Part 53

This view regarding the function of the pigment is strikingly supported by the anomalous case of Albinos. “The pink of their eyes (as of white rabbits) is caused by the absence of the black pigment,” says Mr. Tylor, “so that light passing out through the iris and pupil is tinged red from the blood-vessels at the back; thus their eyes may be seen to blush with the rest of the face.”

Bearing these facts in mind, it is obvious why it is an advantage in a sunny country to have as much pigmentary matter as possible in the eye, and why, therefore, Natural Selection makes the eyes blacker the nearer we approach the tropics. And, as with the complexion, so here, it is fortunate for the negro that he has not sufficient taste to feel the æsthetic inferiority of the monotonous black thus imposed on him by Natural Selection. “The iris is so dark,” says Figuier, “as almost to be confounded with the black of the pupil. In the European, the colour of the iris is so strongly marked as to render at once perceptible whether the person has black, blue, or gray eyes. There is nothing similar in the case of the negro, where all parts of the eye are blended in the same hue. Add to this that the white of the eye is always suffused with yellow in the Negro, and you will understand how this organ, which contributes so powerfully to give life to the countenance of the White, is invariably dull and expressionless in the Black Race.”

To the Esquimaux, living in the constant glare of ice and snowfields, a protective pigment is quite as necessary as to an African savage; hence their eyes are equally black. But among other northern races, who are less constantly exposed to the blinding rays of the sun, it suffices to have coal-black pigment in the back part of the eye, as seen through the pupil, while the iris need not be so absolutely opaque. This leaves room for the action of Sexual Selection in giving the preference to eyes less monotonously black. Our æsthetic sense craves variety and contrasts in colour; and as the sense of Beauty originally stood in the service of Love almost exclusively, it is to Cupid’s selective action that we doubtless owe the diverse hues of the modern iris.

To what kind of an iris does modern Love or æsthetic selection give the preference? Doubtless to that which has the deepest and most unmistakable colour—to dark brown, or deep blue, or violet. One reason why we care less for the lighter, faded tints of the iris is because they present a less vivid contrast to the white of the eye; and another reason, as Dr. Hugo Magnus suggests, lies in the disagreeable impression produced in us by the difficulty of making out the exact character of the various indistinct shades of gray, yellow, green, or blue.

The consideration of the question whether amorous selection shows any further preference for one of its two favourite colours—dark brown and deep blue—must be deferred to the chapter on Blondes and Brunettes.

LUSTRE

But Cupid is not guided by colour alone in his choice. However beautiful the colour of an eye, it loses half its charm if it lacks lustre. A bright, sparkling eye is the most infallible index of youthful vigour and health, whereas the lack-lustre eyes of ill-health can never serve as windows from which Cupid shoots his arrows. No wonder that the poets have searched all nature for analogies to the lustre of a maiden’s eye, comparing it to sun and stars, to diamonds, crystalline lakes, the light of glow-worms, glistening dewdrops, etc.

What is the source of this light which shines from the eye and intoxicates the lover’s senses? Several answers to this question have been suggested. Twenty-five hundred years ago Empedokles taught that “there is in the eye a fine network which holds back the watery substance swimming about in it, but the fiery particles penetrate through it like the rays of light through a lantern” (Ueberweg). And a notion similar to this, that there is a kind of magnetic or nervous emanation which beams from the eye and is a direct efflux of the soul, was entertained in recent times by Lavater and Carus. It was apparently supported by the peculiar light which may be seen occasionally in the eyes of cats, dogs, and horses in the twilight; but this has been proved to be a purely physical phenomenon of reflection, due to an anatomical peculiarity in the eyes of these animals.

