fathers, but the mothers, that
effectually form the heart.'
Napoleon seems to have formed what may be called a professional
estimate of women. When the demonstrative Madame de Stael
asked him--
evidently expecting him to pay her a compliment--`Whom
do you think the greatest woman dead or alive?' Napoleon
replied, `Her, Madame, _WHO HAS BORNE MOST SONS_.' Nettled by
this sarcastic reply, she returned to the
charge, observing, `It
is said you are not friendly to the sex.' Napoleon was her match
again; `Madame,' he exclaimed, `I am
passionately" target="_blank" title="ad.多情地;热烈地">
passionately fond of my
wife;' and off he walked. Assuredly it would not mend matters in
this world (or the next) if all men were Napoleons and all women
de Staels.
If we consider the question in other points of view, have
there been, proportionally, fewer
celebrated women than
illustrious men? fewer great queens than truly great kings?
Compare, on all sides, the means and the circumstances; count the
reigns, and decide.
The fact is that this question has been argued only by tyrannical
or very silly men, who found it difficult to get rid of the
absurd prejudices which
retain the finest half of human nature in
slavery, and
condemn it to
obscurity under the pretext that it is
essentially corrupted. Towards the end of the 15th century a
certain demented
writer attempted to prove that women do not even
deserve the title of
reasonable creatures, which in the original
sounds oddly enough,
namely, _probare nititur mulieres non
homines esse_. Another, a very
learned Jesuit, endeavoured to
demonstrate that women have no souls! Some say that women
surpass us in wickedness; others, that they are both worse and
better than men.
That morbid
wretch, Alexander Pope, said, `Every woman is at
heart a rake;' and a recent
writer in the _Times_ puts more venom
in the dictum by
saying, `Every woman is (or likes) at heart a
rake.' Both these opinions may be set down as mere
claptrap, witty, but vile.
But a truce to such insults against those who
beautify the earth;
_THEIR_ vices cannot excuse ours. It is we who have depraved
them by associating them with excesses which are repugnant to
their
delicacy. The contagion, however, has not
affected all of
them. Among our `plebeians,' and even among
nobility, many women
remind us of the
modesty and courage of those ancient republican
matrons, who, so to speak, founded, the manners and morals of
their country; and among all classes of the
community there are
thousands who
inspire their husbands with
generous impulses in
the battle of life, either by cheering words of comfort, or by
that mute
eloquence of duties well fulfilled, which nothing can
resist if we are
worthy of the name of men. How many a gambler
has been reformed by the tender appeals of a good and devoted
wife. `Venerable women!' one of them exclaims, `in
whatever rank
Heaven has placed you, receive my homage.' The
gentleness of
your souls smooths down the roughness of ours and checks its
violence. Without your virtues what would we be? Without
YOU, my dear wife, what would have become of me? You
beheld the
beginning and the end of the gaming fury in me, which
I now
detest; and it is not to me, but to you alone, that the
victory must be ascribed.'[95]
[95] Dusaulx, _De la Passion du Jeu_.
A very pretty
anecdote is told of such a wife and a gaming
husband.
In order to
simplify the signs of loss and gain, so as not to be
overburdened with the weight of gold and silver, the French
players used to carry the
representation of their fortunes in
small boxes, more or less
elegant. A lady (who else could have
thought of such a device?), trembling for the fate of her
husband, made him a present of one of these dread boxes. This
little master-piece of conjugal and
maternal affection
represented a wife in the attitude of supplication, and weeping
children,
seeming to say to their father--_THINK OF US!_ . . . .
It is,
therefore, only with the view of avenging good and
honourable women, that I now proceed to speak of those who have
disgraced their sex.
I have already described a
remarkable gamestress--the Persian
Queen Parysatis.[96]
[96] Chapter III.