LIKE A BANYAN TREE
The Earth-Plants spring up from beneath,
The Air-Plants swing down from above,
But the Banyan trees grow
Both above and below,
And one makes a prosperous grove.
In the fleeting opportunities offered by the Caffeteria, and in longer
moments, rather neatly planned for, with some remnants of an earlier
ingenuity, Mr. Thaddler contrived to become acquainted with Mrs. Bell.
Diantha never quite liked him, but he won her mother's heart by frank
praise of the girl and her ventures.
"I never saw a smarter woman in my life," he said; "and no airs. I tell
you, ma'am, if there was more like her this world would be an easier
place to live in, and I can see she owes it all to you, ma'am."
This the mother would never admit for a moment, but expatiated loyally
on the scientific mind of Mr. Henderson Bell, still of Jopalez.
"I don't see how he can bear to let her out of his sight," said Mr.
Thaddler.
"Of course he hated to let her go," replied the lady. "We both did.
But he is very proud of her now."
"I guess there's somebody else who's proud of her, too," he suggested.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I don't mean to intrude, but we know there must be a
good reason for your daughter keeping all Orchardina at a distance.
Why, she could have married six times over in her first year here!"
"She does not wish to give up her work," Mrs. Bell explained.
"Of course not; and why should she? Nice, womanly business, I am sure.
I hope nobody'd expect a girl who can keep house for a whole township to
settle down to bossing one man and a hired girl."
In course of time he got a pretty clear notion of how matters stood, and
meditated upon it, seriously rolling his big cigar about between pursed
lips. Mr. Thaddler was a good deal of a gossip, but this he kept to
himself, and did what he could to enlarge the patronage of Union House.
The business grew. It held its own in spite of fluctuations, and after
a certain point began to spread steadily. Mrs. Bell's coming and Mr.
Eltwood's ardent championship, together with Mr. Thaddler's, quieted the
dangerous slanders which had imperilled the place at one time. They
lingered, subterraneously, of course. People never forget slanders. A
score of years after there were to be found in Orchardina folk who still
whispered about dark allegations concerning Union House; and the papers
had done some pretty serious damage; but the fame of good food, good
service, cheapness and efficiency made steady headway.
In view of the increase and of the plans still working in her mind,
Diantha made certain propositions to Mr. Porne, and also to Mrs. Porne,
in regard to a new, specially built club-house for the girls.
"I have proved what they can do, with me to manage them, and want now to
prove that they can do it themselves, with any matron competent to
follow my directions. The house need not be so expensive; one big
dining-room, with turn-up tables like those ironing-board seat-tables,
you know--then they can dance there. Small reception room and office,
hall, kitchen and laundry, and thirty bedrooms, forty by thirty, with an
"ell" for the laundry, ought to do it, oughtn't it?"
Mrs. Porne agreed to make plans, and did so most successfully, and Mr.
Porne found small difficulty in persuading an investor to put up such a
house, which visibly could be used as a boarding-house or small hotel,
if it failed in its first purpose.
It was built of concrete, a plain simple structure, but fine in
proportions and pleasantly colored.
Diantha kept her plans to herself, as usual, but they grew so fast that
she felt a species of terror sometimes, lest the ice break somewhere.
"Steady, now!" she would say. "This is real business, just plain
business. There's no reason why I shouldn't succeed as well as Fred
Harvey. I will succeed. I am succeeding."
She kept well, she worked hard, she was more than glad to have her
mother with her; but she wanted something else, which seemed farther off
than ever. Her lover's picture hung on the wall of her bedroom, stood
on her bureau, and (but this was a secret) a small one was carried in
her bosom.
Rather a grim looking young woman, Diantha, with the cares of the world
of house-keepers upon her proud young shoulders; with all the stirring
hopes to be kept within bounds, all the skulking fears to be resisted,
and the growing burden of a large affair to be carried steadily.
But when she woke, in the brilliant California mornings, she would lie
still a few moments looking at the face on the wall and the face on the
bureau; would draw the little picture out from under her pillow and kiss
it, would say to herself for the thousandth time, "It is for him, too."
She missed him, always.
The very vigor of her general attitude, the continued strength with
which she met the days and carried them, made it all the more needful
for her to have some one with whom she could forget every care, every
purpose, every effort; some one who would put strong arms around her and
call her "Little Girl." His letters were both a comfort and a pain. He
was loyal, kind, loving, but always that wall of disapproval. He loved
her, he did not love her work.
She read them over and over, hunting anew for the tender phrases, the
things which seemed most to feed and comfort her. She suffered not only
from her loneliness, but from his; and most keenly from his sternly
suppressed longing for freedom and the work that belonged to him.
"Why can't he see," she would say to herself, "that if this succeeds, he
can do his work; that I can make it possible for him? And he won't let
me. He won't take it from me. Why are men so proud? Is there anything
so ignominious about a woman that it is disgraceful to let one help you?
And why can't he think at all about the others? It's not just us, it's
all people. If this works, men will have easier times, as well as
women. Everybody can do their real work better with this old primitive
business once set right."
And then it was always time to get up, or time to go to bed, or time to
attend to some of the numberless details of her affairs.
She and her mother had an early lunch before the caffeteria opened, and
were glad of the afternoon tea, often held in a retired corner of the
broad piazza. She sat there one hot, dusty afternoon, alone and
unusually tired. The asphalted street was glaring and noisy, the cross
street deep in soft dust, for months unwet.
