What Women Should Know/Chapter 4

Results of Unrestrained Intercourse between the Sexes.—The concluding paragraph of my last chapter leads directly to the subject of the opening paragraph of this—the results of unrestrained intercourse between the sexes as each is approaching or has reached nubility. We have already taken a long step in advance of most European nations, inasmuch as we allow a far greater freedom of intercourse between the sexes; and the more thoughtful and more liberal in this country are gradually becoming convinced that every remaining bar of restraint which is taken down tends more certainly to purity of thought and act. Perhaps the reason of this is based upon the well-known fact that if you impress any one with the thought that you place unlimited confidence in him, he is far more likely to prove himself worthy of this confidence, than though he should feel that he is regarded with suspicion and watchfulness.

Teach Purity and Morality.—My most earnest word of advice to mothers is, let your earliest inculcations and the whole tenor of your instructions ​to, and your example before, your sons and daughters be in favor of a life of purity in thought, word and deed; and then, after that, trust them. If they fail you then, be sure they would all the more surely have failed you if you had let them see that you regarded them as objects of suspicion.

Male Associates.—A girl should not merely be permitted, but be encouraged, to have companions of the other sex; and the only check which the parents should exercise in this regard is to see that these companions are proper ones, with characters unblemished.

Boy-Beaux.—This is what Fanny Fern says on. the subject of boy-beaux. I came across the passage in her new book after having finished the writing of this chapter, and it so entirely coincided with my own views that I marked it for insertion here: "Do I approve of boy-beaux, madam? Why not? Don't every rosebud draw its humming-bird? Did not God make them both for. this harmless, innocent delight? You had your boy-beaux, madam: I had mine by the score. Only teach your daughter to love you well enough to conceal nothing, however minute, from you; only show her that you have a heart and don't want to pluck out hers, and, my word for it, no harm will come of her 'boy-beaux.' It is your repression that does the mischief—your ignoring your own youth and hers. The child who has leave to pluck the apple often leaves it untasted, undesired, upon the tree."

​Recollections.—Some of the most pleasant recollections of my own life concern my boyish friends: I never once dreamed of calling them beaux. There was little thought of sex between us. We were not lovers, we were simply friends—comrades is the better word. If I was in love with any of them, I must have been with them all, for they all stood nearly equal in my regards, which were certainly strong and sincere. To this day I always recall the living among them with feelings of deeper interest than I do my acquaintances of later years, mingled with a half regret that circumstances and propriety each forbid a resumption of our old familiar terms of intercourse; while the memory of the dead is peculiarly sacred to me. There was one, a young and ambitious law student and embryo politician, who used to hasten, as soon as office hours were over, to read to me column after column of the Daily Congressional Globe; and I, an ardent young politician of sixteen, listened with intensest interest to the longest speeches, and knew every prominent man of every party by name and political history. I had full faith in the future of my friend, and was satisfied in my own mind that nothing less dignified than a seat in Congress awaited him. Ah, well! As he grew older his enthusiasm cooled, his ambition, I dare say, died out, and he is to-day the editor of a tolerably prosperous country newspaper, where perhaps, after all, he exerts as great an influence as he might have done in Congress. Another, a poet, of whom I still believe the world ​would have heard if Providence had not ordered otherwise, used to lend me books of poetry and read me Emerson. When he died my heart was nearly broken, though if he had lived I should never have felt the least desire to become his wife. I might go on and specify all, to the number of half a dozen at least, if I thought the recountal would interest the reader. I had friends, too, of my own sex, who were just as dear to me, but I am not now speaking of girl friendships.

Purity of Girl and Boy Friendships.—In all our intercourse, which was of the most unrestricted character, I cannot recall a word or act of "lovemaking," or of anything tending toward impropriety. Kisses certainly never passed between us. They were unthought of on my side; and if not equally unthought of on theirs, these youths must have exerted rare powers of self-restraint. I know that association with them helped to develop that which is best intellectually, morally and emotionally in me; and I hope that my influence over them was, if not equally marked, at least beneficial. The wine of life coursed in our veins sufficiently for exhilaration, but not with sufficient rapidity to cause the slightest intoxication of the senses.

