ANGELA'S EXPERIMENT.
"No, Constance," Angela wrote, "I cannot believe that your lectures will
be a failure, or that your life's work is destined to be anything short
of a brilliant success--an 'epoch-making' episode in the history of
Woman's Rise. If your lectures have not yet attracted reading men, it
must be because they are not yet known. It is unworthy of faith in your
own high mission to suppose that personal appearance or beauty has
anything to do with popularity in matters of mind. Who asks--who can
ask?--whether a woman of genius is lovely or not? And to take lower
ground: every woman owns the singular attractiveness of your own face,
which has always seemed to me, apart from personal friendship, the face
of pure intellect. I do not give up my belief that the men will soon
begin to run after your lectures as they did after those of Hypatia, and
yet will become in the University as great a teacher of mathematics as
Sir Isaac Newton himself. Meantime, it must be, I own, irksome to
lecture on vulgar fractions, and the First Book of Euclid, and
unsatisfactory to find, after you have made a research and arrived at
what seemed a splendid result, that some man has been before you.
Patience, Constance!"
At this point the reader, who was of course Constance Woodcote, paused
and smiled bitterly. She was angry because she had advertised a course
of lectures on some desperately high mathematical subject and no one
came to hear them. Had she been, she reflected, a pink-and-white girl
with no forehead and soft eyes, everybody would have rushed to hear her.
As it was, Angela, no doubt, meant well, but she was always disposed to
give men credit for qualities which they did not possess. As if you
could ever persuade a man to regard a woman from a purely intellectual
point of view! After all, she thought, civilization was only just begun;
we live in a world of darkness; the reign of woman is as yet afar off.
She continued her reading with impatience. Somehow, her friends seemed
to have drifted away; their lines were diverging; already the old
enthusiasms had given place to the new, and Angela thought less of the
great cause which she had once promised to further with her mighty
resources.
"As regards the scholarship which I promised you, I must ask you to wait
a little, because my hands are full--so full of important things that
even a new scholarship at Newnham seems a small thing. I cannot tell you
in a letter what my projects are, and how I am trying to do something
new with my great wealth. This, at least, I may tell you, partly because
I am intoxicated with my own schemes, and, therefore, I must tell
everybody I speak to; and partly because you are perfectly certain not
to sympathize with me, and therefore you will not trouble to argue the
point with me. I have found out, to begin with, a great truth. It is
that would-be philanthropists and benefactors and improvers of things
have all along been working on a false assumption. They have taught and
believed that the people look up to the 'better class'--phrase invented
by the well-to-do in order to show riches and virtue go together--for
guidance and advice. My dear, it is the greatest mistake; they do not
look up to us at all; they do not want to copy our ways; they are
perfectly satisfied with their own ways; they will naturally take as
much money as we choose to give them, and as many presents; and they
consider the exhortations, preachings, admonitions, words of guidance,
and advice as uncomfortable but unavoidable accompaniments of this gift.
But we ourselves are neither respected nor copied. Nor do they want our
culture."
"Angela," said the mathematician, "is really very prolix."
"This being so, I am endeavoring to make such people as I can get at
discontented as a first step. Without discontent, nothing can be done. I
work upon them by showing, practically, and by way of example, better
things. This I can do because I am here as simply one of themselves--a
workwoman among other workwomen. I do not work as much as the others in
our newly formed association, because I am supposed to run the machine,
and to go to the West End for work. Miss Messenger is one of our
customers. So much am I one of them, that I take my wages on Saturday,
and am to have the same share, and no more, in the business as my
dressmakers. I confess to you that in the foundation of my Dressmakers'
Association I have violated most distinctly every precept of political
and social economy. I have given them a house rent-free for a year; I
have fitted it up with all that they want; I have started them with
orders from myself; I have resolved to keep them going until they are
able to run alone; I give wages, in money and in food, higher than the
market-value. I know what you will say. It is all quite true
scientifically. But outside the range of science there is humanity. And
only think what a great field my method opens for the employment of the
unfortunate rich--the unhappy, useless, heavily burdened rich. They will
all follow my example and help the people to help themselves.
"My girls were at first and for the most part uninteresting, until I
came to know them individually: every one, when you know her, and can
sympathize with her, becomes interesting. Some are, however, more
interesting than others; there are two or three, for instance, in whom I
feel a special interest. One of them, whom I love for her gentleness and
for her loyalty to me, is the daughter of an old ship-captain now in an
almshouse. She is singularly beautiful, with an air of fragility which
one hopes is not real; she is endowed by nature with a keenly sensitive
disposition, and has had the advantage, rare in these parts, of a father
who learned to be a gentleman before he came to the almshouse. The other
is a religious fanatic, a sectarian of the most positive kind. She knows
what is truth more certainly than any Professor of Truth we ever
encountered; she is my manager and is good at business. I think she has
come to regard me with less contempt, from a business point of view,
than she did at first, because in the conduct of the showroom and the
trying-on room she has all her own way.
