Until the beginning of this century men played the beau
rôle in life’s comedy. As in the rest of
the animal world, our males were the brilliant members of the
community, flaunting their gaudy plumage at home and abroad,
while the women-folk remained in seclusion, tending their
children, directing the servants, or ministering to their
lords’ comfort.
In those happy days the husband ruled supreme at his own
fireside, receiving the homage of the family, who bent to his
will and obeyed his orders.
During the last century, however, the “part” of
better half has become less and less attractive in America, one
prerogative after another having been whisked away by
enterprising wives. Modern Delilahs have yearly snipped off
more and more of Samson’s luxuriant curls, and added those
ornaments to their own coiffures, until in the majority of
families the husband finds himself reduced to a state of bondage
compared with which the biblical hero enjoyed a pampered
idleness. Times have indeed changed in America since the
native chief sat in dignified repose bedizened with all the
finery at hand, while the ladies of the family waited tremblingly
upon him. To-day it is the American husband who turns the
grindstone all the year round, and it is his pretty tyrant who
enjoys the elegant leisure that a century ago was considered a
masculine luxury.
To America must be given the credit of having produced the
model husband, a new species, as it were, of the genus
homo.
In no rôle does a compatriot appear to such advantage as
in that of Benedict. As a boy he is often too advanced for
his years or his information; in youth he is conspicuous neither
for his culture nor his unselfishness. But once in
matrimonial harness this untrained animal becomes bridle-wise
with surprising rapidity, and will for the rest of life go
through his paces, waltzing, kneeing, and saluting with hardly a
touch of the whip. Whether this is the result of superior
horse-womanship on the part of American wives or a trait peculiar
to sons of “Uncle Sam,” is hard to say, but the fact
is self-evident to any observer that our fair equestrians rarely
meet with a rebellious mount.
Any one who has studied marital ways in other lands will
realize that in no country have the men effaced themselves so
gracefully as with us. In this respect no foreign
production can compare for a moment with the domestic
article. In English, French, and German families the
husband is still all-powerful. The house is mounted, guests
are asked, and the year planned out to suit his occupations and
pleasure. Here papa is rarely consulted until such matters
have been decided upon by the ladies, when the head of the house
is called in to sign the checks.
I have had occasion more than once to bewail the shortcomings
of the American man, and so take pleasure in pointing out the
modesty and good temper with which he fills this role. He
is trained from the beginning to give all and expect nothing in
return, an American girl rarely bringing any dot to her
husband, no matter how wealthy her family may be. If, as
occasionally happens, an income is allowed a bride by her
parents, she expects to spend it on her toilets or
pleasures. This condition of the matrimonial market exists
in no other country; even in England, where mariages de
convenance are rare, “settlements” form an
inevitable prelude to conjugal bliss.
The fact that she contributes little or nothing to the common
income in no way embarrasses an American wife; her pretensions
are usually in an inverse proportion to her personal means.
A man I knew some years ago deliberately chose his bride from an
impecunious family (in the hope that her simple surroundings had
inculcated homely taste), and announced to an incredulous circle
of friends, at his last bachelor dinner, that he intended, in
future, to pass his evenings at his fireside, between his book
and his pretty spouse. Poor, innocent, confiding
mortal! The wife quickly became a belle of the fastest set
in town. Having had more than she wanted of firesides and
quiet evenings before her marriage, her idea was to go about as
much as possible, and, when not so occupied, to fill her house
with company. It may be laid down as a maxim in this
connection that a man marries to obtain a home, and a girl to get
away from one; hence disappointment on both sides.
The couple in question have in all probability not passed an
evening alone since they were married, the lady rarely stopping
in the round of her gayeties until she collapses from
fatigue. Their home is typical of their life, which itself
can be taken as a good example of the existence that most of our
“smart” people lead. The ground floor and the
first floor are given up to entertaining. The second is
occupied by the spacious sitting, bath, and sleeping rooms of the
lady. A ten-by-twelve chamber suffices for my lord, and the
only den he can rightly call his own is a small room near the
front door, about as private as the sidewalk, which is turned
into a cloak-room whenever the couple receive, making it
impossible to keep books or papers of value there, or even to use
it as a smoking-room after dinner, so his men guests sit around
the dismantled dining-table while the ladies are enjoying a suite
of parlors above.