Failure had not discouraged her, but increasing success with all its
stimulus and satisfaction called for more and more power. Her mind was
busy foreseeing, arranging, providing for emergencies; and then the
whole thing slipped away from her, she dropped her head upon her arm for
a moment, on the edge of the tea table, and wished for Ross.
From down the street and up the street at this moment, two men were
coming; both young, both tall, both good looking, both apparently
approaching Union House. One of them was the nearer, and his foot soon
sounded on the wooden step. The other stopped and looked in a shop
window.
Diantha started up, came forward,--it was Mr. Eltwood. She had a vague
sense of disappointment, but received him cordially. He stood there,
his hat off, holding her hand for a long moment, and gazing at her with
evident admiration. They turned and sat down in the shadow of the
reed-curtained corner.
The man at the shop window turned, too, and went away.
Mr. Eltwood had been a warm friend and cordial supporter from the epoch
of the Club-splitting speech. He had helped materially in the slow,
up-hill days of the girl's effort, with faith and kind words. He had
met the mother's coming with most friendly advances, and Mrs. Bell found
herself much at home in his liberal little church.
Diantha had grown to like and trust him much.
"What's this about the new house, Miss Bell? Your mother says I may
know."
"Why not?" she said. "You have followed this thing from the first.
Sugar or lemon? You see I want to disentangle the undertakings, set
them upon their own separate feet, and establish the practical working
of each one."
"I see," he said, "and 'day service' is not 'cooked food delivery.'"
"Nor yet 'rooms for entertainment,' she agreed. "We've got them all
labelled, mother and I. There's the 'd. s.' and 'c. f. d.' and 'r. f.
e.' and the 'p. p.' That's picnics and parties. And more coming."
"What, more yet? You'll kill yourself, Miss Bell. Don't go too fast.
You are doing a great work for humanity. Why not take a little more
time?"
"I want to do it as quickly as I can, for reasons," answered Diantha.
Mr. Eltwood looked at her with tender understanding. "I don't want to
intrude any further than you are willing to want me," he said, "but
sometimes I think that even you--strong as you are--would be better for
some help."
She did not contradict him. Her hands were in her lap, her eyes on the
worn boards of the piazza floor. She did not see a man pass on the
other side of the street, cast a searching glance across and walk
quickly on again.
"If you were quite free to go on with your beautiful work," said Mr.
Eltwood slowly, "if you were offered heartiest appreciation, profound
respect, as well as love, of course; would you object to marrying, Miss
Bell?" asked in an even voice, as if it were a matter of metaphysical
inquiry. Mrs. Porne had told him of her theory as to a lover in the
home town, wishing to save him a long heart ache, but he was not sure of
it, and he wanted to be.
Diantha glanced quickly at him, and felt the emotion under his quiet
words. She withdrew her eyes, looking quite the other way.
"You are enough of a friend to know, Mr. Eltwood," she said, "I rather
thought you did know. I am engaged."
"Thank you for telling me; some one is greatly to be congratulated," he
spoke sincerely, and talked quietly on about less personal matters,
holding his tea untasted till it was cold.
"Do let me give you some that is hot," she said at last, "and let me
thank you from my heart for the help and strength and comfort you have
been to me, Mr. Eltwood."
"I'm very glad," he said; and again, "I am very glad." "You may count
upon anything I can do for you, always," he continued. "I am proud to
be your friend."
He held her hand once more for a moment, and went away with his head up
and a firm step. To one who watched him go, he had almost a triumphant
air, but it was not triumph, only the brave beginning of a hard fight
and a long one.
Then came Mrs. Bell, returned from a shopping trip, and sank down in a
wicker rocker, glad of the shade and a cup of tea. No, she didn't want
it iced. "Hot tea makes you cooler," was her theory.
"You don't look very tired," said the girl. "Seems to me you get
stronger all the time."
"I do," said her mother. "You don't realize, you can't realize,
Diantha, what this means to me. Of course to you I am an old woman, a
back number--one has to feel so about one's mother. I did when I
married, and my mother then was five years younger than I am now."
"I don't think you old, mother, not a bit of it. You ought to have
twenty or thirty years of life before you, real life."
"That's just what I'm feeling," said Mrs. Bell, "as if I'd just begun to
live! This is so _different!_ There is a big, moving thing to work
for. There is--why Diantha, you wouldn't believe what a comfort it is
to me to feel that my work here is--really--adding to the profits!"
Diantha laughed aloud.
"You dear old darling," she said, "I should think it was! It is
_making_ the profits."
"And it grows so," her mother went on. "Here's this part so well
assured that you're setting up the new Union House! Are you _sure_
about Mrs. Jessup, dear?"
"As sure as I can be of any one till I've tried a long time. She has
done all I've asked her to here, and done it well. Besides, I mean to
keep a hand on it for a year or two yet--I can't afford to have that
fail."
Mrs. Jessup was an imported aunt, belonging to one of the cleverest
girls, and Diantha had had her in training for some weeks.
"Well, I guess she's as good as any you'd be likely to get," Mrs. Bell
admitted, "and we mustn't expect paragons. If this can't be done by an
average bunch of working women the world over, it can't be done--that's
all!"
"It can be done," said the girl, calmly. "It will be done. You see."
"Mr. Thaddler says you could run any kind of a business you set your
hand to," her mother went on. "He has a profound respect for your
abilities, Dina."
"Seems to me you and Mr. Thaddler have a good deal to say to each other,
motherkins. I believe you enjoy that caffeteria desk, and all the
compliments you get."
