Chapter IV: The French Business Woman

From long residence on the Continent I have been able to study at first hand that admirable person the Frenchwoman in business. What a power is hers! What would France be without her!

There is certainly no need nor any intention to undervalue Frenchmen; but in France one sees woman in her right place, holding the balance of power that follows most closely Nature’s obvious design. There, on the one side, is man performing the hard physical labour which he alone is wise to attempt; on the other, his partner, woman, with her clear business judgment, advising, supervising, suggesting, persuading: never allowing herself to be carried away by sentiment, but always looking facts in the face. A very tiger over her own offspring, she would sell her own soul—or anyone else’s—to save her children; and for that reason must be met with extreme caution by the foreigner. Her personal judgments nevertheless are always based on clear-headed common-sense.

Wherefore, despite her large army of mateless women, France will never be faced with the “women’s question,” as we know it. Women in France are, to a large extent, independent of public opinion: they do not fear facts.

Any ideal of “single-blessedness” would not appeal to them. “It is neither practical nor natural; why therefore should we pretend otherwise?” We question indeed if English women are quite sincere in this matter. “It is better,” they say, “to be alone than with the wrong man.” “A strange ideal,” answers Madame, “how do you know that he _is_ wrong until you have tried?”

As the French believe, whatever work a woman may undertake, she must be man’s associate and partner; neither his subordinate nor his rival. Wherefore she gives her daughter a professional, or business training; _and_ above all, money. A shopkeeper’s daughter generally marries her father’s most promising assistant. The business becomes a sort of double partnership, and most of these marriages prove quite satisfactory. So if a girl’s father is in the army she generally marries an officer; if a banker she will choose a man in a bank. It is a practical family arrangement seldom leading women out of their own class. The disastrous sort of “The Earl and the Girl” affair, so familiar to us, could scarcely ever take place in France.

It is true that France has now a large army of mateless women, but the greater number are widows. As widows they are either carrying on the family business, working in government posts, or living with their parents. Few, of their own choice, would set up alone for themselves.

In their eyes the English woman seems always struggling with “so much work for such small results:” driven to occupations for which she is not properly equipped. They would never expect or permit their own daughters to face the material insecurity which few of our women workers can avoid. Here they may swim, more often they sink. The Frenchwoman says, “swim by all means if you can, but first make sure that you never sink.” A profession or a business is not enough. The girl must have a home _or_ money. Mothers who cannot provide all three will at least insist on one.

Even a short residence on the Continent will suffice to show us what sacrifices all Frenchwomen are prepared to make in order that the “daughter” may never find herself in the humiliating position of having no money behind her, whether she marries or not. I knew, for instance, a doctor who was killed in the war before his daughter’s dowry had been saved up. The widow at once let her furnished house, and took the position as housekeeper in a school. She is living on her husband’s pension; the rest is put by for the girl. This of course is only one example out of a thousand. The woman thinks no work beneath her, or too heavy to undertake for her daughter’s future. Public opinion accepts her sacrifice as a mere matter of course. It is her duty.

As a matter of fact, however, our snobbish attitude towards shop-keepers is unknown in France. The woman who sees that she can do better at business than in a profession, goes into business. As a rule she succeeds in both, because she will sink her personality and take up the position in which she is needed most, whatever her qualifications for better work. An expert at embroidery, bodice-making, or hair-dressing will devote her life to keeping the books of the family business for the good of the firm. The woman doctor may be sighing to make her name as a surgeon or oculist; but for the good of the practice she will readily give her mind to research work, or, if her husband is also a doctor, to writing his lectures. Her whole career may have its course changed, but she remains content.

Moreover, the Frenchwoman never forgets, or ignores, her real object—_permanent security_. They are a race of cautious investors, who will invest almost everything they possess to put a child on his feet. They will not make him a clerk, always subject to dismissal; a secretary, always looking for better posts. They put capital, however small, into his business to _establish_ him there.

It is for this reason that, at the boot-makers, dress-makers, milliners, and elsewhere, you so continually meet the familiar faces. The assistants, whether married or not, keep their jobs until they can face the world with a fixed income. A few English, and more Americans, make larger fortunes, it is true; but how many of us would have the patience to “heap up” franc by franc, the security which is the great aim of every Frenchwoman.

Comparisons are odious, but we certainly have much to learn from the French business woman.