At first the idea of such an unequal division of the house
shocks our sense of justice, until we reflect that the American
husband is not expected to remain at home. That’s not
his place! If he is not down town making money, fashion
dictates that he must be at some club-house playing a game.
A man who should remain at home, and read or chat with the ladies
of his family, would be considered a bore and unmanly.
There seems to be no place in an American house for its
head. More than once when the friend I have referred to has
asked me, at the club, to dine informally with him, we have
found, on arriving, that Madame, having an evening off, had gone
to bed and forgotten to order any dinner, so we were obliged to
return to the club for our meal. When, however, his wife is
in good health, she expects her weary husband to accompany her to
dinner, opera, or ball, night after night, oblivious of the work
the morrow holds in store for him.
In one family I know, paterfamilias goes by the name of the
“purse.” The more one sees of American
households the more appropriate that name appears.
Everything is expected of the husband, and he is accorded no
definite place in return. He leaves the house at
8.30. When he returns, at five, if his wife is entertaining
a man at tea, it would be considered the height of indelicacy for
him to intrude upon them, for his arrival would cast a chill on
the conversation. When a couple dine out, the husband is
always la bête noire of the hostess, no woman
wanting to sit next to a married man, if she can help it.
The few Benedicts who have had the courage to break away from
these conditions and amuse themselves with yachts, salmon rivers,
or “grass-bachelor” trips to Europe, while secretly
admired by the women, are frowned upon in society as dangerous
examples, likely to sow the seeds of discontent among their
comrades; although it is the commonest thing in the world for an
American wife to take the children and go abroad on a tour.
Imagine a German or Italian wife announcing to her spouse that
she had decided to run over to England for a year with her
children, that they might learn English. The mind recoils
in horror from the idea of the catastrophe that would ensue.
Glance around a ball-room, a dinner party, or the opera, if
you have any doubts as to the unselfishness of our married
men. How many of them do you suppose are present for their
own pleasure? The owner of an opera box rarely retains a
seat in his expensive quarters. You generally find him
idling in the lobbies looking at his watch, or repairing to a
neighboring concert hall to pass the weary hours. At a ball
it is even worse. One wonders why card-rooms are not
provided at large balls (as is the custom abroad), where the
bored husbands might find a little solace over
“bridge,” instead of yawning in the coat-room or
making desperate signs to their wives from the
doorway,—signals of distress, by the bye, that rarely
produce any effect.
It is the rebellious husband who is admired and courted,
however. A curious trait of human nature compels admiration
for whatever is harmful, and forces us, in spite of our better
judgment, to depreciate the useful and beneficent. The
coats-of-arms of all countries are crowded with eagles and lions,
that never yet did any good, living or dead; orators enlarge on
the fine qualities of these birds and beasts, and hold them up as
models, while using as terms of reproach the name of the goose or
the cow, creatures that minister in a hundred ways to our
wants. Such a spirit has brought helpful, productive
“better halves” to the humble place they now occupy
in the eyes of our people.
As long as men passed their time in fighting and carousing
they were heroes; as soon as they became patient bread-winners
all the romance evaporated from their atmosphere. The
Jewish Hercules had his revenge in the end and made things
disagreeable for his tormentors. So far, however, there are
no signs of a revolt among the shorn lambs in this country.
They patiently bend their necks to the collar—the kindest,
most loving and devoted helpmates that ever plodded under the
matrimonial yoke.
When in the East, one watches with admiration the part a
donkey plays in the economy of those primitive lands. All
the work is reserved for that industrious animal, and little play
falls to his share. The camel is always bad-tempered, and
when overladen lies down, refusing to move until relieved of its
burden. The Turk is lazy and selfish, the native women pass
their time in chattering and giggling, the children play and
squabble, the ubiquitous dog sleeps in the sun; but from daybreak
to midnight the little mouse-colored donkeys toil
unceasingly. All burdens too bulky or too cumbersome for
man are put on his back; the provender which horses and camels
have refused becomes his portion; he is the first to begin the
day’s labor, and the last to turn in. It is
impossible to live long in the Orient or the south of France
without becoming attached to those gentle, willing animals.
The rôle which honest “Bourico” fills so well
abroad is played on this side of the Atlantic by the American
husband.
I mean no disrespect to my married compatriots; on the
contrary, I admire them as I do all docile, unselfish
beings. It is well for our women, however, that their
lords, like the little Oriental donkeys, ignore their strength,
and are content to toil on to the end of their days, expecting
neither praise nor thanks in return.