Some writers have attempted to account for the lustrous fire of the eye by attributing it to the increased tension of the eyeball brought about through certain joyous and exciting emotions. Dr. Hugo Magnus, however, denies that these emotions ever increase the tension of the eyeball: “We know from numerous exceedingly minute measurements that there is no such thing whatever as a rapid change of tension in the eye, as long as it is in a healthy condition.” In some diseases, especially in cataract or glaucoma, such an increased tension does occur, indeed, but it does not in the least impart to the eye the sparkle of joyous excitement. Hence Professor Magnus concludes that “the mimic significance of the eye cannot be conditioned by changes in the form of the eyeball, through tension or pressure on it.”

His own theory (as developed in his two interesting pamphlets, _Die Sprache der Augen_ and _Das Auge in seinen aesthetischen und culturgeschichtlichen Beziehungen_) is that the greater or less brilliancy of the eyes depends entirely on the movements of the eyelids. Instead of calling the eye the window of the soul, it is more correct to say that the cornea is a mirror which, like any other mirror, reflects the light that falls on it. The higher the eyelids are raised the larger becomes the mirror, and the more light is therefore reflected. Now it is well known that exciting emotions like joy, enthusiasm, anger, and pride have a tendency to raise the eyelids, while the sad and depressing emotions cause them to sink and partially cover the eyeball; hence joy makes the eyes sparkling, while grief renders them dull and lustreless.

The old poetic and popular notion that the lustre of the eye is a direct emanation of the human soul must therefore be abandoned. The sparkling eye is a mere physical consequence of the involuntary raising of the eyelids brought about through exhilarating or exciting emotions.

This theory of Dr. Magnus doubtless comes nearer the truth than the others referred to; and the fact that snakes’ eyes, though small, are proverbially glistening, apparently because they are lidless, may be used as an additional argument in his favour, which he overlooked. Yet his view does not cover the whole ground; for it does not explain why, after weeping, or when we are weary or ill, we may open our eyes as widely as we please without making them appear lustrous.

This difficulty suggested to me the theory that, though partly dependent on the movements of the eyelids, the lustre of the eyes is due originally to the tension and moisture of the _conjunctiva_.

The _conjunctiva_, though consisting of 6-8 layers of cells, is an extremely thin and highly sensitive, transparent membrane, which lines the surface of the eyeball as well as the inside of the eyelids. In this membrane is located the pain which we feel if dust, etc., flies into our eyes. In order to wash out any particles that may get into the eye, and to prevent the lid from sticking to the eyeball, the lachrymal glands constantly secrete the water, which, during an emotional shower, consolidates into tear-drops.

Now, just as “the rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,” so the eye is brightest and most fascinating which glistens in an ever fresh supply of lachrymal fluid. After weeping, this supply is temporarily exhausted, hence not only are the eyes “sticky” and the lids difficult to raise, but even if they are raised there is no lustre; you look in vain for “Cupid’s bonfires burning in the eye.” But when we wake up from refreshing sleep in the morning, or when we take a walk in the bracing country air, the eye sparkles its best and “emulates the diamond,” because at such a time all the vital energies, including of course those of the lachrymal glands, are incited to fresh activity, which they lose again after prolonged use of the eye, thus making it appear duller in the evening.

Thus we can readily account for those lights in the eye “that do mislead the morn.” Yet it is probable that (although in a less degree than dewy moisture) the tension and translucency of the conjunctiva are also concerned in the production of a liquid, lustrous expression. Though the eyeball itself may not undergo any changes in tension, the conjunctiva doubtless does. The eyeball rests on a bed of fatty tissue which shrinks after death, owing to the emptying of the blood-vessels and the consolidation of the fat, which makes a corpse appear “hollow-eyed.” The same effect, to a slighter degree, is caused by disease and excessive fatigue, making the eyes sink into their sockets. This sinking must diminish the tension of the conjunctiva, both under the eyelids and on the surface of the eyeball; and in shrinking it becomes less transparent and glistening.

The following observations of Professor Kollmann indirectly support my theory that the conjunctiva is the source of the eye’s lustre: “After death this transparent membrane (the conjunctiva) becomes turbid, the eye loses its lustre and becomes veiled. The surface reflects but a faint degree of light, the eye is ‘broken.’” The loss of lustre extends to the white of the eye, but is less noticeable, perhaps because there lustre does not blend with colour, as in the iris region.