"I do," said Mrs. Bell stoutly. "I do indeed! Why, I haven't seen so
many men, to speak to, since--why, never in my life! And they are very
amusing--some of them. They like to come here--like it immensely. And
I don't wonder. I believe you'll do well to enlarge."
Then they plunged into a discussion of the winter's plans. The day
service department and its employment agency was to go on at the New
Union House, with Mrs. Jessup as manager; the present establishment was
to be run as a hotel and restaurant, and the depot for the cooked food
delivery.
Mrs. Thorvald and her husband were installed by themselves in another
new venture; a small laundry outside the town. This place employed
several girls steadily, and the motor wagon found a new use between
meals, in collecting and delivering laundry parcels.
"It simplifies it a lot--to get the washing out of the place and the
girls off my mind," said Diantha. "Now I mean to buckle down and learn
the hotel business--thoroughly, and develop this cooked food delivery to
perfection."
"Modest young lady," smiled her mother. "Where do you mean to stop--if
ever?"
"I don't mean to stop till I'm dead," Diantha answered; "but I don't
mean to undertake any more trades, if that is what you mean. You know
what I'm after--to get 'housework' on a business basis, that's all; and
prove, prove, PROVE what a good business it is. There's the cleaning
branch--that's all started and going well in the day service. There's
the washing--that's simple and easy. Laundry work's no mystery. But
the food part is a big thing. It's an art, a science, a business, and a
handicraft. I had the handicraft to start with; I'm learning the
business; but I've got a lot to learn yet in the science and art of it."
"Don't do too much at once," her mother urged. "You've got to cater to
people as they are."
"I know it," the girl agreed. "They must be led, step by step--the
natural method. It's a big job, but not too big. Out of all the women
who have done housework for so many ages, surely it's not too much to
expect one to have a special genius for it!"
Her mother gazed at her with loving admiration.
"That's just what you have, Dina--a special genius for housework. I
wish there were more of you!"
"There are plenty of me, mother dear, only they haven't come out. As
soon as I show 'em how to make the thing pay, you'll find that we have a
big percentage of this kind of ability. It's all buried now in the
occasional 'perfect housekeeper.'
"But they won't leave their husbands, Dina."
"They don't need to," the girl answered cheerfully. "Some of them
aren't married yet; some of them have lost their husbands, and _some_ of
them"--she said this a little bitterly--"have husbands who will be
willing to let their wives grow."
"Not many, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Bell, also with some gloom.
Diantha lightened up again. "Anyhow, here you are, mother dear! And
for this year I propose that you assume the financial management of the
whole business at a salary of $1,000 'and found.' How does that suit
you?"
Mrs. Bell looked at her unbelievingly.
"You can't afford it, Dina!"
"Oh, yes, I can--you know I can, because you've got the accounts. I'm
going to make big money this year."
"But you'll need it. This hotel and restaurant business may not do
well."
"Now, mother, you _know_ we're doing well. Look here!" And Diantha
produced her note-book.
"Here's the little laundry place; its fittings come to so much, wages so
much, collection and delivery so much, supplies so much--and already
enough patronage engaged to cover. It will be bigger in winter, a lot,
with transients, and this hotel to fall back on; ought to clear at least
a thousand a year. The service club don't pay me anything, of course;
that is for the girls' benefit; but the food delivery is doing better
than I dared hope."
Mrs. Bell knew the figures better than Diantha, even, and they went over
them carefully again. If the winter's patronage held on to equal the
summer's--and the many transient residents ought to increase it--they
would have an average of twenty families a week to provide for--one
hundred persons.
The expenses were:
Food for 100 at $250 a week. Per capita. $600
---
per year $13,000
Labor--delivery man. $600
Head cook. $600
Two assistant cooks. $1,040
Three washers and packers. $1,560
Office girl. $520
---
Per year $4,320
Rent, kitchen, office, etc. $500
Rent of motor. $300
Rent of cases. $250
Gasolene and repairs. $630
---
Per year $1,680
Total. $19,000
"How do you make the gasolene and repairs as much as that?" asked Mrs.
Bell.
"It's margin, mother--makes it even money. It won't be so much,
probably."
The income was simple and sufficient. They charged $5.00 a week per
capita for three meals, table d'hote, delivered thrice daily. Frequent
orders for extra meals really gave them more than they set down, but the
hundred-person estimate amounted to $26,000 a year.
"Now, see," said Diantha triumphantly; "subtract all that expense list
(and it is a liberal one), and we have $7,000 left. I can buy the car
and the cases this year and have $1,600 over! More; because if I do buy
them I can leave off some of the interest, and the rent of kitchen and
office comes to Union House! Then there's all of the extra orders.
It's going to pay splendidly, mother! It clears $70 a year per person.
Next year it will clear a lot more."
It did not take long to make Mrs. Bell admit that if the business went
on as it had been going Diantha would be able to pay her a salary of a
thousand dollars, and have five hundred left--from the food business
alone.
There remained the hotel, with large possibilities. The present simple
furnishings were to be moved over to New Union House, and paid for by
the girls in due time. With new paint, paper, and furniture, the old
house would make a very comfortable place.
"Of course, it's the restaurant mainly--these big kitchens and the
central location are the main thing. The guests will be mostly
tourists, I suppose."
Diantha dwelt upon the prospect at some length; and even her cautious
mother had to admit that unless there was some setback the year had a
prospect of large success.
