man and superman-第4章

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scheming：　Prospero　knows　that　he　has　only　to　throw　Ferdinand　and
Miranda　together　and　they　will　mate　like　a　pair　of　doves；　and
there　is　no　need　for　Perdita　to　capture　Florizel　as　the　lady
doctor　in　All's　Well　That　Ends　Well　（an　early　Ibsenite　heroine）
captures　Bertram。　But　the　mature　cases　all　illustrate　the
Shakespearian　law。　The　one　apparent　exception；　Petruchio；　is　not
a　real　one：　he　is　most　carefully　characterized　as　a　purely
commercial　matrimonial　adventurer。　Once　he　is　assured　that
Katharine　has　money；　he　undertakes　to　marry　her　before　he　has
seen　her。　In　real　life　we　find　not　only　Petruchios；　but
Mantalinis　and　Dobbins　who　pursue　women　with　appeals　to　their
pity　or　jealousy　or　vanity；　or　cling　to　them　in　a　romantically
infatuated　way。　Such　effeminates　do　not　count　in　the　world
scheme：　even　Bunsby　dropping　like　a　fascinated　bird　into　the　jaws
of　Mrs　MacStinger　is　by　comparison　a　true　tragic　object　of　pity
and　terror。　I　find　in　my　own　plays　that　Woman；　projecting　herself
dramatically　by　my　hands　（a　process　over　which　I　assure　you　I
have　no　more　real　control　than　I　have　over　my　wife）；　behaves　just
as　Woman　did　in　the　plays　of　Shakespear。

And　so　your　Don　Juan　has　come　to　birth　as　a　stage　projection　of
the　tragi…comic　love　chase　of　the　man　by　the　woman；　and　my　Don
Juan　is　the　quarry　instead　of　the　huntsman。　Yet　he　is　a　true　Don
Juan；　with　a　sense　of　reality　that　disables　convention；　defying
to　the　last　the　fate　which　finally　overtakes　him。　The　woman's
need　of　him　to　enable　her　to　carry　on　Nature's　most　urgent　work；
does　not　prevail　against　him　until　his　resistance　gathers　her
energy　to　a　climax　at　which　she　dares　to　throw　away　her　customary
exploitations　of　the　conventional　affectionate　and　dutiful　poses；
and　claim　him　by　natural　right　for　a　purpose　that　far　transcends
their　mortal　personal　purposes。

Among　the　friends　to　whom　I　have　read　this　play　in　manuscript　are
some　of　our　own　sex　who　are　shocked　at　the　〃unscrupulousness；〃
meaning　the　total　disregard　of　masculine　fastidiousness；　with
which　the　woman　pursues　her　purpose。　It　does　not　occur　to　them
that　if　women　were　as　fastidious　as　men；　morally　or　physically；
there　would　be　an　end　of　the　race。　Is　there　anything　meaner
then　to　throw　necessary　work　upon　other　people　and　then　disparage
it　as　unworthy　and　indelicate。　We　laugh　at　the　haughty　American
nation　because　it　makes　the　negro　clean　its　boots　and　then　proves
the　moral　and　physical　inferiority　of　the　negro　by　the　fact　that
he　is　a　shoeblack；　but　we　ourselves　throw　the　whole　drudgery　of
creation　on　one　sex；　and　then　imply　that　no　female　of　any
womanliness　or　delicacy　would　initiate　any　effort　in　that
direction。　There　are　no　limits　to　male　hypocrisy　in　this　matter。
No　doubt　there　are　moments　when　man's　sexual　immunities　are　made
acutely　humiliating　to　him。　When　the　terrible　moment　of　birth
arrives；　its　supreme　importance　and　its　superhuman　effort　and
peril；　in　which　the　father　has　no　part；　dwarf　him　into　the
meanest　insignificance：　he　slinks　out　of　the　way　of　the　humblest
petticoat；　happy　if　he　be　poor　enough　to　be　pushed　out　of　the
house　to　outface　his　ignominy　by　drunken　rejoicings。　But　when　the
crisis　is　over　he　takes　his　revenge；　swaggering　as　the
breadwinner；　and　speaking　of　Woman's　〃sphere〃　with　condescension；
even　with　chivalry；　as　if　the　kitchen　and　the　nursery　were　less
important　than　the　office　in　the　city。　When　his　swagger　is
exhausted　he　drivels　into　erotic　poetry　or　sentimental
uxoriousness；　and　the　Tennysonian　King　Arthur　posing　as　Guinevere
becomes　Don　Quixote　grovelling　before　Dulcinea。　You　must　admit
that　here　Nature　beats　Comedy　out　of　the　field：　the　wildest
hominist　or　feminist　farce　is　insipid　after　the　most　commonplace
〃slice　of　life。〃　The　pretence　that　women　do　not　take　the
initiative　is　part　of　the　farce。　Why；　the　whole　world　is　strewn
with　snares；　traps；　gins　and　pitfalls　for　the　capture　of　men　by
women。　Give　women　the　vote；　and　in　five　years　there　will　be　a
crushing　tax　on　bachelors。　Men；　on　the　other　hand；　attach
penalties　to　marriage；　depriving　women　of　property；　of　the
franchise；　of　the　free　use　of　their　limbs；　of　that　ancient　symbol
of　immortality；　the　right　to　make　oneself　at　home　in　the　house　of
God　by　taking　off　the　hat；　of　everything　that　he　can　force　Woman
to　dispense　with　without　compelling　himself　to　dispense　with　her。
All　in　vain。　Woman　must　marry　because　the　race　must　perish
without　her　travail：　if　the　risk　of　death　and　the　certainty　of
pain；　danger　and　unutterable　discomforts　cannot　deter　her；
slavery　and　swaddled　ankles　will　not。　And　yet　we　assume　that　the
force　that　carries　women　through　all　these　perils　and　hardships；
stops　abashed　before　the　primnesses　of　our　behavior　for　young
ladies。　It　is　assumed　that　the　woman　must　wait；　motionless；　until
she　is　wooed。　Nay；　she　often　does　wait　motionless。　That　is　how
the　spider　waits　for　the　fly。　But　the　spider　spins　her　web。　And
if　the　fly；　like　my　hero；　shows　a　strength　that　promises　to
extricate　him；　how　swiftly　does　she　abandon　her　pretence　of
passiveness；　and　openly　fling　coil　after　coil　about　him　until　he
is　secured　for　ever！