Influence of Girlhood.—There is a power in healthy, well-developed girlhood sufficient almost for the regeneration of the world. This seems a strong expression; but when we reflect that it is at the plastic period of youth that characters are formed ​and habits settled for life, and that womanly influence over the other sex at this age is almost unlimited, the expression is not so exaggerated, after all. But this regeneration will never take place until young women themselves become fully conscious of their power and feel its responsibility.

Child-Love.—I think one of the most beautiful things Mrs. Stowe has ever written is to be found in the opening chapters of "My Wife and I," in which Harry Henderson describes his child-love. It is not every one probably who has had a like experience, but those who have look back upon it as among their pleasantest memories. There are those who in their wisdom frown upon such manifestations of youthful precocity, as they consider it, and believe it to be their duty to check a growing intimacy between two children of opposite sexes by the means of ridicule and, if need be, of command. But there is nothing more unwise, nothing more unjust. Its outgrowth is in the innocence of paradise; the ridicule that checks it compels the poor children to eat of the tree of knowledge, opens their eyes to good and evil, and henceforth they are ashamed.

A Boyish Love the best Safeguard to Youth.—I believe there can be no surer safeguard for a boy through the perilous years of youth than the love given to and received from a little innocent girl, or even a succession of girls. It will keep him from all manner of evil, and will incite him to his best endeavors in all that is noble and commendable.

​Power of Love.—The strongest motive-power in the world is the attraction between the sexes. It even exceeds the desire for gain, because in most cases this latter desire is born of a still stronger one to win or retain love or to gratify passion.

Love and Passion.—I have put the words love and passion in the same sentence, as though I considered their meaning nearly identical. I am very far from doing this, but there is a sliding scale between them where one becomes blended in the other, so that, differing as widely as they do, it is sometimes difficult to draw the dividing-line. Passion is the base earthly body devoid of soul. Love is that body vivified and glorified by a beautiful angelic spirit.

Love without Passion.—I believe there can be a strong, abiding love, deeper and more powerful than friendship, in which little or no passion enters. This is no doubt rare between the two sexes, and when felt at all is usually felt by women, and resembles, though it differs from, maternal affection. The love of many good women is something akin to this, and of this fact Miss Mulock seems cognizant when in "A Life for a Life," she makes her heroine say, "I have thought that in all women's deepest loves, be they ever so full of reverence, there enters sometimes much of the motherly element, even as on this day I felt as if I were somehow or other in charge of Max, and a great deal older than he." An instinctive knowledge of the possibility of such a love must have ​possessed us, and was rather grotesquely expressed, when I and my girlish associates used to denominate, in conversation among ourselves, our young masculine friends as our "grandchildren." I believe some of these young men did finally marry their soi-disant "grandmothers."

Passion without Love.—There is something which passes for love, but which is simply passion without affection—a brute passion which seeks only selfish physical gratification. It seems unjust to call this passion, even. It is simply lust. The victims of this lust are wretched, broken-hearted wives compelled to bear large families of children, and subject to all sorts of unkindnesses and brutal treatment—wives whose condition is worse than slavery.

True Love.—Love in its truest, purest, highest form is that of strong, unselfish affection blended with desire—an honorable desire implanted by nature in the breasts of men and women, and which is only to be condemned when it is perverted and seeks gratification in forbidden ways. Such a love, culminating in marriage, is approved by God and man. And such a love, looking forward to marriage as affording freedom to the affections and gratification to the instincts, is also commendable, and its possession to be desired by all men and women.