"My evenings are mostly spent with the girls in the garden and
'drawing-room.' Yes, we have a drawing-room over the workroom. At first
we had tea at five and struck work at seven; now we strike work at half
past six and take tea with lawn tennis. I assure you my dressmakers are
as fond of lawn tennis as the students of Newnham. When it is too dark
to play, we go upstairs and have music and dancing."
Here followed a word which had been erased. The mathematical lecturer
held the letter to the light and fancied the word was "Harry." This
could hardly be; it must be Hetty, or Kitty, or Lotty, or some such
feminine abbreviation. There could be no Harry. She looked again.
Strange! It certainly _was_ Harry. She shook her head suspiciously and
went on with the letter.
"The girls' friends and sisters have begun to come, and we are learning
all kinds of dances. Fortunately my dear old captain from the almshouse
can play the fiddle, and likes nothing better than to play for us. We
place him in the corner beside the piano and he plays as long as we
please, being the best of all old captains. We are not well off for
men, having at present to rely principally on a superior young
cabinet-maker, who can also play the fiddle on occasion. He dances very
well, and perhaps he will fall in love with the captain's daughter.
"What I have attempted is, in short, nothing less than the introduction
of a love of what we call culture. Other things will follow, but at
present I am contented with an experiment on a very humble scale. If I
were to go among the people in my name, most of them would try to borrow
or steal from me; as I am only a poor dressmaker, only those who have
business with me try to take me in. I do not go on a platform and
lecture the people; nor do I open a school to teach them; nor do I print
and circulate tracts. I simply say, 'My dears, I am going to dance and
sing, and have a little music, and play lawn tennis; come with me, and
we will dance together.' And they come. And they behave well. I think it
is a strange thing that young women of the lower class always prefer to
behave well _when they can_, while young men of their own station take
so much pleasure in noise and riot. We have no difficulty in our
drawing-room, where the girls behave perfectly and enjoy themselves in a
surprising manner. I find already a great improvement in the girls. They
have acquired new interests in life, they are happier: consequently,
they chatter like birds in spring and sunshine; and whereas, since I
came into these regions, it has been a constant pain to listen to the
querulous and angry talk of work-girls in omnibuses and in streets, I
rejoice that we have changed all this, and while they are with me my
girls can talk without angry snapping of the lips, and without the
'sezi' and 'sezee' and 'seshee' of the omnibus. This is surely a great
gain for them.
"Next, I observe that they are developing a certain amount of pride in
their own superiority; they are lifted above their neighbors, if only by
the nightly drawing-room. I fear they will become unpopular from
hauteur; but there is no gain without some loss. If only one felt
justified in doubling the number of the girls! But the Stepney ladies
have hitherto shown no enthusiasm in the cause of the Association. The
feeling in these parts is, you see, commercial rather than co-operative.
"The dinner is to me the most satisfactory as well as the most
unscientific part of the business. I believe I have no right to give
them a dinner at all; it is against the custom in dressmakers' shops,
where girls bring their own dinners, poor things; it costs quite a
shilling a head every day to find the dinner, and Rebekah, my forewoman,
tells me that no profits can stand against such a drain: but I must go
on with the dinner even if it swallows up all the profits.
"On Sundays the drawing-room is kept open all day long for those who
like to come. Some do, because it is quiet. In the evening we have
sacred music. One of the young men plays the violin"--the reader turned
back and referred to a previous passage--yes; she had already mentioned
a cabinet-maker in connection with a fiddle--no doubt it must be the
same--"and we have duets, but I fear the girls do not care much yet for
classical music----"
Here the reader crumpled up the letter in impatience.
"And this," she groaned, "is the result of two years at Newnham! After
her course of political economy, after all those lectures, after
actually distinguishing herself and taking a place, this is the end! To
play the piano for a lot of work-girls; with a cabinet-maker; and an old
sailor; and to be a dressmaker! That is, alas! the very worst feature in
the case: she evidently likes it; she has no wish to return to
civilization; she has forgotten her science; she is setting a most
mischievous example; and she has forgotten her distinct promise to give
us a mathematical scholarship.
"O Angela!"
She had imagined that the heiress would endow Newnham with great gifts,
and she was disappointed. She had imagined this so very strongly that
she felt personally aggrieved and injured. What did she care about
Stepney work-girls? What have mathematics to do with poor people in an
ugly and poor part of town?
