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The mothers of Professors were indulged in the practice of jumping at
conclusions； and were praised for their impatience of the slow process of
reason。
Professors have written of the mental habits of women as though they
accumulated generation by generation upon women； and passed over their
sons。 Professors take it for granted； obviously by some process other
than the slow process of reason； that women derive from their mothers and
grandmothers； and men from their fathers and grandfathers。 This； for
instance； was written lately： 〃This power ＇it matters not what＇ would be
about equal in the two sexes but for the influence of heredity； which turns
the scale in favour of the woman； as for long generations the surroundings
and conditions of life of the female sex have developed in her a greater
degree of the power in question than circumstances have required from
men。〃 〃Long generations〃 of subjection are； strangely enough； held to
excuse the timorousness and the shifts of women to…day。 But the world；
unknowing； tampers with the courage of its sons by such a slovenly
indulgence。 It tampers with their intelligence by fostering the ignorance
of women。
And yet Shakespeare confessed the participation of man and woman in
their common heritage。 It is Cassius who speaks：
〃Have you not love enough to bear with me When that rash humour
which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful？〃
And Brutus who replies：
〃Yes； Cassius； and from henceforth When you are over…earnest with
your Brutus He'll think your mother chides； and leave you so。〃
Dryden confessed it also in his praises of Anne Killigrew：
〃If by traduction came thy mind； Our wonder is the less to find A soul
so charming from a stock so good。 Thy father was transfused into thy
blood。〃
The winning of Waterloo upon the Eton playgrounds is very well； but
there have been some other； and happily minor； fields that were not won …
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
that were more or less lost。 Where did this loss take place； if the gains
were secured at football？ This inquiry is not quite so cheerful as the
other。 But while the victories were once going forward in the playground；
the defeats or disasters were once going forward in some other place；
presumably。 And this was surely the place that was not a playground； the
place where the future wives of the football players were sitting still while
their future husbands were playing football。
This is the train of thought that followed the grey figure of a woman
on a bicycle in Oxford Street。 She had an enormous and top… heavy
omnibus at her back。 All the things on the near side of the street … the
things going her way … were going at different paces； in two streams；
overtaking and being overtaken。 The tributary streets shot omnibuses
and carriages； cabs and carts … some to go her own way； some with an
impetus that carried them curving into the other current； and other some
making a straight line right across Oxford Street into the street opposite。
Besides all the unequal movement； there were the stoppings。 It was a
delicate tangle to keep from knotting。 The nerves of the mouths of
horses bore the whole charge and answered it； as they do every day。
The woman in grey； quite alone； was immediately dependent on no
nerves but her own； which almost made her machine sensitive。 But this
alertness was joined to such perfect composure as no flutter of a moment
disturbed。 There was the steadiness of sleep； and a vigilance more than
that of an ordinary waking。
At the same time； the woman was doing what nothing in her youth
could well have prepared her for。 She must have passed a childhood
unlike the ordinary girl's childhood； if her steadiness or her alertness had
ever been educated； if she had been rebuked for cowardice； for the egoistic
distrust of general rules； or for claims of exceptional chances。 Yet here
she was； trusting not only herself but a multitude of other people； taking
her equal risk； giving a watchful confidence to averages … that last； perhaps；
her strangest and greatest success。
No exceptions were hers； no appeals； and no forewarnings。 She
evidently had not in her mind a single phrase； familiar to women； made to
express no confidence except in accidents； and to proclaim a prudent
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
foresight of the less probable event。 No woman could ride a bicycle
along Oxford Street with any such baggage as that about her。
The woman in grey had a watchful confidence not only in a multitude
of men but in a multitude of things。 And it is very hard for any untrained
human being to practise confidence in things in motion … things full of
force； and； what is worse； of forces。 Moreover； there is a supreme
difficulty for a mind accustomed to search timorously for some little place
of insignificant rest on any accessible point of stable equilibrium； and that
is the difficulty of holding itself nimbly secure in an equilibrium that is
unstable。 Who can deny that women are generally used to look about for
the little stationary repose just described？ Whether in intellectual or in
spiritual things； they do not often live without it。
She； none the less； fled upon unstable equilibrium； escaped upon it；
depended upon it； trusted it； was ‘ware of it； was on guard against it； as
she sped amid her crowd her own unstable equilibrium； her machine's； that
of the judgment； the temper； the skill； the perception； the strength of men
and horses。
She had learnt the difficult peace of suspense。 She had learnt also the
lowly and self…denying faith in common chances。 She had learnt to be
content with her share … no more … in common security； and to be pleased
with her part in common hope。 For all this； it may be repeated； she could
have had but small preparation。 Yet no anxiety was hers； no uneasy
distrust and disbelief of that human thing … an average of life and death。