Fashionable young ladies who dance throughout the night several times a week may well be disgusted with the _blue_ rings which appear around their sunken eyes. These rings are a warning that they need “beauty sleep” and fresh air to fill up the sockets again with healthy fat and _red_ blood, so as to increase the tension of the conjunctiva and stimulate the flow of dewy moisture on which the lustre of the eye depends. There are tears of Beauty as well as of anguish and joy.

FORM

Of the beauty of the eye as conditioned by its form, Dr. Magnus has made such an admirable and exhaustive analysis that I can do little more than summarise his observations. He points out, in the first place, that the form of the eyeball itself is of subordinate importance. The differences in the size and shape of eyeballs are insignificant, and are, moreover, liable to be concealed by the shape of the eyelids; hence it is to the lids and brows that the eye chiefly owes its formal beauty.

“The form of the eye is conditioned exclusively by the cut of the lids and the size of the aperture between them.... The countless individual differences in this aperture give to the eyeballs the most diverse shapes, so that we speak of round eyes, wide eyes, almond-shaped, elongated, and owl eyes, etc.”

The first condition of beauty in an eye is size. Large eyes have been extolled ever since the beginnings of poetry. The Mahometan heaven is peopled with “virgins with chaste mien and large black eyes,” and the Arabian poets never tire of comparing their idols’ eyes to those of the gazelle and the deer. The Greeks appear to have considered large eyes an essential trait of beauty as well as of mental superiority; hence Sokrates as well as Aspasia are described as having had such eyes; and who has not read of Homer’s ox-eyed Juno? Juvenal specially mentions small eyes as a blemish.

Large eyes, however, are not beautiful if the aperture between the lids is too wide, or if the white can be seen above the iris. They must owe their largeness to the graceful curvature of the upper eyelid. As Winckelmann remarks, “Jupiter, Apollo, and Juno have the opening of their eyelids large and vaulted, and less elongated than is usual, so as to make the arch more pronounced.”

At the same time we are sufficiently catholic in taste to admire eyes which are not quite round but somewhat elongated. One favourite variety is that in which “the upper lid shows, in the margin adjoining the inner corner of the eye, a rather decided curvature, which, however, diminishes toward the outer corner in an extremely graceful and pleasing wavy line. As the lower lid has a similar, though less decided, marginal curve, the eyeball which appears within this aperture assumes a unique oval form, which has been very aptly and characteristically named ‘almond-shaped.’ The Greeks compared the graceful curve of such lids to the delicate and pleasing loops formed by young vines, and therefore called an eye of this variety ἑλικοβλέφαρος. Winckelmann has noted that it was the eyes of Venus, in particular, that the ancient artists were fond of adorning with this graceful curve of the lids.... Italian, and especially Spanish eyes, are far-famed for their classical and graceful oval form.”

Almond eyes are peculiar to the Semitic and ancient Aryan races. Some of the bards of India sing the praises of an eye so elongated that it reaches to the ear; and in Assyrian statues such eyes are common. The ancient Egyptians had a similar taste; and Carus relates that some Oriental nations actually enlarge the slit of the eye with the knife; while others use cosmetics to simulate the appearance of very long eyes. According to Dr. Sömmering, the eye of male Europeans is somewhat less elongated than that of females.

Round or oval marginal curvature, however, is not the only condition of beauty in an eyelid. The surface, too, must be kept in a tense, well-rounded condition. Sunken, hollow eyes displease us not only because they suggest disease and age, but because they destroy the smooth surface and curvature of the eyelids. Thus do we find the laws of Health and Beauty coinciding in the smallest details.

