Her Royal Highness Woman

The telegram announced the sudden death of Madame Proquet.

Henri's good mother had passed away peacefully and without pain; she had fallen asleep thinking of her children and had never wakened again.

Henri and his family took the first train to Brittany. Fanchette was at the door watching for the arrival of the carriage that should convey them from the station. In dumb grief the good creature led Henri and his wife and children to their dear dead one. They knelt and silently all kissed one another with tender effusion beside the mortal remains of that beloved and devoted mother, to whom they thus said a supreme adieu while showing her the depth of their mutual love.

Deprived of the mournful privilege of closing the eyes of his mother, Henri had at least the consolation of being present to piously render her the last sad duty. The day after the funeral, he opened the drawers which contained Madame Proquet's family documents and the property which now belonged to him. In a corner of one of the drawers he found a little packet, carefully tied, sealed, and addressed:

'To my son, only to be opened after my death.'

This packet contained eight rolls of 1,000 francs, each placed in a red morocco sheath. By the side of this money lay a letter without any date, but evidently written quite recently. It ran as follows:

'My beloved Henri,

'The life that you lead makes me very anxious. You speak of returning once more to America, to Australia, even going round the world again. Really, I ask myself sometimes whether you are in your right senses, and whether those English people have not completely demoralized you. You buy shares, you run after large dividends, instead of placing your money in State securities at three per cent. It is pure madness, my dear son. I hate speculations! If an individual attempted to come and offer me ten per cent. for my money I would order my faithful Fanchette to show him the door. There will come a time, perhaps, when the law, grown wiser, will condemn to six months' imprisonment, not only every man who takes more than five per cent., but also him who offers it. You have a million, you tell me. Well, then, my son, keep it carefully, and do not try to get others with it. You may possess a million, but if you get more the millions will possess you. There is no real happiness except in security and in obscurity. The kind that has to be sought far afield is ephemeral. Long voyages may make life interesting, but happy, no. Happiness is only to be found at home with our dear ones. Life is so short that each time you leave your good home to seek adventures you are robbing yourself. That is Fanchette's opinion, too, mind you. Of course, all this does not prevent us from loving you and following you with our thoughts wherever you are, nor from praying the great God to bring you safely to port, but at the same time to rid your head of these ideas of adventure which torment me so. In a corner of the drawer where you will find this letter you will find also, carefully rolled and wrapped, and all in good gold coin (you may say what you please, but I do not like paper), the 8,000 francs that you have sent me on New Year's Day for the past four years. You will find them intact. God be praised! I have not needed to use them. I have taken care of them for you, and – who knows? – you may be very glad one day to have them. My regret is that you did not offer years back to send me twenty thousand instead of two. I should have accepted every franc of it, and it would have been as much money saved from that miserable American gold mine or some other speculations, which, believe me, are bound to be just as mad.

'Thank you, my darling son, for the kind impulse that prompted you to send the money. In the future buy three per cents., give up your travels, and stay at home with your dear ones who adore you. My dear, generous son, when you read these lines I shall be no more of this world. Do not forget your old mother, who has lived only for you, who has been proud of her son, and now thanks him for all the happiness that his love and devotion have brought her.'

Fanchette is installed in the fine house that Henri occupies in the Champs Elysées. He pretends to follow her advice in everything.

CHAPTER XLIV

FAILINGS AND FOIBLES OF GOOD WOMEN

Women of strong character – Obstinacy and prejudice – Tastes and temperaments – The diplomatic woman – The strong-minded woman – The superiority of woman – Monopolizers – Little women – The woman who is wrong – 'I told you so' – Why women were not given beards – Women who marry for money and for titles – The only chance of success in matrimony

When you say that a man has a strong character, it means that when he has made up his mind to attain an object in view, nothing will divert him from the road that leads to the goal. He will take advice and profit by all the circumstances that may help him to succeed. That man, as a rule, is successful in the world.

When you say that a woman has a strong character, it often means that she is obstinate and prejudiced, and that whatever advice and arguments may be placed at her disposal, she will follow her own mind and have her own way. That woman, as a rule, is a failure in life.

Obstinacy and prejudice, which are the characteristics of even the best women, are not proofs of a strong character, but weaknesses.

Which is better for a man and a woman to possess in matrimony – similarity of tastes or similarity of temperaments?