"How about all this new furnishing?" Mrs. Bell said suddenly. "How do
you cover that? Take what you've got ahead now?"
"Yes; there's plenty," said Diantha. "You see, there is all Union House
has made, and this summer's profit on the cooked food--it's plenty."
"Then you can't pay for the motor and cases as you planned," her mother
insisted.
"No, not unless the hotel and restaurant pays enough to make good. But
I don't _have_ to buy them the first year. If I don't, there is $5,500
leeway."
"Yes, you are safe enough; there's over $4,000 in the bank now," Mrs.
Bell admitted. "But, child," she said suddenly, "your father!"
"Yes, I've thought of father," said the girl, "and I mean to ask him to
come and live at the hotel. I think he'd like it. He could meet people
and talk about his ideas, and I'm sure I'd like to have him."
"They talked much and long about this, till the evening settled about
them, till they had their quiet supper, and the girls came home to their
noisy one; and late that evening, when all was still again, Diantha came
to the dim piazza corner once more and sat there quite alone.
Full of hope, full of courage, sure of her progress--and aching with
loneliness.
She sat with her head in her hands, and to her ears came suddenly the
sound of a familiar step--a well-known voice--the hands and the lips of
her lover.
"Diantha!" He held her close.
"Oh, Ross! Ross! Darling! Is it true? When did you come? Oh, I'm so
glad! So _glad_ to see you!"
She was so glad that she had to cry a little on his shoulder, which he
seemed to thoroughly enjoy.
"I've good news for you, little girl," he said. "Good news at last!
Listen, dear; don't cry. There's an end in sight. A man has bought out
my shop. The incubus is off--I can _live_ now!"
He held his head up in a fine triumph, and she watched him adoringly.
"Did you--was it profitable?" she asked.
"It's all exchange, and some cash to boot. Just think! You know what
I've wanted so long--a ranch. A big one that would keep us all, and let
me go on with my work. And, dear--I've got it! It's a big fruit ranch,
with its own water--think of that! And a vegetable garden, too, and
small fruit, and everything. And, what's better, it's all in good
running order, with a competent ranchman, and two Chinese who rent the
vegetable part. And there are two houses on it--_two_. One for mother
and the girls, and one for us!"
Diantha's heart stirred suddenly.
"Where is it, dear?" she whispered.
He laughed joyfully. "It's _here!"_ he said. "About eight miles or so
out, up by the mountains; has a little canyon of its own--its own little
stream and reservoir. Oh, my darling! My darling!"
They sat in happy silence in the perfumed night. The strong arms were
around her, the big shoulder to lean on, the dear voice to call her
"little girl."
The year of separation vanished from their thoughts, and the long years
of companionship opened bright and glorious before them.
"I came this afternoon," he said at length, "but I saw another man
coming. He got here first. I thought--"
"Ross! You didn't! And you've left me to go without you all these
hours!"
"He looked so confident when he went away that I was jealous," Ross
admitted, "furiously jealous. And then your mother was here, and then
those cackling girls. I wanted you--alone."
And then he had her, alone, for other quiet, happy moments. She was so
glad of him. Her hold upon his hand, upon his coat, was tight.
"I don't know how I've lived without you," she said softly.
"Nor I," said he. "I haven't lived. It isn't life--without you. Well,
dearest, it needn't be much longer. We closed the deal this afternoon.
I came down here to see the place, and--incidentally--to see you!"
More silence.
"I shall turn over the store at once. It won't take long to move and
settle; there's enough money over to do that. And the ranch pays,
Diantha! It really _pays,_ and will carry us all. How long will it
take you to get out of this?"
"Get out of--what?" she faltered.
"Why, the whole abominable business you're so deep in here. Thank God,
there's no shadow of need for it any more!"
The girl's face went white, but he could not see it. She would not
believe him.
"Why, dear," she said, "if your ranch is as near as that it would be
perfectly easy for me to come in to the business--with a car. I can
afford a car soon."
"But I tell you there's no need any more," said he. "Don't you
understand? This is a paying fruit ranch, with land rented to
advantage, and a competent manager right there running it. It's simply
changed owners. I'm the owner now! There's two or three thousand a
year to be made on it--has been made on it! There is a home for my
people--a home for us! Oh, my beloved girl! My darling! My own
sweetheart! Surely you won't refuse me now!"
Diantha's head swam dizzily.
"Ross," she urged, "you don't understand! I've built up a good business
here--a real successful business. Mother is in it; father's to come
down; there is a big patronage; it grows. I can't give it up!"
"Not for me? Not when I can offer you a home at last? Not when I show
you that there is no longer any need of your earning money?" he said
hotly.
"But, dear--dear!" she protested. "It isn't for the money; it is the
work I want to do--it is my work! You are so happy now that you can do
your work--at last! This is mine!"
When he spoke again his voice was low and stern.
"Do you mean that you love--your work--better than you love me?"
"No! It isn't that! That's not fair!" cried the girl. "Do you love
your work better than you love me? Of course not! You love both. So
do I. Can't you see? Why should I have to give up anything?"
"You do not have to," he said patiently. "I cannot compel you to marry
me. But now, when at last--after these awful years--I can really offer
you a home--you refuse!"
"I have not refused," she said slowly.
His voice lightened again.
"Ah, dearest! And you will not! You will marry me?"
"I will marry you, Ross!"
"And when? When, dearest?"
"As soon as you are ready."
"But--can you drop this at once?"