The position of the eye also largely influences our æsthetic judgment. What strikes us first in looking at a Chinaman is his obliquely-set eyes, with the outer corner drawn upwards, which displeases us even more than their excessive elongation and small size. Oblique eyes are a dissonance in the harmony of our features, and almost as objectionable as a crooked mouth. True, our own eyes are rarely absolutely horizontal, but the deviation is too minute to be noticed by any but a trained observer. Sometimes, as Mantegazza remarks, the opposite form may be noticed, the outer corner of the eye being lower than the inner. “If this trait is associated with other æsthetic elements, it may produce a rare and extraordinary charm, as in the case of the Empress Eugénie.”

The eyelashes and eyebrows, though strictly belonging in the chapter on the hair, must be referred to here because they bear such a large part in the impression which the form of the eye makes on us. The short, stiff hairs, which form “the fringed curtain of the eye,” are attached to the cartilage which edges the eyelids. They are not straight but curved, downward in the lower, upward in the upper lid. And the Beauty-Curve is observed in still another way, the hairs in the central part of each lid being longer than they are towards the ends. In the upper lid the hairs are longer than in the lower. Their æsthetic and physiognomic value will be considered presently under the head of Expression.

In the eyebrows the Curve of Beauty is again the condition of perfection. It must be a gentle curve, however, or else it imparts to the countenance a Mephistophelian expression of irony. Eyebrows were formerly held to be peculiar to man, but Darwin states that “in the Chimpanzee, and in certain species of Macacus, there are scattered hairs of considerable length rising from the naked skin above the eyes, and corresponding to our eyebrows; similar long hairs project from the hairy covering of the superciliary ridges in some baboons.”

The existence of the eyebrows may be accounted for on utilitarian grounds. Natural Selection favoured their development because they are, like the lashes, of use in preventing perspiration and dust from getting into the eyes. Their delicately curved form, however, they probably owe to Sexual Selection. Cupid objects to eyebrows which are too much or not sufficiently arched, and he objects to those which are too bushy or which meet in the middle. The ancient Greeks already disliked eyebrows meeting in the middle, whereas in Rome Fashion not only approved of them, but even resorted to artificial means for producing them. The Arabians go a step farther in the use of paint. They endeavour to produce the impression as if their eyebrows grew down to the middle of the nose and met there. The Egyptians, Assyrians, Persians, and Indians also used paint to make their eyebrows seem wider, but they did not unite them. On the outside border the eyebrows should extend slightly beyond the corner of the eye.

EXPRESSION

In the chapter on the nose reference was made to our disposition to seize upon any sensation experienced inside the mouth and label it as a “taste,” whereas psychologic analysis shows that in most cases the sense of smell (excited during _exhalation_) has more to do with our enjoyment of food than taste; and that the nerves of temperature and touch likewise come into play in the case of peppermint, pungent condiments, alcohol, etc. We are also in the habit of including in the term “feeling” or “touch” the entirely distinct sensations of temperature, tickling, and some other sensations, to the separate study of which physiologists are only now beginning to devote special attention.

Similarly with the eyes. Being the most fascinating part of the face, on which we habitually fix our attention while talking, they are credited with various expressions that are really referable to other features, which we rapidly scan and then transfer their language to the eyes. Nor is this all. Most persons habitually attribute to the varying lustre of the eyeball diverse “soulful” expressions which, as physiologic analysis shows, are due to the _movements_ of the eyeball, the eyebrows, and lashes. The poets, who have said so many beautiful things about the eyes, are rarely sufficiently definite to lay themselves open to the charge of inaccuracy. But there can be little doubt that the popular opinion concerning the all-importance of the eyeball is embodied in such expressions as these: “Love, anger, pride, and avarice all visibly move in those little orbs” (Addison). “Her eye in silence has a speech which eye best understands” (Southwell). “An eye like Mars to threaten or command.” “The heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, ’gainst which the world cannot hold argument.” “Behold the window of my heart, mine eye.” “Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages.” “For shame, lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.” “If mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.” “There’s an eye wounds like a leaden sword.” The last three of these Shaksperian lines were evidently echoing in Emerson’s mind when he wrote that “Some eyes threaten like a loaded and levelled pistol, and others are as insulting as hissing or kicking; some have no more expression than blueberries, while others as deep as a well which you can fall into.” “Glances are the first _billets-doux_ of love,” says Ninon de L’Enclos.