I would reply at once: The former, by all means. If a husband and a wife have different temperaments – and, of course, love each other (this must always be granted in any discussion on 'How to be happy though married') – their lives may be all the more interesting for it, because they will have to constantly study each other, make concessions, and be diplomatists ever on their guard. People of different temperaments can get along very well, but unless their tastes are similar they cannot enjoy life together.

George Eliot says that a difference of tastes in jokes is a strain on the affections.

Fancy a humourist married to a woman who cannot see a joke!

Fancy a Wagnerian having a wife who prefers the 'Casino Girl' to 'Lohengrin'!

Fancy a poetic, romantic woman, a lover of Nature, taking her husband to see Vesuvius in eruption and hearing him remark that he has seen smoke before at Pittsburg and Newcastle-on-Tyne; or visiting with him the banqueting-hall of Heidelberg Castle and hearing that Philistine remark that it is about the same size as the dining-room of the Auditorium Hotel in Chicago!

Of course, this difference of tastes sometimes helps to smooth out difficulties. If the chicken is small, and one partner likes white meat while the other prefers black, it comes in handy.

All psychologists, ancient and modern, agree on one point on the subject of woman, and that is that vanity is her typical failing. You never need fear referring to her beauty. She is always open to a bit of flattery. You may go straight to the heart of the best woman by praising her bonnet or her baby.

Give me a tactful woman (she is a delight), but spare me the diplomatic one. 'A diplomatic woman' sounds to my ears very much like 'a woman too clever by half.' I almost prefer the dear little goose who puts her foot in it every time she opens her mouth.

No doubt the diplomatic woman is a very useful mate to the man who occupies a high official position; but in everyday life, in married life especially, the only diplomacy that a woman should concern herself about is the politics of matrimony. Under all other circumstances the diplomatic woman is only an insincere woman with a high-sounding name.

The more I think of it, the more I feel deeply convinced that, in the ordinary pursuits of life, whether a man or a woman be in question, good diplomacy does not consist in cleverly deceiving people, but in finding out who your real friends are, and, when that is ascertained, in sticking to them and for them through thick and thin.

When a husband allows himself to be ruled by his wife, the latter generally profits by it to become assertive and offensively overpowering. Woman was not meant to rule, and when she is permitted to enjoy that privilege, she too often enjoys it en parvenue, loudly and indiscreetly. Like Queen Victoria, woman should reign, but not rule.

With the tact and common-sense which are the salient and most characteristic features of French women, I regret that France is not under a constitutional monarchy, and that the French throne is not occupied by a Frenchwoman. The two most successful reigns recorded in English history are the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and Queen Victoria, which makes me wonder how it is that Salic law is not repealed in all those countries where man alone is allowed either to rule or only reign.

The best illustration of the superiority of woman over man in France is to be seen in the Duval restaurants. It is a woman who, in the twinkling of the eye, multiplies the number of dishes you have eaten by their respective prices and hands you the total always right. She is responsible for the amount charged. If she makes a mistake, she has to pay for it. And how I pity the clerk at the door, always a man, who is satisfied with giving you a bill and seeing that you return it duly paid before you go out! That is all he has to do besides yawning and constantly pushing the door which the customers often leave open or not carefully closed. In business, all the responsible posts are held by women, certainly nine times out of ten. In most shops, fashionable or humble, through the little square hole over which is written 'Pay Here,' you see madame smiling, receiving the money, booking it and keeping it. Monsieur walks about the place and sees to, or, rather, looks at, everything. If that man dies, his wife may regret him, but she can do without him. She has the whole business at her fingers' ends. Instead of being the partner of the firm, she now becomes the sole mistress of the establishment.

The foible of most women, good wives and good mothers, is to be monopolizers, in France especially, where woman is queen in her home, and her empire over her children is complete and unquestioned. France will never succeed in founding a Colonial Empire until boys cease to be brought up and remain under the influence of their mothers. The Roman Empire and the British Empire were made by men who had been brought up and lived under the influence of women, but who never allowed them to rule either as mothers or as wives.

The great qualities of a woman make her admirable, but I am not quite sure that it is not on account of her many little failings and foibles that she is loveable.

A boy is a boy – a genus article. When a man, he will very often develop qualities and defects which he never possessed as a child. With the gentler sex things are different. A little girl is a little woman, and, when a woman, she will possess, only more accentuated, all the qualities and defects that she possessed as a child of ten or twelve. I have known very good boys become very bad men, and very bad boys become splendid men. I have known young cowards become very brave soldiers. An affectionate little girl will be an affectionate woman; a little girl passionately fond of her dolls will be a beautiful mother; and a little flirt of ten will become a terrible flirt at twenty, and a terrible coquette at thirty.

