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The Spinster Book

By Myrtle Reed


G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press

1907

* * * * *

COPYRIGHT, 1901
BY
MYRTLE REED

* * * * *

Set up and electrotyped, September, 1901

Reprinted, November, 1901; April, 1902; August, 1902; April, 1903;
July, 1903; September, 1903; June, 1904; October, 1904; June, 1905;
September, 1905; March, 1906; September, 1906; November, 1906;
July, 1907.


The Knickerbocker Press, New York

* * * * *

BY MYRTLE REED.

LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN.
LATER LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN.
THE SPINSTER BOOK.
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.
PICKABACK SONGS.
THE SHADOW OF VICTORY.
THE MASTER'S VIOLIN.
THE BOOK OF CLEVER BEASTS.
AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK-O'-LANTERN.
A SPINNER IN THE SUN.
LOVE AFFAIRS OF LITERARY MEN.

* * * * *




Contents


PAGE

Notes on Men 3
Concerning Women 25
The Philosophy of Love 49
The Lost Art of Courtship 71
The Natural History of Proposals 93
Love Letters: Old and New 115
An Inquiry into Marriage 137
The Physiology of Vanity 161
Widowers and Widows 183
The Consolations of Spinsterhood 205




Notes on Men

[Illustration]




Notes on Men

[Sidenote: "The Proper Study"]


If "the proper study of mankind is man," it is also the chief delight of
woman. It is not surprising that men are conceited, since the thought of
the entire population is centred upon them.

Women are wont to consider man in general as a simple creation. It is
not until the individual comes into the field of the feminine telescope,
and his peculiarities are thrown into high relief, that he is seen and
judged at his true value.

When a girl once turns her attention from the species to the individual,
her parlour becomes a sort of psychological laboratory in which she
conducts various experiments; not, however, without the loss of friends.
For men are impatient of the spirit of inquiry in woman.

[Sidenote: The Phenomena of Affection]

How shall a girl acquire her knowledge of the phenomena of affection, if
men are not willing to be questioned upon the subject? What is more
natural than to seek wisdom from the man a girl has just refused to
marry? Why should she not ask if he has ever loved before, how long he
has loved her, if he were not surprised when he found it out, and how he
feels in her presence?

Yet a sensitive spinster is repeatedly astonished at finding her lover
transformed into a fiend, without other provocation than this. He
accuses her of being "a heartless coquette," of having "led him
on,"--whatever that may mean,--and he does not care to have her for his
sister, or even for his friend.

[Sidenote: Original Research]

Occasionally a charitable man will open his heart for the benefit of the
patient student. If he is of a scientific turn of mind, with a fondness
for original research, he may even take a melancholy pleasure in the
analysis.

Thus she learns that he thought he had loved, until he cared for her,
but in the light of the new passion he sees clearly that the others were
mere, idle flirtations. To her surprise, she also discovers that he has
loved her a long time but has never dared to speak of it before, and
that this feeling, compared with the others, is as wine unto water. In
her presence he is uplifted, exalted, and often afraid, for very love of
her.

Next to a proposal, the most interesting thing in the world to a woman
is this kind of analysis. If a man is clever at it, he may change a
decided refusal to a timid promise to "think about it." The man who
hesitates may be lost, but the woman who hesitates is surely won.

In the beginning, the student is often perplexed by the magnitude of the
task which lies before her. Later, she comes to know that men, like
cats, need only to be stroked in the right direction. The problem thus
becomes a question of direction, which is seldom as simple as it looks.

[Sidenote: The Personal Equation]

Yet men, as a class, are easier to understand than women, because they
are less emotional. It is emotion which complicates the personal
equation with radicals and quadratics, and life which proceeds upon
predestined lines soon becomes monotonous and loses its charm. The
involved _x_ in the equation continually postpones the definite result,
which may often be surmised, but never achieved.

Still, there is little doubt as to the proper method, for some of the
radicals must necessarily appear in the result. Man's conceit is his
social foundation and when the vulnerable spot is once found in the
armour of Achilles, the overthrow of the strenuous Greek is near at
hand.

There is nothing in the world as harmless and as utterly joyous as man's
conceit. The woman who will not pander to it is ungracious indeed.