In order to make perfectly clear the mechanism by which the eye becomes an organ of speech, it is advisable to consider separately these six factors, which are included in it—(_a_) Lustre; (_b_) Colour of the Iris; (_c_) Movements of the Iris or Pupil; (_d_) Movements of the Eyeball; (_e_) Movements of the Eyelids; (_f_) Movements of the Eyebrows.

(_a_) _Lustre._—"The physiological problem whether the surface of the eyeball, independent of the muscles that cover and surround it, can express emotion, a near study of the American girl seems to answer quite in the affirmative." Dr. G. M. Beard remarks, without, however, endeavouring to specify what emotions the surface of the eyeball expresses, or in what manner it does express them.

Dr. Magnus, on the other hand, who has made a more profound study of this question than any other writer, is emphatic in his conviction that “the eyeball takes no active part in the expression of emotions, which is entirely accomplished by the muscles and soft parts surrounding it.” His view is supported by the fact that although some of the ancient sculptors endeavoured by the use of jewels or by chiselling semi-lunar or other grooves into the eyeball to simulate its lustre by means of shadows, yet as a rule sculptors and painters strangely neglect the careful elaboration of the eyeball; and in the Greek works of the best period, including those of Phidias, the eyeball was left smooth and unadorned, the artists relying especially on the careful chiselling of the lids and brows for the attainment of the particular characteristic expression desired.

Nevertheless Dr. Magnus goes too far in denying that ocular lustre can be directly expressive of mental states without the assistance of the movements of the eyebrows and lids. His own observations show that he has overstated his thesis. We can indeed, he says, infer from the appearance of the eyeball, “whether the soul is agitated or calm, but we have to rely on the facial muscles to specify the emotion. This is the reason why we can never judge the sentiments of one who is masked; for the fire in his eye can only indicate to us his greater or less agitation, but not its special character. _That_ we could only read in the features which the mask conceals. It is for this reason that the orthodox Mahometan makes his women cover up their face with a veil which leaves nothing exposed but the eyes, because these cannot, without the constant play of the facial muscles, indicate the emotional state. The lustre of the corneal mirror therefore indicates to us only the quantity, but never the quality of emotional excitement.”

Herein Dr. Magnus follows the assertion of Lebrun, a contemporary of Louis XIV., that “the eyeball indicates by its fire and its movements in general that the soul is passionately excited, but not in what manner.”

No doubt the Turk attains his object in leaving only the eyes of his women open to view, for thus the passing stranger cannot tell whether her eye flashes Love or anger. But he _can_ tell whether she is agitated or indifferent: and is not that a language too? Do we not call music _the_ “language of emotions,” although it can only indicate the quantity of emotion, and rarely its precise quality—just like the eyes? Therefore Dr. Magnus is wrong in denying to the eyeball the power of emotional expression. Vague emotion is still emotion.

It has already been intimated in what manner emotional excitement increases the eye’s lustre. It causes the blood-vessels in the sockets of the eye to swell, thus increasing the tension of the conjunctiva and the flow of the lachrymal fluid.

Besides quantitative emotion there is another thing which ocular lustre expresses, and that is Health. It is true that consumption, fever, and possibly other diseases may produce a peculiar temporary transparency of complexion and ocular lustre; but, as a rule, a bright eye indicates Health and abundant vitality.

As Health is the first condition of Love, and as the ocular lustre which indicates Health cannot be normally secured without it, women of all times and countries have been addicted to the habit of increasing the eye’s sparkle artificially by applying a thin line of black paint to the edge of the lids. The ancient Egyptians, Persians, Hindoos, Greeks, and Romans followed this custom. But the natural sparkle which comes of Health and Beauty-sleep [_i.e._ before midnight, with open windows] is a thousand times preferable to such dangerous methods of tampering with the most delicate and most easily injured organ of the body.