"I shall not drop it."
Her voice was low, very low, but clear and steady.
He rose to his feet with a muffled exclamation, and walked the length of
the piazza and back.
"Do you realize that you are saying no to me, Diantha?"
"You are mistaken, dear. I have said that I will marry you whenever you
choose. But it is you who are saying, 'I will not marry a woman with a
business.'"
"This is foolishness!" he said sharply. "No man--that is a man--would
marry a woman and let her run a business."
"You are mistaken," she answered. "One of the finest men I ever knew
has asked me to marry him--and keep on with my work!"
"Why didn't you take him up?"
"Because I didn't love him." She stopped, a sob in her voice, and he
caught her in his arms again.
It was late indeed when he went away, walking swiftly, with a black
rebellion in his heart; and Diantha dragged herself to bed.
She was stunned, deadened, exhausted; torn with a desire to run after
him and give up--give up anything to hold his love. But something,
partly reason and partly pride, kept saying within her: "I have not
refused him; he has refused me!"
OUR ANDROCENTRIC CULTURE; or, THE MAN-MADE WORLD
XII.
POLITICS AND WARFARE.
I go to my old dictionary, and find; "Politics, I. The science of
government; that part of ethics which has to do with the regulation and
government of a nation or state, the preservation of its safety, peace
and prosperity; the defence of its existence and rights against foreign
control or conquest; the augmentation of its strength and resources, and
the protection of its citizens in their rights; with the preservation
and improvement of their morals. 2. The management of political
parties; the advancement of candidates to office; in a bad sense, artful
or dishonest management to secure the success of political measures or
party schemes, political trickery."
From present day experience we might add, 3. Politics, practical; The
art of organizing and handling men in large numbers, manipulating votes,
and, in especial, appropriating public wealth.
We can easily see that the "science of government" may be divided into
"pure" and "applied" like other sciences, but that it is "a part of
ethics" will be news to many minds.
Yet why not? Ethics is the science of conduct, and politics is merely
one field of conduct; a very common one. Its connection with Warfare in
this chapter is perfectly legitimate in view of the history of politics
on the one hand, and the imperative modern issues which are to-day
opposed to this established combination.
There are many to-day who hold that politics need not be at all
connected with warfare, and others who hold that politics is warfare
front start to finish.
In order to dissociate the two ideas completely let us give a paraphrase
of the above definition, applying it to domestic management;--that part
of ethics which has to do with the regulation and government of a
family; the preservation of its safety, peace and prosperity; the
defense of its existence and rights against any strangers' interference
or control; the augmentation of its strength and resources, and the
protection of its members in their rights; with the preservation and
improvement of their morals.
All this is simple enough, and in no way masculine; neither is it
feminine, save in this; that the tendency to care for, defend and manage
a group, is in its origin maternal.
In every human sense, however, politics has left its maternal base far
in the background; and as a field of study and of action is as well
adapted to men as to women. There is no reason whatever why men should
not develop great ability in this department of ethics, and gradually
learn how to preserve the safety, peace and prosperity of their nation;
together with those other services as to resources, protection of
citizens, and improvement of morals.
Men, as human beings, are capable of the noblest devotion and efficiency
in these matters, and have often shown them; but their devotion and
efficiency have been marred in this, as in so many other fields, by the
constant obtrusion of an ultra-masculine tendency.
In warfare, _per se_, we find maleness in its absurdest extremes. Here
is to be studied the whole gamut of basic masculinity, from the initial
instinct of combat, through every form of glorious ostentation, with the
loudest possible accompaniment of noise.
Primitive warfare had for its climax the possession of the primitive
prize, the female. Without dogmatising on so remote a period, it may be
suggested as a fair hypothesis that this was the very origin of our
organized raids. We certainly find war before there was property in
land, or any other property to tempt aggressors. Women, however, there
were always, and when a specially androcentric tribe had reduced its
supply of women by cruel treatment, or they were not born in sufficient
numbers, owing to hard conditions, men must needs go farther afield
after other women. Then, since the men of the other tribes naturally
objected to losing their main labor supply and comfort, there was war.
Thus based on the sex impulse, it gave full range to the combative
instinct, and further to that thirst for vocal exultation so exquisitely
male. The proud bellowings of the conquering stag, as he trampled on
his prostrate rival, found higher expression in the "triumphs" of old
days, when the conquering warrior returned to his home, with victims
chained to his chariot wheels, and braying trumpets.
When property became an appreciable factor in life, warfare took on a
new significance. What was at first mere destruction, in the effort to
defend or obtain some hunting ground or pasture; and, always, to secure
the female; now coalesced with the acquisitive instinct, and the long
black ages of predatory warfare closed in upon the world.
Where the earliest form exterminated, the later enslaved, and took
tribute; and for century upon century the "gentleman adventurer," i.e.,
the primitive male, greatly preferred to acquire wealth by the simple
old process of taking it, to any form of productive industry.
We have been much misled as to warfare by our androcentric literature.
With a history which recorded nothing else; a literature which praised
and an art which exalted it; a religion which called its central power
"the God of Battles"--never the God of Workshops, mind you!--with a
whole complex social structure man-prejudiced from center to
circumference, and giving highest praise and honor to the Soldier; it is
still hard for its to see what warfare really is in human life.
Someday we shall have new histories written, histories of world
progress, showing the slow uprising, the development, the interservice
of the nations; showing the faint beautiful dawn of the larger spirit of
world-consciousness, and all its benefitting growth.
