Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Toujours les Femmes
Toujours Les Femmes.
I think it was a Persian king Who used to say, that evermoreIn human life each evil thing Comes of the sex that men adore;That nought, in brief, had e'er befell To harm or grieve our hapless race,But, if you probe the matter well, You'll find a woman in the case!
And then the curious tale is told How, when upon a certain nightA climbing youngster lost his hold, And, falling from a ladder's height,Was found, alas! next morning dead, His majesty, with solemn face,As was his wont, demurely said, "Pray, who's the woman in the case?"
And how a lady in his Court, Who deemed the royal whim absurd,Rebuked him while she made report Of the mischance that late occurred;Whereat the king replied in glee, "I've heard the story, please your grace,And all the witnesses agree There was a woman in the case!
"The truth, your ladyship, is this, (Nor is it marvellous at all,)The youth was climbing for a kiss, And got, instead, a fatal fall.Whene'er a man—as I have said— Falls from a ladder, or from grace,Or breaks his faith, or breaks his head, There is a woman in the case!"
For such, a churlish, carping creed As that his majesty professed,I hold him of unkingly breed— Unless, in sooth, he spoke in jest;To me, few things have come to pass Of good event, but, I can trace—Thanks to the matron or the lass— Somewhere, a woman in the case.
Yet once, while gaily strolling where A vast Museum still displaysIts varied wealth of strange and rare, To charm, or to repel the gaze—I—to a lady (who denied The creed by laughing in my face)—Took up, for once, the Persian's side About a woman in the case.
Discoursing thus, we came upon A grim Egyptian mummy—deadSome centuries since. "'Tis Pharaoh's son— Perhaps—who knows?"—the lady said.No!—on the black sarcophagus A female name I stooped to trace;"Toujours les femmes! 'Tis ever thus— There is a woman in the case!"