Uses of Love.—Its primary use is, through the instincts which accompany it, the perpetuation of the human race. But its uses are higher than that. By the means of its spiritual powers it ennobles the indi​vidual, and brings out all that is best within him or her. I read lately, though I cannot now recall where, that love instead of being blind is clear-sighted. It opens the eyes of the lover and makes him see in the object of his affections those beautiful traits of mind and soul which ordinary mortals do not discern, but which God sees in all of us. Love is the beautifier, the glorifier, the redeemer. When it is pure and true, it unites two souls in bonds of happiness which never chafe, and which become stronger as time passes and the passions become chastened and subdued.

First Love.—In speaking of first love I do not, after all, refer to those childish affections which I have described, but to those attractions of members of the opposite sexes who have reached an age to experience the emotions and instincts to which combined we give the name of love. After the period of puberty is reached we see the evidence of the growing capability for such a love in the upheaval of the emotional nature of the young girl. She is no longer calm in manner, even in disposition and matter-of-fact in her modes of thinking. Whether she has ever been allowed to read novels or not, life suddenly becomes a romance and herself the heroine. She is liable to sudden mental disturbances; she surprises and, perhaps, amuses us with ridiculous bursts of enthusiasm or sentimentalism. The girl somehow has lost herself. She feels herself in depths that she cannot fathom, and she seeks vainly on every side for aid that shall bring her safely to shore, or for a ​beacon-light that shall at least show her where she is. But she can never go back to the innocence and placidity of childhood. She is in a new world, and there is only one safe place for her in it—it is the same with man—harbored safely in the affectionate care of one of the other sex. She does not know this; still instinct is telling her so all the same, and she sometimes dreams dreams. And if some day she fancies she has found that harbor, do not judge her harshly. Even smile kindly upon her as you recall the days of your own youth. This is part of the lesson of life.

Purity of First Love.—It is the most unjust and cruel of all judgments to consider that the young girl and boy who fancy themselves in love are drawn thereto by a superabundance of animal passion. I believe, if there is anything pure in this world, it is the first boyish and girlish affection which is commonly denominated "puppy love." It differs from the placid likings of childhood, inasmuch as there is an instinctive consciousness of sex, but it is in all respects reverential and pure. It is the very exaltation of sentiment. Goethe, who might be styled master of arts in all affairs relating to love, for he was subject to its influence from early youth, thus speaks of these youthful passions, in referring to Gretchen, the lovely inn-maiden who won his affections: "The first love motions of an uncorrupted youth take an entirely spiritual direction. Nature seems to wish that one sex shall become through the ​other sensuously aware of the good and the beautiful. And so to me through the beholding of this girl, and my love for her, was opened a new world of the beautiful and the excellent."

Transientness of First Love.—It is not always best—indeed, it is seldom best—that these early loves should be perpetuated until the proper age for marriage is reached. For the objects of these boyish and girlish caprices are not always all that they should be, regarded as husband or wife. Besides, time may develop traits of character and disposition which shall make them still less desirable. But be content to let the future take care of itself. These affections are not generally lasting. Time and absence work wonders. If, however, there are no reasonable objections to the future union of the two youthful lovers, I cannot see why their love should not be encouraged until at last it is consummated in marriage. It must be pleasant for such a married couple to look back upon the past, and be able to date their affection from the days of early youth.

Reciprocity of First Loves.—These first loves are not always reciprocal. They do not need to be so in order to be beneficial. I know a love which I felt in my early girlhood was not so. I worshiped reverentially, at a distance, and was frightened lest any one, most of all the object of my adoration, should even guess of it. I looked forward to no future. I was simply content with the presence of the one who inspired me; more than content if he gave me a ​passing word. He went out of my sight, and my feelings, of course, weakened and died out, though not the remembrance of those feelings which I cherish even yet. And that young man who, when my eyes were opened, I beheld as a commonplace individual possessing ordinary intelligence and good looks, will always have a kindly place in my memory.