Man's interest in himself is purely altruistic and springs from an
unselfish desire to please. He values physical symmetry because one's
first impression of him is apt to be favourable. Manly accomplishments
and evidences of good breeding are desirable for the same reason, and he
likes to think his way of doing things is the best, regardless of actual
effectiveness.

[Sidenote: Pencils]

For instance, there seems to be no good reason why a man's way of
sharpening a pencil is any better than a woman's. It is difficult to see
just why it is advisable to cover the thumb with powdered graphite, and
expose that useful member to possible amputation by a knife directed
uncompromisingly toward it, when the pencil might be pointed the other
way, the risk of amputation avoided, and the shavings and pulverised
graphite left safely to the action of gravitation and centrifugal force.
Yet the entire race of men refuse to see the true value of the feminine
method, and, indeed, any man would rather sharpen any woman's pencil
than see her do it herself.

[Sidenote: The "Supreme Conceit"]

It pleases a man very much to be told that he "knows the world," even
though his acquaintance be limited to the flesh and the devil--a
gentleman, by the way, who is much misunderstood and whose faults are
persistently exaggerated. But man's supreme conceit is in regard to his
personal appearance. Let a single entry in a laboratory note-book
suffice for proof.

_Time, evening. MAN is reading a story in a current magazine to the GIRL
he is calling upon._

MAN. "Are you interested in this?"

GIRL. "Certainly, but I can think of other things too, can't I?"

MAN. "That depends on the 'other things.' What are they?"

GIRL. (_Calmly._) "I was just thinking that you are an extremely
handsome man, but of course you know that."

MAN. (_Crimsoning to his temples._) "You flatter me!" (_Resumes
reading._)

Girl. (_Awaits developments._)

MAN. (_After a little._) "I didn't know you thought I was good-looking."

GIRL. (_Demurely._) "Didn't you?"

MAN. (_Clears his throat and continues the story._)

MAN. (_After a few minutes._) "Did you ever hear anybody else say that?"

GIRL. "Say what?"

MAN. "Why, that I was--that I was--well, good-looking, you know?"

GIRL. "Oh, yes! Lots of people!"

MAN. (_After reading half a page._) "I don't think this is so very
interesting, do you?"

GIRL. "No, it isn't. It doesn't carry out the promise of its beginning."

MAN. (_Closes magazine and wanders aimlessly toward the mirror in the
mantel._)

MAN. "Which way do you like my hair; this way, or parted in the middle?"

GIRL. "I don't know--this way, I guess. I've never seen it parted in the
middle."

MAN. (_Taking out pocket comb and rapidly parting his hair in the
middle._) "There! Which way do you like it?"

GIRL. (_Judicially._) "I don't know. It's really a very hard question to
decide."

MAN. (_Reminiscently._) "I've gone off my looks a good deal lately. I
used to be a lot better looking than I am now."

GIRL. (_Softly._) "I'm glad I didn't know you then."

MAN. (_In apparent astonishment._) "Why?"

GIRL. "Because I might not have been heart whole, as I am now."

(_Long silence._)

MAN. (_With sudden enthusiasm._) "I'll tell you, though, I really do
look well in evening dress."

GIRL. "I haven't a doubt of it, even though I've never seen you wear
it."

MAN. (_After brief meditation._) "Let's go and hear Melba next week,
will you? I meant to ask you when I first came in, but we got to
reading."

GIRL. "I shall be charmed."

_Next day, GIRL gets a box of chocolates and a dozen American
Beauties--in February at that._

[Sidenote: Dimples and Dress Clothes]

Tell a man he has a dimple and he will say "where?" in pleased surprise,
meanwhile putting his finger straight into it. He has studied that
dimple in the mirror too many times to be unmindful of its geography.

Let the woman dearest to a man say, tenderly: "You were so handsome
to-night, dear--I was proud of you." See his face light up with noble,
unselfish joy, because he has given such pleasure to others!

All the married men at evening receptions have gone because they "look
so well in evening dress," and because "so few men can wear dress
clothes really well." In truth, it does require distinction and grace of
bearing, if a man would not be mistaken for a waiter.

Man's conceit is not love of himself but of his fellow-men. The man who
is in love with himself need not fear that any woman will ever become a
serious rival. Not unfrequently, when a man asks a woman to marry him,
he means that he wants her to help him love himself, and if, blinded by
her own feeling, she takes him for her captain, her pleasure craft
becomes a pirate ship, the colours change to a black flag with a
sinister sign, and her inevitable destiny is the coral reef.

