Life, 1908-03-05 · page 12 of 36
Life — March 5, 1908 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This article by Mrs. Wilson Woodrowe critiques women who attend theatrical matinees, particularly commenting on a production of "Puccini's Elina, or How the Alienated the Alienists." The author satirizes female theater-goers for their emotional responses and perceived lack of intellectual engagement. The accompanying illustration depicts a woman in an elaborate dress, likely emphasizing the fashion-consciousness the author associates with such attendees. The piece's central satire targets women's supposed emotional irrationality—the author describes how a female character (Elina) manipulates her husband through tears and tenderness, and how real women in the audience similarly lose themselves in sentiment. The author concludes sarcastically: "Do you wonder, dear, that so many really refined women don't marry?"—suggesting that excessive emotionalism makes women undesirable as wives.
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A Woman's Glory OW d’you do, dear. How lovely you look. Is that your new pompadour? Only ten pounds of extra hair? Do you think that is enough to be quite smart this season? Do you really like mine? It has been the innocent cause of a most unpleasant experience. I do think, that with few exceptions, men are the most tiresome, ill-bred creatures in the world. But let me tell you about it. Last Saturday afternoon I went to a matinée of that per- fectly. wonderful new problem play—'‘Eccentric Elvina, or How She Alienated the Al s.” I’ve scen it four times and it makes a deeper impression every time. What is the problem? Oh, one of the usual ones, I can’t just remember which—tre- mendously absorbing and interesting, though; but my whole afternoon was absolutely ruined by a man who sat just behind me with another man, and during the whole play kept making the most offensive remarks. And he looked like a gentleman, too, only he had hard, cold eyes and a cruel mouth. After I had taken off my hat he groaned several times and then said in a perfectly audible tone, “Great heavens! I shan’t be able to seea thing. This is worse than the days of picture- hats! Why, the woman’s head must measure three feet across.” Of course, I was too well bred to notice the creature’s re- Directory 0} Nautical Terms, Page 359: Any wind strong enough to affect the rigging is known as a sea breeze. Merchantmen at once come about and take an observation, ae marks; but in that lovely, poetic part of the play where they have all that symbolism about the mud-pies, he turned to the * man beside him, and said: ‘What do you suppose she stuffs it with—excelsior?” I felt like taking the whole thing down and showing him my inside pompadour, that I paid—well, you know what a nice bushy one costs. But you will hardly believe me when I tell you that at that tremendous scene where Whaddascamp tells Elvina that she bores him to death with her tears, tempers and tantrums, that he detests the sight of her, and always has loathed her; and she looks at him in that lovely, tender way, draws her breath in through her nose and says: “Nay, Whaddascamp, you are self-deceived. What you call your hate for me is but the mask and domino of a passionate love. Strive, strive for the artistic vision and you will then see tears, tempers and tantrums as temperament and soul.” ‘ Well, there simply wasn’t a dry eye in the house, and while I was wiping away my tears and getting out my powder-puff the creature behind me said: “Forty-three puffs. I’ve counted them over and over. I might as well; nothing else to do, unless I look at the ceiling.” Positively, I couldn’t endure it another minute, so I turned around very slowly and haughtily gave him, oh-such-a-look. And the brute said: ‘‘Gee! I wish she’d sit sidewise all the time; I actually caught a glimpse of the stage.” And then in that magnificent scene where Elvina’s tiresome old husband gets off that rigamarole about being master in his own house and says that Whaddascamp and some of the others. must go; and Elvina draws herself up, and laying her clenched fist on her rapidly heaving chest, replies: “No. The fact that I have the misfortune to be your wife does not make me a mere chattel, toy or plaything. I am a living, breathing, thinking woman, and I stand upon my rights; and you, sir, will live in a triangular or quadrangular household as long as I choose.” Perfectly thrilling, you know; and when she finished there was just one long sigh of emotion all through the house. Immoral? Oh, I dare say; but it’s a problem play, and that makes it per- fectly proper. Well, just at that moment when the atmosphere was simply charged with romance, that horrid man broke i “Eighteen curls crowning the structure. She must carry a ton of steel in hairpins!” Do you wonder, dear, that so many really refined women don’t marry? Mrs, Wilson Woodrow. comicbooks.com