If　the　really　impressive　books　and　other　art…works　of　the　world
were　produced　by　ordinary　men；　they　would　express　more　fear　of
women's　pursuit　than　love　of　their　illusory　beauty。　But　ordinary
men　cannot　produce　really　impressive　art…works。　Those　who　can　are
men　of　genius：　that　is；　men　selected　by　Nature　to　carry　on　the
work　of　building　up　an　intellectual　consciousness　of　her　own
instinctive　purpose。　Accordingly；　we　observe　in　the　man　of　genius
all　the　unscrupulousness　and　all　the　〃self…sacrifice〃　（the　two
things　are　the　same）　of　Woman。　He　will　risk　the　stake　and　the
cross；　starve；　when　necessary；　in　a　garret　all　his　life；　study
women　and　live　on　their　work　and　care　as　Darwin　studied　worms　and
lived　upon　sheep；　work　his　nerves　into　rags　without　payment；　a
sublime　altruist　in　his　disregard　of　himself；　an　atrocious
egotist　in　his　disregard　of　others。　Here　Woman　meets　a　purpose　as
impersonal；　as　irresistible　as　her　own；　and　the　clash　is
sometimes　tragic。　When　it　is　complicated　by　the　genius　being　a
woman；　then　the　game　is　one　for　a　king　of　critics：　your　George
Sand　becomes　a　mother　to　gain　experience　for　the　novelist　and　to
develop　her；　and　gobbles　up　men　of　genius；　Chopins；　Mussets　and
the　like；　as　mere　hors　d'oeuvres。

I　state　the　extreme　case；　of　course；　but　what　is　true　of　the
great　man　who　incarnates　the　philosophic　consciousness　of　Life
and　the　woman　who　incarnates　its　fecundity；　is　true　in　some
degree　of　all　geniuses　and　all　women。　Hence　it　is　that　the
world's　books　get　written；　its　pictures　painted；　its　statues
modelled；　its　symphonies　composed；　by　people　who　are　free　of　the
otherwise　universal　dominion　of　the　tyranny　of　sex。　Which　leads
us　to　the　conclusion；　astonishing　to　the　vulgar；　that　art；
instead　of　being　before　all　things　the　expression　of　the　normal
sexual　situation；　is　really　the　only　department　in　which　sex　is　a
superseded　and　secondary　power；　with　its　consciousness　so
confused　and　its　purpose　so　perverted；　that　its　ideas　are　mere
fantasy　to　common　men。　Whether　the　artist　becomes　poet　or
philosopher；　moralist　or　founder　of　a　religion；　his　sexual
doctrine　is　nothing　but　a　barren　special　pleading　for　pleasure；
excitement；　and　knowledge　when　he　is　young；　and　for　contemplative
tranquillity　when　he　is　old　and　satiated。　Romance　and　Asceticism；
Amorism　and　Puritanism　are　equally　unreal　in　the　great　Philistine
world。　The　world　shown　us　in　books；　whether　the　books　be
confessed　epics　or　professed　gospels；　or　in　codes；　or　in
political　orations；　or　in　philosophic　systems；　is　not　the　main
world　at　all：　it　is　only　the　self…consciousness　of　certain
abnormal　people　who　have　the　specific　artistic　talent　and
temperament。　A　serious　matter　this　for　you　and　me；　because　the
man　whose　consciousness　does　not　correspond　to　that　of　the
majority　is　a　madman；　and　the　old　habit　of　worshipping　madmen　is
giving　way　to　the　new　habit　of　locking　them　up。　And　since　what　we
call　education　and　culture　is　for　the　most　part　nothing　but　the
substitution　of　reading　for　experience；　of　literature　for　life；
of　the　o