We shall see people softening, learning, rising; see life lengthen with
the possession of herds, and widen in rich prosperity with agriculture.
Then industry, blossoming, fruiting, spreading wide; art, giving light
and joy; the intellect developing with companionship and human
intercourse; the whole spreading tree of social progress, the trunk of
which is specialized industry, and the branches of which comprise every
least and greatest line of human activity and enjoyment. This growing
tree, springing up wherever conditions of peace and prosperity gave it a
chance, we shall see continually hewed down to the very root by war.
To the later historian will appear throughout the ages, like some
Hideous Fate, some Curse, some predetermined check, to drag down all our
hope and joy and set life forever at its first steps over again, this
Red Plague of War.
The instinct of combat, between males, worked advantageously so long as
it did not injure the female or the young. It is a perfectly natural
instinct, and therefore perfectly right, in its place; but its place is
in a pre-patriarchal era. So long as the animal mother was free and
competent to care for herself and her young; then it was an advantage to
have "the best man win;" that is the best stag or lion; and to have the
vanquished die, or live in sulky celibacy, was no disadvantage to any
one but himself.
Humanity is on a stage above this plan. The best man in the social
structure is not always the huskiest. When a fresh horde of ultra-male
savages swarmed down upon a prosperous young civilization, killed off
the more civilized males and appropriated the more civilized females;
they did, no doubt, bring in a fresh physical impetus to the race; but
they destroyed the civilization.
The reproduction of perfectly good savages is not the main business of
humanity. Its business is to grow, socially; to develop, to improve;
and warfare, at its best, retards human progress; at its worst,
obliterates it.
Combat is not a social process at all; it is a physical process, a
subsidiary sex process, purely masculine, intended to improve the
species by the elimination of the unfit. Amusingly enough, or absurdly
enough; when applied to society, it eliminates the fit, and leaves the
unfit to perpetuate the race!
We require, to do our organized fighting, a picked lot of vigorous young
males, the fittest we can find. The too old or too young; the sick,
crippled, defective; are all left behind, to marry and be fathers; while
the pick of the country, physically, is sent off to oppose the pick of
another country, and kill--kill--kill!
Observe the result on the population! In the first place the balance is
broken--there are not enough men to go around, at home; many women are
left unmated. In primitive warfare, where women were promptly enslaved,
or, at the best, polygamously married, this did not greatly matter to
the population; but as civilization advances and monogamy obtains,
whatever eugenic benefits may once have sprung from warfare are
completely lost, and all its injuries remain.
In what we innocently call "civilized warfare" (we might as well speak
of "civilized cannibalism!"), this steady elimination of the fit leaves
an everlowering standard of parentage at home. It makes a widening
margin of what we call "surplus women," meaning more than enough to be
monogamously married; and these women, not being economically
independent, drag steadily upon the remaining men, postponing marriage,
and increasing its burdens.
The birth rate is lowered in quantity by the lack of husbands, and
lowered in quality both by the destruction of superior stock, and by the
wide dissemination of those diseases which invariably accompany the
wife-lessness of the segregated males who are told off to perform our
military functions.
The external horrors and wastes of warfare we are all familiar with; A.
It arrests industry and all progress. B. It destroys the fruits of
industry and progress. C. It weakens, hurts and kills the combatants.
D. It lowers the standard of the non-combatants. Even the conquering
nation is heavily injured; the conquered sometimes exterminated, or at
least absorbed by the victor.
This masculine selective process, when applied to nations, does not
produce the same result as when applied to single opposing animals.
When little Greece was overcome it did not prove that the victors were
superior, nor promote human interests in any way; it injured them.
The "stern arbitrament of war" may prove which of two peoples is the
better fighter, but ft does not prove it therefor the fittest to
survive.
Beyond all these more or less obvious evils, comes a further result, not
enough recognized; the psychic effects of military standard of thought
and feeling.
Remember that an androcentric culture has always exempted its own
essential activities from the restraints of ethics,--"All's fair in love
and war!" Deceit, trickery, lying, every kind of skulking underhand
effort to get information; ceaseless endeavor to outwit and overcome
"the enemy"; besides as cruelty and destruction; are characteristic of
the military process; as well as the much praised virtues of courage,
endurance and loyalty, personal and public.
Also classed as a virtue, and unquestionably such from the military
point of view, is that prime factor in making and keeping an army,
obedience.
See how the effect of this artificial maintenance of early mental
attitudes acts on our later development. True human progress requires
elements quite other than these. If successful warfare made one nation
unquestioned master of the earth its social progress would not be
promoted by that event. The rude hordes of Genghis Khan swarmed over
Asia and into Europe, but remained rude hordes; conquest is not
civilization, nor any part of it.
When the northern tribes-men overwhelmed the Roman culture they
paralysed progress for a thousand years or so; set back the clock by
that much. So long as all Europe was at war, so long the arts and
sciences sat still, or struggled in hid corners to keep their light
alive.
When warfare itself ceases, the physical, social and psychic results do
not cease. Our whole culture is still hag-ridden by military ideals.
Peace congresses have begun to meet, peace societies write and talk, but
the monuments to soldiers and sailors (naval sailors of course), still
go up, and the tin soldier remains a popular toy. We do not see boxes
of tin carpenters by any chance; tin farmers, weavers, shoemakers; we do
not write our "boys books" about the real benefactors and servers of
society; the adventurer and destroyer remains the idol of an
Androcentric Culture.
