The relation to the parents, even if the principle of unswerving and
mute obedience was not wholly carried out, was ordinarily a reverential
alienation. Neither side knew the inner life of the other. The
temperament of the mother determined the everyday domestic comforts, the
will of the father the external occurrences of life, from the trip to
the ball to marriage. The daughter whose inclination corresponded with
the will of the father considered herself fortunate. The one married
against her will wept, but obeyed. As an almost fabulous occurrence it
was related of one or another girl that she dared to say “No” before the
marriage altar; cases were not unusual in which daughters received a box
on the ear and were confined to their room until they accepted the
bridegroom whom the father had chosen. Even if a mother, moved by the
recollections of her own youth, attempted to support a daughter it
rarely succeeded. For the power of the father rested quite as heavily
upon the wife. But the worst however was to water myrtle year after
year, without ever being able to cut it for a bridal wreath. Even she,
who in her heart loved another, found it therefore often wisest to give
her consent to an acceptable suitor. Only the one whose dowry was valued
at a “ton of gold”—or who also was a celebrated beauty—could run the
risk of declining a courtship; yes, she could permit herself to occasion
it only to decline it. The more suitors she could recount, the prouder
she was; such a beauty even embroidered around her bridal gown the
monograms of all her earlier wooers.
The unmarried remained behind in an environment where the idea prevailed
that “woman’s politics are her toilettes, her republic is her household
and literature belongs to her trinkets.” The talented daughter sewed the
fine starched shirts in which her stupid brother went to the academy and
sighed therewith: “Ah, if one only were a man.”
When the income of the house was small, she increased it perhaps by
embroidery, sold in deepest secrecy; for it was a disgrace for a girl of
good family to work for money. For her rebellious thoughts she had
perhaps a girl friend to whom she could pour out her heart—or a sister.
But it often fared with sisters growing old together, just as it must
fare with North-pole explorers wintering together, that those holding
together of necessity finally loathe one another from the bottom of
their hearts. And yet the sisters were most fortunate who could grow old
and die in their childhood home and were not compelled to become old
household fixtures in the home of relatives.
Not infrequently this last fate was their portion because a father, a
brother or a guardian out of personal, economical self-interest
prevented their marriage, or a brother through debt or studies had
defrauded them of their inheritance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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