A Reminiscence.—On the other hand a young lad of seventeen or thereabouts, fresh from the country, once took it into his head to fall in love with me when I was a girl of fifteen or sixteen. No one could be more respectful or deferential. "He never told his love," but he looked it and acted it. He haunted me like a shadow at all available times and places. Of course I was not blind; and feeling no reciprocal affection, his conduct was simply disagreeable. If I had possessed even the slightest tendency toward coquetry, I never could have had the heart to practice it on one so simple-minded and so much in earnest as he. I knew that in a short time he was to go away, and I would probably never see him again; so I concluded, as long as no overt word or act of his brought matters to a crisis, I would let things take their course unmolested. The last evening came; he was prompt as usual at his post, and when I set out for home, he wended his silent way, as was often his custom, beside me through the streets until we reached the corner where our paths diverged. He had never ventured to go farther than this with me, and even now he turned with his customary "Good-evening." ​A sudden pang of compassion seized me. I full comprehended, though I did not reciprocate, his feelings. On the impulse of the moment I paused and said to him, "You are not going without bidding me good-bye, are you?" by which I meant a hand-shaking and a formal leave-taking. But he, interpreting my words in the manner his wishes had been probably leading him, turned with a grateful, "I did not think you would let me," and kissed my cheek. How that kiss burned! I said nothing, for I felt that my unconsidered words had provoked it. I waited until the corner separated us, and then I rubbed the spot again and again. But it seemed as though I could not take the impression away. If I was disgusted with him before, I hated him now, though never was a kiss more reverential in its love pressed upon a maiden's cheek. When, a few months afterward, I heard that he had died with consumption, I was heartless enough in my thoughtless youth to be glad. Years after, when I had learned to reflect, as I thought of the matter, I did not regret that kiss. It did me no real harm, and it may have been a precious memory to the poor lad as he lay upon his deathbed; for, ephemeral as these youthful passions usually are, this one probably lasted him to the end of his brief life.

First Love does not Interfere with Subsequent more Lasting Affections.—There is nothing incompatible between this first love and maturer, more lasting affections. Either husband or wife may ​confess to such a youthful passion with calm, clear, steadfast eyes, feeling that the other has been robbed of nothing which was his or her due, and that the one who makes such confession will be cherished none the less.

Why Sentiment is Introduced.—Certain matter-of-fact people may wonder, perhaps, why I have devoted so much space to the discussion of a sentiment which is regarded by so many as absurd. My apology is this: When passing into womanhood, more than at any other period, a girl's physical, moral and emotional natures are so intimately connected—one bears so forcibly upon another—that it is impossible to treat of one without considering all. And any one who would bring up a girl to healthy, well-developed womanhood must be content to let her pass through all the maladies of youth, just as in childhood measles and other childish disorders must run their course if once they are contracted.

Danger of Suppression.—Any suppression of these moral disorders of youth, if so you choose to consider them, will be as surely attended with evil results as is the suppression of the physical disorders of an earlier period. They must run their course ; and if confidence is freely given and freely returned between parent and child, they are more likely to prove beneficial than otherwise to both the physical and moral systems. Many a young girl's life has been wrecked by the contrary course. If of a delicate, sensitive organization, she has pined away and been laid in an early grave; or, if of a ruder, coarser, ​more sensual nature, she has rebelled and been morally lost, by parents regarding these affections in too serious a light, and bringing strict authority to bear in an attempt to check them.

The Experience Safe and Beneficial.—Do not be alarmed, over-anxious mother. There are fewer pitfalls in the path which nature has laid out than in any of the side paths into which you would force your daughter. She will make none the less noble woman, none the less true wife, for an indulgence in these little "foolishnesses," as you choose to term them; and she will be all the better mother for having experience to date from in dealing with daughters of her own. If a daughter passes from youth to womanhood without experiencing these emotions, you may have cause for self-congratulation that you have been saved anxiety; but if she does not, there is no cause for regret: a wise and sympathizing mother is able to steer her successfully over all shoals. The young, though just come into the inheritance of desire and passion, can be more safely trusted (if fully trusted) than many to whom the inheritance has become a common and a less valued thing.