[Sidenote: Palmistry]

Palmistry does very well for a beginning if a man is inclined to be shy.
It leads by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees to that most
interesting of all subjects, himself, and to that tactful comment,
dearest of all to the masculine heart; "You are not like other men!"

A man will spend an entire evening, utterly oblivious of the lapse of
time, while a woman subjects him to careful analysis. But sympathy,
rather than sarcasm, must be her guide--if she wants him to come again.
A man will make a comrade of the woman who stimulates him to higher
achievement, but he will love the one who makes herself a mirror for his
conceit.

Men claim that women cannot keep a secret, but it is a common failing. A
man will always tell some one person the thing which is told him in
confidence. If he is married, he tells his wife. Then the exclusive bit
of news is rapidly syndicated, and by gentle degrees, the secret is
diffused through the community. This is the most pathetic thing in
matrimony--the regularity with which husbands relate the irregularities
of their friends. Very little of the world's woe is caused by silence,
however it may be in fiction and the drama.

[Sidenote: Exchange of Confidence]

In return for the generous confidence regarding other people's doings,
the married man is made conversant with those things which his wife
deems it right and proper for him to know. And he is not unhappy, for it
isn't what he doesn't know that troubles a man, but what he knows he
doesn't know.

The masculine nature is less capable of concealment than the feminine.
Where men are frankly selfish, women are secretly so. Man's vices are
few and comprehensive; woman's petty and innumerable. Any man who is not
in the penitentiary has at most but three or four, while a woman will
hide a dozen under her social mask and defy detection.

Women are said to be fickle, but are they more so than men? A man's
ideal is as variable as the wind. What he thinks is his ideal of woman
is usually a glorified image of the last girl he happened to admire. The
man who has had a decided preference for blondes all his life, finally
installs a brown-eyed deity at his hearthstone. If he has been fond of
petite and coquettish damsels, he marries some Diana moulded on large
lines and unconcerned as to mice.

A man will ride, row, and swim with one girl and marry another who is
afraid of horses, turns pale at the mention of a boat, and who would
look forward to an interview with His Satanic Majesty with more ease and
confidence than to a dip in the summer sea.

[Sidenote: Portia and Carmen]

Theoretically, men admire "reasonable women," with the uncommon quality
which is called "common sense," but it is the woman of caprice, the
sweet, illogical despot of a thousand moods, who is most often and most
tenderly loved. Man is by nature a discoverer. It is not beauty which
holds him, but rather mystery and charm. To see the one woman through
all the changing moods--to discern Portia through Carmen's witchery--is
the thing above all others which captivates a man.

[Sidenote: The Dorcas Ideal]

Deep in his heart, man cherishes the Dorcas ideal. The old, lingering
notions of womanliness are not quite dispelled, but in this, as in
other things, nothing sickens a man of his pet theory like seeing it in
operation.

It may be a charming sight to behold a girl stirring cheese in the
chafing-dish, wearing an air of deep concern when it "bunnies" at the
sides and requires still more skill. It may also be attractive to see
white fingers weave wonders with fine linen and delicate silks, with
pretty eagerness as to shade and stitch.

But in the after-years, when his divinity, redolent of the kitchen,
meets him at the door, with hair dishevelled and fingers bandaged, it is
subtly different from the chafing-dish days, and the crisp chops,
generously black with charcoal, are not as good as her rarebits used to
be. The memory of the silk and fine linen also fades somewhat, in the
presence of darning which contains hard lumps and patches which
immediately come off.

It has become the fashion to speak of woman as the eager hunter, and man
as the timid, reluctant prey. The comic papers may have started it, but
modern society certainly lends colour to the pretty theory. It is
frequently attributed to Mr. Darwin, but he is at times unjustly blamed
by those who do not read his pleasing works.

The complexities in man's personal equation are caused by variants of
three emotions; a mutable fondness for women, according to temperament
and opportunity, a more uniform feeling toward money, and the universal,
devastating desire--the old, old passion for food.