Angela's letter did not convey the whole truth, because she herself was
ignorant of the discussions, gossips, rumors, and reports which were
flying about in the neighborhood of Stepney Green concerning her
venture. There were some, for instance, who demonstrated that such an
institution must fail for reasons which they learnedly expounded; among
these was Mr. Bunker. There were some who were ready to prove, from the
highest authorities, the wickedness of trying to do without a
proprietor, master, or boss; there were some who saw in this
revolutionary movement the beginning of those troubles which will
afflict mankind toward the coming of the end; there were others, among
whom was also Mr. Bunker, who asked by what right this young woman had
come among them to interfere, where she had got her money, and what were
her antecedents? To Bunker's certain knowledge, and no one had better
sources of information, hundreds had been spent by Miss Kennedy in
starting the association; while, whether it was true that Miss Messenger
supported the place or not, there could never be enough work to get back
all that money, pay all the wages, and the rest, and the dinners, and
hot dinners every day! There was even talk of getting up a memorial
praying Miss Messenger not to interfere with the trade of the place, and
pointing out that there were many most respectable dressmakers where the
work could be quite as well done as by Miss Kennedy's girls, no doubt
cheaper, and the profit would go to the rightful claimant of it, not to
be divided among the workwomen.
As for the privileges bestowed upon the girls, there was in certain
circles but one opinion--they were ridiculous. Recreation time, free
dinner of meat and vegetables, short hours, reading aloud, and a
club-room or drawing-room for the evening; what more could their betters
have? For it is a fixed article of belief, one of the Twenty-nine
Articles in certain strata of society, that people "below them" have no
right to the enjoyment of anything. They do not mean to be cruel, but
they have always associated poverty with dirt, discomfort, disagreeable
companions, and the absence of pleasantness; for a poor person to be
happy is either to them an impossibility, or it is a flying in the face
of Providence. But then, these people know nothing of the joys which can
be had without money. Now, when the world discovers and realizes how
many these are and how great they are, the reign of the almighty dollar
is at an end. Whatever the Stepney folk thought, and however diverse
their judgment, they were all extremely curious, and after the place had
been open for a few weeks and began to get known, all the ladies from
Whitechapel Church to Bow Church began with one consent to call. They
were received by a young person of grave face and grave manners, who
showed them all they wanted to see, answered all their questions and the
showrooms, the dining-room and the drawing-room; they also saw most
beautiful dresses which were being made for Miss Messenger; those who
went there in the morning might see with their own eyes dressmaker girls
actually playing lawn tennis, if in the afternoon they might see an old
gentleman reading aloud while the girls worked; they might also observe
that there were flowers in the room; it was perfectly certain that there
was a piano upstairs, because it had been seen by many, and the person
in the showroom made no secret at all that there was dancing in the
evening, with songs, and reading of books, and other diversions.
The contemplation of these things mostly sent the visitors away in
sorrow. _They_ did not dance or sing or play; _they_ never wanted to
dance or sing; lawn tennis was not played by _their_ daughters; _they_
did not have bright-covered books to read. What did it mean, giving
these things to dressmaker girls? Some of them not only resolved not to
send their custom to the association, but directed tracts to the house.
They came, however, after a time, and had their dresses made there, for
a reason which will appear in the sequel. But at the outset they held
aloof.
Far different was the reception given to the institution by the people
for whose benefit it was designed. When they had quite got over their
natural suspicion of a strange thing; when the girls were found to bring
home their pay regularly on a Saturday; when the dinner proved a real
thing and the hours continued to be merciful; when the girls reported
continuously kind treatment; when the evenings spent in the drawing-room
were found to be delightful, and when other doubts and whisperings about
Miss Kennedy's motives, intentions, and secret character gradually died
away, the association became popular, and all the needle-girls of the
place would fain have joined Miss Kennedy. The thing which did the most
to create the popularity was the permission for the girls to bring some
of their friends and people on the Saturday evening. They "received" on
Saturday evening--they were at home; they entertained their guests on
that night; and, though the entertainment cost nothing but the lights,
it soon became an honor and a pleasure to receive an invitation. Most of
those who came at first were other girls; they were shy and stood about
all arms; then they learned their steps; then they danced; then the
weariness wore out of their eyes and the roses came back to their
cheeks; they forgot the naggings of the workroom, and felt for the first
time the joy of their youth. Some of them were inclined at first to be
rough and bold, but the atmosphere calmed them; they either came no more
or if they came they were quiet; some of them affected a superior and
contemptuous air, not uncommon with "young persons" when they are
jealous or envious, but this is a mood easily cured; some of them were
frivolous, but these were also easily subdued. For always with them was
Miss Kennedy herself, a Juno, their queen, whose manner was so kind,
whose smile was so sweet, whose voice was so soft, whose greeting was so
warm, and yet--yet ... who could not be resisted, even by the boldest or
the most frivolous. The first step was not to be afraid of Miss Kennedy;
at no subsequent stage of their acquaintance did any cease to respect
her.
