is seldom owing to those who live for dissipation,
but to men whom the duties of office compel to work very hard.
Notwithstanding their wealth, the pursuits of ambition compel
them to become men of business, and the elasticity of their minds
is preserved. That languid and depressed condition which cankers
the very heart of social enjoyment, loses its solemn character on
occasions of disappointment and vexation. Its pleasures are not
cheerful, but its distresses are ludicrous, and are felt to be
so. Each laughs at his neighbour's mortifications, and the
consciousness he is supplying the same malicious amusement in his
turn, does not take the sting from his own griefs when they
arise.

"Nor is it merely as destructive of social enjoyment, that the
habits of the great world are unfriendly to happiness. It is not
the place for those who have warm imaginations and tender hearts.
There is scarcely any circumstance in which that sphere differs
more from others, than in the deficiency of strong affections.
The chances are many against their existence; and if a woman be
born to move in the haunts of the worldly, it were almost cruel
to snatch her from that immersion in their follies which may
serve to stifle the pangs of disappointed affection. For after
all that can be said of the misery of its empty pursuits and
corrupted tastes, the disappointments that end its petty
passions, and the mortifications that cling to its apparent
splendours, sorrows like those bear no comparison with tears of
anguish shed by the grave of love. Surrounding pleasures, even
the tranquil and elevating beauty of external nature, seem but a
mockery when offered in place of the one thing needful--perfect
and overflowing affection. The exterior decorum and attention on
the part of an altered husband, which betrays to the world no
dereliction of morals but what its easy code passes over as a
right, is no substitute for love. Not unfrequently there is
something almost appalling in the sense of solitude, which on
occasions of sickness or retirement oppresses a young woman, who
to all appearance is overwhelmed with attendance. The hand is not
there that would render every other superfluous. A voice is
wanting, whose absence leaves the silence and horror of death.
The eyes are missed, whose glances first called forth the fervour
of her affections from their peaceful sleep; or, if looking on
her for a moment, they express nothing but indifference. These
are the occasions that dispel the laboured illusion, wherewith,
under the garb of business, or cares, or natural manner, she had
sought to disguise from herself the marks of an estranged heart.
In these sad and desolate hours her memory retraces her early
years, her mother's tender watchfulness, and the soft voices of
sisters contending for their place by her bedside. The contrast
with her present stately solitude bursts resistless through every
effort to repel it; and life and youth, with their long futurity,
present her with nothing but a frightful chasm."

"Alas! alas my song is sad;
How should it not be so,
When he, who used to make me glad,
Now leaves me in my woe?
With him my love, my graciousness,
My beauty, all are vain;
I feel as if some guiltiness
Had mark'd me with its stain.

"One sweet thought still has power o'er me,
In this my heart's great need;
'Tis, that I ne'er was false to thee,
Dear friend, in word or deed:
I own that nobler virtues fill
Thy heart, love only mine;
Yet why are all thy looks so chill
Till they on others shine?

"Oh! long-loved friend, I marvel much
Thy heart is so severe,
That it will yield not to the touch
Of love and sorrow's tear.
No, no! it cannot be, that thou
Should seek another's love;
Oh! think upon our early vow,
And thou wilt faithful prove.

"Thy virtues--pride, thy lofty fame,
Assures me thou art true,
Though fairer ones than I may claim
Thy hand, and deign to sue.
But think, beloved one, that, to bless
With perfect blessing, thou
Must seek for trusting tenderness:
Remember then our vow!"

"Collectively," says our author, "women might do much to remove
the national stigma of leaving men of science and letters
neglected. But their education is seldom such as enables them to
know the great importance of science and literature to human
improvement; and they are rarely brought up to regard it as any
part of their duty to promote the interests of society. They
would not, indeed, be able directly to reward men of talent by
employment or honours, but they might make them acquainted with
those who could; at all events, mere social distinction, the
attention and approbation of our fellow creatures, is in itself
an advantage to men who seldom possess that passport to English
respect--wealth. Though learning is tacitly discouraged in women,
yet the access to every species of knowledge requisite to direct
their efforts wisely and well, is as open to them as to men. With
this power of forming the mind of the rising generation, this
influence over the opinions, the morals, and the tastes of
society, this direct power in promoting objects both of private
benevolence and national importance--with so many advantages, how
is it that women are still exposed to so many sufferings, from
dependence, oppression, mortification, and contempt? why are
their opinions yet sneered at? why is their influence rather
deprecated than sought? Is it not that they have never learnt
even the selfish policy of connecting themselves with the spirit
of moral and intellectual advancement? Is it not because their
liberty, their privileges, their power, have proceeded in many
respects, less from a spirit of justice in the other sex, or a
sense of moral fitness, than from the love of pleasure and
luxury, of which women are the best promoters?"