[Sidenote: The Key of Happiness]

The first variant is but partially under the control of any particular
woman, and the less she concerns herself with the second, the better it
is for both, but she who stimulates and satisfies the third variant
holds in her hands the golden key of happiness. No woman need envy the
Sphinx her wisdom if she has learned the uses of silence and never asks
a favour of a hungry man.

A woman makes her chief mistake when she judges a man by herself and
attributes to him indirection and complexity of motive. When she wishes
to attract a particular man, she goes at it indirectly. She makes
friends of "his sisters, his cousins, and his aunts," and assumes an
interest in his chum. She ignores him at first and thus arouses his
curiosity. Later, she condescends to smile upon him and he is mildly
pleased, because he thinks he has been working for that very smile and
has finally won it. In this manner he is lured toward the net.

[Sidenote: The Wise Virgin]

When a girl systematically and effectively feeds a man, she is leading
trumps. He insensibly associates her with his comfort and thus she
becomes his necessity. When a man seeks a woman's society it is because
he has need of her, not because he thinks she has need of him; and the
parlour of the girl who realises it, is the envy of every unattached
damsel on the street. If the wise one is an expert with the
chafing-dish, she may frequently bag desirable game, while the foolish
virgins who have no alcohol in their lamps are hunting eagerly for the
trail.

Because she herself works indirectly, she thinks he intends a tender
look at another girl for a carom shot, and frequently a far-sighted
maiden can see the evidences of a consuming passion for herself in a
man's devotion to someone else.

Men are not sufficiently diplomatic to bother with finesse of this kind.
Other things being equal, a man goes to see the girl he wants to see.
It does not often occur to her that he may not want to see her, may be
interested in someone else, or that he may have forgotten all about her.

[Sidenote: "Encouragement"]

There is a common feminine delusion to the effect that men need
"encouragement" and there is no term which is more misused. A fool may
need "encouragement," but the man who wants a girl will go after her,
regardless of obstacles. As for him, if he is fed at her house, even
irregularly, he may know that she looks with favour upon his suit.

[Sidenote: "Platonic Friendship"]

The parents of both, the neighbours, and even the girl herself, usually
know that a man is in love before he finds it out. Sometimes he has to
be told. He has approached a stage of acute and immediate peril when he
recognises what he calls "a platonic friendship."

Young men believe platonic friendship possible; old men know better--but
when one man learns to profit by the experience of another, we may look
for mosquitoes at Christmas and holly in June.

There is an exquisite danger attached to friendships of this kind, and
is it not danger, rather than variety, which is "the spice of life?"
Relieved of the presence of that social pace-maker, the chaperone, the
disciples of Plato are wont to take long walks, and further on, they
spend whole days in the country with book and wheel.

A book is a mysterious bond of union, and by their taste in books do a
man and woman unerringly know each other. Two people who unite in
admiration of Browning are apt to admire each other, and those who
habitually seek Emerson for new courage may easily find the world more
kindly if they face it hand in hand.

A latter-day philosopher has remarked upon the subtle sympathy produced
by marked passages. "The method is so easy and so unsuspect. You have
only to put faint pencil marks against the tenderest passages in your
favourite new poet, and lend the volume to Her, and She has only to
leave here and there the dropped violet of a timid, confirmatory
initial, for you to know your fate."

[Sidenote: The High-Priest]

A man never has a platonic friendship with a woman it is impossible for
him to love. Cupid is the high-priest at these rites of reading aloud
and discussing everything under the sun. The two become so closely bound
that one arrow strikes both, and often the happiest marriages are those
whose love has so begun, for when the Great Passion dies, as it
sometimes does, sympathy and mutual understanding may yield a generous
measure of content.

The present happy era of fiction closes a story abruptly at the altar or
else begins it immediately after the ceremony. Thence the enthralled
reader is conducted through rapture, doubt, misunderstanding,
indifference, complications, recrimination, and estrangement to the
logical end in cynicism and the divorce court.

In the books which women write, the hero of the story shoulders the
blame, and often has to bear his creator's vituperation in addition to
his other troubles. When a man essays this theme in fiction, he shows
clearly that it is the woman's fault. When the situation is presented
outside of books, the happily married critics distribute condemnation in
the same way, it being customary for each partner in a happy marriage to
claim the entire credit for the mutual content.