The most painful feeling for a woman to have is to know that she is wrong, because she will not acknowledge it. While she is consuming her own smoke, pity her, and never aggravate her by saying, 'I told you so!' There is such a damnable look of self-satisfaction on the face of a man who says to a woman, 'I told you so!' If I were a woman, I could not resist the temptation of slapping the face of a man who told me so.

Poor thing! It is quite bad enough for her to be wrong, without having to suffer a sneering reminder.

The man who tries to prove, or, worse still, who succeeds in proving, to a woman that she is wrong has not a particle of gentlemanly feeling in him. He is an idiot, a bore, and a brute.

If your wife is wrong, cast down your eyes modestly, smile, and say nothing. If she does not know she is wrong, she will admire your courtesy; if she does, she will admire your self-control. A woman always admires these two qualities in a man.

And when she is right – mind you, perhaps she may be: the most extraordinary things will happen – don't be mean. Be sure you allow her the fullest enjoyment of the victory.

So, whether your wife be right or wrong, always treat her as if she were right. You will thus pay the lady either her due or a compliment, and you are sure to win.

Alexandre Dumas said that women were not given beards because they would never have been able to keep still and silent while being shaved.

Women's tongues have been the eternal theme for men's sarcasms. Yet, for the gift of the gab, for gossip and scandal, give me a few old men together in the smoke-rooms of their clubs. Women are not in it!

I see no difference between women who marry for money and women who sell their favours, except one to the advantage of the latter, who may have been prompted by love, temptation, or poverty to commit actions which the former have the impudence to ask the Law to sanction and the Church to sanctify.

A man who marries for money is still much more despicable, because he has not the excuse of many women, who may not have been able to discover any other way of getting a living.

A woman cannot love or respect a man who allows himself to be purchased for a title of nobility, and a man cannot love or respect a woman who buys him, and thus degrades him in his own eyes. There is no possible element of happiness in such marriages. If there is something in nobility, it should be nobleness of character in those who belong to it. What has become of the old motto Noblesse oblige?

The only chance of success in matrimony is that there should not be one single reproach which, in the inevitable moments of friction, may ever be hurled by one at the face of the other.

A marriage is called a match. The parties who contract it should be matched, and should therefore choose and accept partners of their own rank. Handsome people should not marry ugly ones. They should be equal, with perhaps a touch of superiority in age, size, fortune, and intellectual attainments to the man's credit – to atone for all his shortcomings.

Mésalliances always turn out badly.

Little tiffs, sulkings, fits of temper, and even of jealousy – have as many as you like, they will act as shovels of fuel to keep love and interest alive; but reproaches about origin, antecedents, former poverty, early associations, claims to gratitude especially, will only lead to the inevitable and somewhat logical answer, 'If you married me, I imagine it was because you thought I was as good as you.'

There is no remedy known for the harm done by such reproaches and claims to gratitude.

CHAPTER XLV

CUPIDIANA

Stray thoughts on women, love and matrimony

Few lovers are sure of each other. If you doubt it, listen to what they say, and you will constantly hear them repeat: 'Do you love me?' 'Will you always love me?' or 'How long will you love me?' They will often wake each other in the night to repeat these questions.

Men should cease to be jealous when they discover that they have real ground for being jealous. I do not believe that jealousy comes from true love; but justifiable jealousy should cure one of love.

Love sanctifies everything. Men and women, who really love each other and are faithful, are virtuous.

If you love a woman from the depths of your heart and soul, no words can be found adequate to convey an idea of it.

You cannot blame a man or a woman for being in love any more than you can blame them for having the toothache. If the love they feel is a misfortune to them, or the cause of unhappiness to others, pity them all.

Friendship is the old age of love. Happy the husband and wife who, when the days of love and passion are gone, find real happiness and blessed rest in friendship.

There should be no other law than love to bind a man and a woman together. The day they cease to love each other should be the day on which the contract determines, and they become friends.

The intelligent, artistic, refined man is a gourmet in love; the foolish and brutal man is a gourmand.

Men in old age often give young ones salutary advice as a consolation for being unable to give them bad example.

However ill you may speak or think of women, you will always find a woman able to do it better than you.

