It was this awful element that the genius of Madame Gosner aroused in the heart of France; it was this which cast eternal shame upon one of the greatest nations of the earth; it was this which makes all true and refined women tremble when they are called upon to plunge into the arena of politics, or the strife of nations. CHAPTER LVII. UNSEXED WOMANHOOD. The women of France had, perhaps, more excuse for revolt than those of any other country. Misery, hardship and injustice, drove them into a storm of politics with terrible violence. With a single leap they sprang out of absolute subjugation into a wild chaos of ideas. In riot, rapine, and bloodthirstiness, they shamed the coarsest men by their unbridled excesses. While violating all law, and trampling human rights under foot, they sang pæans to liberty, and inaugurated their terrible orgies with declarations of equal rights and eternal brotherhood. Such were the women who, claiming political equality with men, and superiority over monarchs, flung all the sweet attributes of the sex behind them in the turmoil of politics, and in a subsequent carnival of blood forgot that they had ever been wives and mothers. How could it be otherwise? The woman who once flings aside all the beautiful entanglements of home, and assumes duties which never were intended for her; who gives free rein to the coarser passions, plunges into such fierce struggles as brutalize men and degrade her beneath their lowest level. If a woman like this expects to return at any period to the gentle immunities of home life, she knows little of the destiny she is carving out for herself. Imagine these women going home from a fierce debate at the clubs to caress their little ones, and teach them their prayers at night; could they touch the smiling mouths of innocent children with lips hot with smouldering hate, or curl their silken tresses over fingers wet with human blood? Could they, without an outrage on humanity, permit their little ones to kneel in holy prayer at the feet which had just been treading down saw-dust around the guillotine? After partaking of such scenes, could any woman expect to go back to her sweet motherhood in the shelter of a pure love? No; the quiet life, the care of childhood, the love of strong men, are not for such women. Let them once forsake the shelter of home, the blessedness of a calm hearthstone, and half that is valuable in existence lies behind them. When they enter the turmoil of moral or physical war, return is impossible; a great gulf has been dug between them and the happiness of womanhood, which can never be re-passed.