[Sidenote: Pursuit and Possession]

Over the afternoon tea cups it has been decided with unusual and
refreshing accord, that "it is pursuit and not possession with a man."
True--but is it less true with women?

When Her Ladyship finally acquires the sealskin coat on which she has
long set her heart, does she continue to scan the advertisements? Does
she still coddle him who hath all power as to sealskin coats, with
tempting dishes and unusual smiles? Not unless she wants something else.

Still, it is woman's tendency to make the best of what she has, and
man's to reach out for what he has not. Man spends his life in the
effort to realise the ideals which, like will-o'-the-wisps, hover just
beyond him. Woman, on the contrary, brings into her life what grace she
may, by idealising her reals.

In her secret heart, woman holds her unchanging ideal of her own
possible perfection. Sometimes a man suspects this, and loves her all
the more for the sweet guardian angel which is thus enthroned. Other
men, less fine, consider an ideal a sort of disease--and they are
usually a certain specific.

But, after all, men are as women make them. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy
swayed empires and rocked thrones. There is no woman who does not hold
within her little hands some man's achievement, some man's future, and
his belief in woman and God.

She may fire him with high ambition, exalt him with noble striving, or
make him a coward and a thief. She may show him the way to the gold of
the world, or blind him with tinsel which he may not keep. It is she who
leads him to the door of glory and so thrills him with majestic purpose,
that nothing this side Heaven seems beyond his eager reach.

[Sidenote: The Potter's Hand]

Upon his heart she may write ecstasy or black despair. Through the long
night she may ever beckon, whispering courage, and by her magic making
victory of defeat. It is for her to say whether his face shall be
world-scarred and weary, hiding tragedy behind its piteous lines;
whether there shall be light or darkness in his soul. He cannot escape
those soft, compelling fingers; she is the arbiter of his destiny--for
like clay in the potter's hands, she moulds him as she will.




Concerning Women

[Illustration]




Concerning Women


In order to be happy, a woman needs only a good digestion, a
satisfactory complexion, and a lover. The first requirement being met,
the second is not difficult to obtain, and the third follows as a matter
of course.

[Sidenote: Nagging]

He was a wise philosopher who first considered crime as disease, for
women are naturally sweet-tempered and charming. The shrew and the scold
are to be reformed only by a physician, and as for nagging, is it not
allopathic scolding in homeopathic doses?

A well woman is usually a happy one, and incidentally, those around her
share her content. The irritation produced by fifteen minutes of nagging
speaks volumes for the personal influence which might be directed the
other way, and the desired result more easily obtained.

[Sidenote: Diversions]

The sun around which woman revolves is Love. Her whole life is spent in
search of it, consciously or unconsciously. Incidental diversions in
the way of "career" and "independence" are usually caused by domestic
unhappiness, or, in the case of spinsters, the fear of it.

If all men were lovers, there would be no "new woman" movement, no
sociological studies of "Woman in Business," no ponderous analyses of
"The Industrial Condition of Women" in weighty journals. Still more than
a man, a woman needs a home, though it be but the tiniest room.

Even the self-reliant woman of affairs who battles bravely by day in the
commercial arena has her little nook, made dainty by feminine touches,
to which she gladly creeps at night. Would it not be sweeter if it were
shared by one who would always love her? As truly as she needs her bread
and meat, woman needs love, and, did he but know it, man needs it too,
though in lesser degree.

[Sidenote: The Verity and the Vision]

Lacking the daily expression of it which is the sweet unction of her
hungry soul, she seeks solace in an ideal world of her own making. It is
because the verity jars upon her vision that she takes a melancholy view
of life.

One of woman's keenest pleasures is sorrow. Her tears are not all pain.
She goes to the theatre, not to laugh, but to weep. The clever
playwright who closes his last scene with a bitter parting is sure of a
large clientage, composed almost wholly of women. Sad books are written
by men, with an eye to women readers, and women dearly love to wear the
willow in print.

Women are unconscious queens of tragedy. Each one, in thought, plays to
a sympathetic but invisible audience. She lifts her daily living to a
plane of art, finding in fiction, music, pictures, and the stage
continual reminders of her own experience.

Does her husband, distraught with business cares, leave her hurriedly
and without the customary morning kiss? Woman, on her way to market,
rapidly reviews similar instances in fiction, in which this first
forgetting proved to be "the little rift within the lute."

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