Why are women far less indulgent than men for the faults of women?

If I were a beautiful woman, oh, how I should hate women!

The woman who has never succumbed to temptation, often because temptation has never been in her way, is inexorable for the weaknesses of her sex.

Nine times out of ten the ugly woman will at once accept as reliably true any gossip she hears on the subject of a beautiful woman. She draws herself up and thinks: 'No one could ever say such things of me.' And she is right: no one would who did not wish to be grossly flattering.

Only the woman who has yielded to temptation is charitable, and will help the fallen angel. Like Dido, she says:

'Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.'

It is because I love and revere woman that I pity the fallen one, and cannot say an unkind word of her.

I think that men should go down on their knees before the fallen women, and implore their pardon, in the name of their sex, for the injury – the criminal, irretrievable injury – that has been done to them by the curs and scoundrels who are the cause of their present condition.

A woman is a wretched coward who, having had, in succession, the protection of a father and of a husband, does not pity and help, if she can, the beautiful, unprotected girl who has tried to fight the battle of life by herself, and has been wounded.

Woman is an angel who seldom appreciates a man who has not a bit of the devil in him.

The most religious woman will postpone an interview with her Maker for an appointment with her dressmaker.

Matrimony is like any other contract: an agreement signed by two honourable persons, each of whom, in every clause, takes the other to be a dishonourable one.

A loving woman will keep her heart warm as long as she lives, and her hair black as long as she dyes.

Woman is an instrument given to man for his happiness and his delight. If the instrument gets neglected, out of tune, and broken, man should blame himself alone. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the instrument is right enough; it only wants to be in good and careful keeping.

There are only two places in the world where a beautiful woman, fashionably dressed, can walk comfortably without being stared at by the women like a Barnum's freak out for an airing – Paris and New York, and perhaps Bond Street, London, during the season. Everywhere else she has to ride or hide. There is only one spot of the earth where such a woman can go about in all freedom and security without running the risk of being followed and otherwise annoyed by idle men, and that is Fifth Avenue, New York.

In matrimony, to retain happiness and make it last to the end, it is not a question for a woman to remain beautiful, it is a question for her to remain interesting. Not the slightest detail should be beneath her notice in order to keep alive the attention of her husband.

Love feeds on illusions, lives on trifles. If a man loves his wife, a rose on her head, her hair parted the other way, a newly-trimmed bonnet, may revive in him the interest he felt the first time he met her, nay, the emotion he felt the first time he held her in his arms. The very best dishes may become insipid if served with the eternally same sauce.

There comes a time when a woman has to make up her mind to choose between being called a 'dear old soul' or a 'crabby old thing.'

I love and admire the woman of forty who admits that she is ten years older than her daughter, the woman of fifty who is proud to show me her grandchildren, and does not object to being photographed with them, and the woman of sixty who does not expect me to admire her shoulders at a dinner-party.

Painting, music, and women are often admired or criticised by plucky people who are not afraid of exhibiting their ignorance.

Women are born mothers or sweethearts. When they marry, they become mother-wives and take their children into first consideration, or sweetheart-wives, and bestow their best care and attentions on their husbands. But for the former ones, many clubs would have to put up their shutters.

A woman who is constantly blushing must be terribly well informed.

As long as it is man who proposes, matrimony will be promotion for a woman.

The woman taken in adultery was formerly burned or stoned to death; later on she was condemned to three months' imprisonment. Nowadays she goes scot-free, and her husband is turned into ridicule. What more does she want? – the Victoria Cross or the Legion of Honour?

There is no esprit de corps among women.

America is the only country where you hear women speak well of their sex. It speaks volumes for them, and it enables American men to be polite and even gallant, and do the same.

Woman is made to love and to be loved. She may live on love and die of it. For a man, love is the occupation of a few moments; for a woman, love is the occupation of a lifetime.

If a man hears men speak ill of women, he should, before joining in the chorus, remember his mother. Then he will be sure to take their defence.

Women should have two great aims in life: trying to be beautiful and succeeding in being pleasant.

Whether I think of woman as a grandmother, a mother, a wife, a sweetheart, or even a little girl who, by-and-by, will bear all these titles in succession, I believe that men ought to spend most of their spare time in strewing with flowers the ground upon which a woman is about to tread.

There are men who complain that roses have thorns. They should be grateful to know that thorns have roses.

The roses of life are the women.

THE END

1

'John Bull and his Island.'