In politics the military ideal, the military processes, are so
predominant as to almost monopolise "that part of ethics." The science
of government, the plain wholesome business of managing a community for
its own good; doing its work, advancing its prosperity, improving its
morals--this is frankly understood and accepted as A Fight from start to
finish. Marshall your forces and try to get in, this is the political
campaign. When you are in, fight to stay in, and to keep the other
fellow out. Fight for your own hand, like an animal; fight for your
master like any hired bravo; fight always for some desired
"victory"--and "to the victors belong the spoils."
This is not by any means the true nature of politics. It is not even a
fair picture of politics to-day; in which man, the human being, is doing
noble work for humanity; but it is the effect of man, the male, on
politics.
Life, to the "male mind" (we have heard enough of the "female mind" to
use the analogue!) _is_ a fight, and his ancient military institutions
and processes keep up the delusion.
As a matter of fact life is growth. Growth comes naturally, by
multiplication of cells, and requires three factors to promote it;
nourishment, use, rest. Combat is a minor incident of life; belonging
to low levels, and not of a developing influence socially.
The science of politics, in a civilized community, should have by this
time a fine accumulation of simplified knowledge for diffusion in public
schools; a store of practical experience in how to promote social
advancement most rapidly, a progressive economy and ease of
administration, a simplicity in theory and visible benefit in practice,
such as should make every child an eager and serviceable citizen.
What do we find, here in America, in the field of "politics?"
We find first a party system which is the technical arrangement to carry
on a fight. It is perfectly conceivable that a flourishing democratic
government be carried on _without any parties at all;_ public
functionaries being elected on their merits, and each proposed measure
judged on its merits; though this sounds impossible to the androcentric
mind.
"There has never been a democracy without factions and parties!" is
protested.
There has never been a democracy, so far--only an androcracy.
A group composed of males alone, naturally divides, opposes, fights;
even a male church, under the most rigid rule, has its secret
undercurrents of antagonism.
"It is the human heart!" is again protested. No, not essentially the
human heart, but the male heart. This is so well recognized by men in
general, that, to their minds, in this mingled field of politics and
warfare, women have no place.
In "civilized warfare" they are, it is true, allowed to trail along and
practice their feminine function of nursing; but this is no part of war
proper, it is rather the beginning of the end of war. Some time it will
strike our "funny spot," these strenuous efforts to hurt and destroy,
and these accompanying efforts to heal and save.
But in our politics there is not even provision for a nursing corps;
women are absolutely excluded.
"They cannot play the game!" cries the practical politician. There is
loud talk of the defilement, the "dirty pool" and its resultant
darkening of fair reputations, the total unfitness of lovely woman to
take part in "the rough and tumble of politics."
In other words men have made a human institution into an ultra-masculine
performance; and, quite rightly, feel that women could not take part in
politics _as men do._ That it is not necessary to fulfill this human
custom in so masculine a way does not occur to them. Few men can
overlook the limitations of their sex and see the truth; that this
business of taking care of our common affairs is not only equally open
to women and men, but that women are distinctly needed in it.
Anyone will admit that a government wholly in the hands of women would
be helped by the assistance of men; that a gynaecocracy must, of its own
nature, be one sided. Yet it is hard to win reluctant admission of the
opposite fact; that an androcracy must of its own nature be one sided
also, and would be greatly improved by the participation of the other
sex.
The inextricable confusion of politics and warfare is part of the
stumbling block in the minds of men. As they see it, a nation is
primarily a fighting organization; and its principal business is
offensive and defensive warfare; therefore the ultimatum with which they
oppose the demand for political equality--"women cannot fight, therefore
they cannot vote."
Fighting, when all is said, is to them the real business of life; not to
be able to fight is to be quite out of the running; and ability to solve
our growing mass of public problems; questions of health, of education,
of morals, of economics; weighs naught against the ability to kill.
This naive assumption of supreme value in a process never of the first
importance; and increasingly injurious as society progresses, would be
laughable if it were not for its evil effects. It acts and reacts upon
us to our hurt. Positively, we see the ill effects already touched on;
the evils not only of active war; but of the spirit and methods of war;
idealized, inculcated and practiced in other social processes. It tends
to make each man-managed nation an actual or potential fighting
organization, and to give us, instead of civilized peace, that "balance
of power" which is like the counted time in the prize ring--only a rest
between combats.
It leaves the weaker nations to be "conquered" and "annexed" just as
they used to be; with tariffs instead of tribute. It forces upon each
the burden of armament; upon many the dreaded conscription; and
continually lowers the world's resources in money and in life.
Similarly in politics, it adds to the legitimate expenses of governing
the illegitimate expenses of fighting; and must needs have a "spoils
system" by which to pay its mercenaries.
In carrying out the public policies the wheels of state are continually
clogged by the "opposition;" always an opposition on one side or the
other; and this slow wiggling uneven progress, through shorn victories
and haggling concessions, is held to be the proper and only political
method.
"Women do not understand politics," we are told; "Women do not care for
politics;" "Women are unfitted for politics."
It is frankly inconceivable, from the androcentric view-point, that
nations can live in peace together, and be friendly and serviceable as
persons are. It is inconceivable also, that in the management of a
nation, honesty, efficiency, wisdom, experience and love could work out
good results without any element of combat.
The "ultimate resort" is still to arms. "The will of the majority" is
only respected on account of the guns of the majority. We have but a
partial civilization, heavily modified to sex--the male sex.