As for Rebekah, she would not come on Saturday evening, as it was part
of her Sabbath; but Nelly proved of the greatest use in maintaining the
decorum and in promoting the spirit of the evenings, which wanted, it is
true, a leader.
Sometimes the girls' mothers would come, especially those who had not
too many babies; they sat with folded hands and wondering eyes, while
their daughters danced, while Miss Kennedy sang, and Mr. Goslett played
the fiddle. Angela went among them, talking in her sympathetic way, and
won their confidence so that they presently responded and told her all
their troubles and woe. Or sometimes the fathers would be brought, but
very seldom came twice. Now and then a brother would appear, but it was
many weeks before the brothers began to come regularly; when they did,
it became apparent that there was something in the place more attractive
than brotherly duty or the love of dancing. Of course, sweethearts were
bound to come whether they liked it or not. There were, at first, many
little hitches, disagreeable incidents, rebellious exhibitions of
temper, bad behavior, mistakes, social sins, and other things of which
the chronicler must be mute, because the general result is all that we
desire to record. And this was satisfactory. For the first time the
girls learned that there were joys in life, joys even within their
reach, with a little help, poor as they were; joys which cost them
nothing. Among them were girls of the very humblest, who had the
greatest difficulty in presenting a decent appearance, who lived in
crowded lodgings or in poor houses with their numerous brothers and
sisters; pale-faced girls, heavy-hearted girls; joyless maidens,
loveless maidens--girls who from long hours of work, and from want of
open air and good food, stooped their shoulders and dragged their
limbs--when Angela saw them first, she wished that she was a man to use
strong language against their employers. How she violated all principles
of social economy, giving clothes, secretly lending money, visiting
mothers, paying rent, and all without any regard to supply and demand,
marketable value, price current, worth of labor, wages rate, averages,
percentages, interest, capital, commercial rules, theory of trade,
encouragement of over-population, would be too disgraceful to narrate;
indeed, she blushed when she thought of the beautiful and heart-warming
science in which she had so greatly distinguished herself, and on which
she trampled daily. Yet if, on the one side, there stood cold science,
and on the other a suffering girl, it is ridiculous to acknowledge that
the girl always won the day.
Among the girls was one who interested Angela greatly, not because she
was pretty, for she was not pretty at all, but plain to look upon, and
lame, but because she bore a very hard lot with patience and courage
very beautiful to see. She had a sister who was crippled and had a weak
back, so that she could not sit up long, nor earn much. She had a mother
who was growing old and weak of sight, so that she could not earn much;
she had a young brother who lived like the sparrows; that is to say, he
ran wild in the streets and stole his daily bread, and was rapidly
rising to the dignity and rank of an habitual criminal. He seldom,
however, came home, except to borrow or beg for money. She had a father,
whose name was never mentioned, so that he was certainly an undesirable
father, a bad bargain of a father, a father impossible, viewed in
connection with the fifth commandment. This was the girl who burst into
tears when she saw the roast beef for the first time. Her tears were
caused by a number of reasons: first, because she was hungry and her
condition was low; secondly, because roasted beef to a hungry girl is a
thing too beautiful; thirdly, because while she was feasting, her sister
and mother were starving. The crippled sister presently came to the
house and remained in it all day. What special arrangements were made
with Rebekah, the spirit of commerce, as regards her pay, I know not;
but she came, did a little work, sat or lay down in the drawing-room
most of the time; and presently, under Miss Kennedy's instruction, began
to practise on the piano. A work-girl, actually a work-girl, if you
please, playing scales, with a one, two, three, four, one, two, three,
four, just as if she was a lady living in the Mile End Road and the
daughter of a clerk in the brewery!
Yes, the girls, who had formerly worked in unhealthy rooms till
half-past eight, now worked in well-ventilated rooms till half-past six;
they had time to rest and run about; they had good food, they had
cheerful talk, they were encouraged; Captain Sorensen came to read to
them; in the evening they had a delightful room to sit in, where they
could read and talk, or dance, or listen. While they read the books
which Miss Kennedy laid on the table for them, she would play and sing.
First, she chose simple songs and simple pieces, and as their taste for
music grew, so her music improved; and every day found the drawing-room
more attractive, and the girls more loath to go home. She watched her
experiment with the keenest interest; the girls were certainly growing
more refined in manner and in thought. Even Rebekah was softening daily;
she looked on at the dance without a shudder, even when the handsome
young workman clasped Nelly Sorensen by the waist and whirled her round
the room; and she owned that there was music in the world, outside her
little chapel, far sweeter than anything they had within it. As for
Nelly, she simply worshipped. Whatever Miss Kennedy did was right and
beautiful and perfect in her eyes; nor, in her ignorance of the world,
did she ponder any more over that first difficulty of hers, why a lady,
and such a lady, had come to Stepney Green to be a dressmaker.