THE SOCIALIST AND THE SUFFRAGIST
Said the Socialist to the Suffragist:
"My cause is greater than yours!
You only work for a Special Class,
We for the gain of the General Mass,
Which every good ensures!"
Said the Suffragist to the Socialist:
"You Underrate my Cause!
While women remain a Subject Class,
You never can move the General Mass,
With your Economic Laws!"
Said the Socialist to the Suffragist:
"You misinterpret facts!
There is no room for doubt or schism
In Economic Determinism--
It governs all our acts!"
Said the Suffragist to the Socialist:
"You men will always find
That this old world will never move
More swiftly in its ancient groove
While women stay behind!"
"A lifted world lifts women up,"
The Socialist explained.
"You cannot lift the world at all
While half of it is kept so small,"
The Suffragist maintained.
*
The world awoke, and tartly spoke:
"Your work is all the same;
Work together or work apart,
Work, each of you, with all your heart--
Just get into the game!"
COMMENT AND REVIEW
[We mean to carry lists of books useful to our readers. We wish to
prove that it will pay publishers to advertise with us. If you order
any book reviewed here, please send your order to THE FORERUNNER]
There is a book which ought to be held in continual prominence by every
magazine in the world that appeals particularly to women. It contains a
scientific theory of more importance to the world than any put forth
since the theory of evolution, and of more importance to women than any
ever produced.
It is new, original, wildly startling, intensely significant, and, in
the world of ideas, revolutionary in the highest degree.
When this theory is generally accepted, and when the world's ideas have
been rearranged in accordance with it, we shall find ourselves looking
at a new life--with new eyes.
All our social questions will require new reading, and will find new
answers.
It furnishes a key to the whole "woman question," which unlocks every
long-barred door and ironbound chest; it cuts the ground from under the
feet of the most ancient prejudice, and makes tradition seem but a
current rumor of to-day.
This book was published in 1893.
When I read it I was so impressed with its colossal possibility that I
went to the publishers and asked to see the reviews--expecting to find
some recognition of a world-lifting truth.
I found nothing of the sort. The reviewers reviewed the book in general
with respect, with varying insight and intelligence, and one or two
dwelt fot a moment on this special theory; but not one recognized its
measureless importance.
This is not remarkable. In proportion to the far-reaching value of a
truth is the difficulty of popular recognition. With almost all of us
the mind is constantly used upon immediate facts and their
short-distance relations; a man may be an expert lumber-jack, for
instance, or a successful lumber-dealer, yet utterly fail to grasp the
importance of forest conservation.
Even those most interested in the woman's movement of to-day were little
impressed by this new view.
"What difference does it make?" they said. "We are dealing with
conditions of to-day--not with questions of primitive biology!"
Nevertheless, when a great truth is born into the world's mind, it does
not die. This, though not widely hailed, has grown and spread and
influenced our common thought, and minor books are springing up in its
train--among them Thomas's "Sex and Society," and my own "Androcentric
Culture."
The author of the book, Professor Lester F. Ward, is our greatest
Sociologist, and recognized in Europe far more than here--as is quite
natural. He now occupies the chair of Sociology at Brown University, in
Providence, R. I. His previous books have had wide influence--"Dynamic
Sociology" and "Psychic Factors in Civilization"--as well as much
current literature in scientific magazines.
The special theory here referred to is, in a word, this:
That the female sex is the present form of the original type of life,
once capable in itself of the primary process of reproduction; while the
male sex is a later addition, introduced as an assistant to the original
organism, in the secondary process of fertilization.
Most biologists still deny this.
Most readers, not knowing whether it is so or not, will say, "Why is
that important?"
It will take time and study to establish the facts; but only a little
use of the mind is needed to establish the importance to men and women.
Our ideas are all based on the primal concept expressed in the Adam and
Eve story--that he was made first, and that she was made to assist him.
On this assumption rests all our social structure as it concerns the
sexes.
Reverse this idea once and for all; see that woman is in reality the
race-type, and the man the sex-type--and all our dark and tangled
problems of unhappiness, sin and disease, as between men and women, are
cleared at once. Much, very much, of our more general trouble is
traceable tho same source.
You don't see it? Never mind. Read the book; or at least read the
great Fourteenth Chapter, which covers the ground.
The book is "PURE SOCIOLOGY," by Lester F. Ward. Published by the
MacMillan Co. Price, $4.00.
Make your library get it.
If you can afford to, buy it.
Get up classes of women to study it.
Read the whole if it interests you--it is a great Sociology; but every
woman who knows how to read ought to read that Fourteenth Chapter.
*
While going to press the Pure Food Magazine is holding a great Pure Food
Exhibition in this city.
At one of the meetings of the Congress of Domestic Science there was a
discussion of the Servant Question. A paper was read by a "Mistress,"
and one by a, "Servant." The latter was as nice a girl as one need see;
and her paper was intensely practical, full of good sense, well
expressed--and short!
Here it is:
"I know I am not equal to the honor of appearing here to-day, and I
should like to be able to express myself clearer and better if I only
had the power to do so, but I have never spoken before in my life. I
have earned my living ever since I was fourteen, both in a factory and
as a maid, and I think that I get a better living when I am out at
service. I have had good places and some bad ones; kind mistresses, and
severe ones. I have pleased some, and others nothing I could do was
right. At service we are sure of a good home and much better food and
shelter than is the factory girl, but we have not the independence and
freedom that is given them, but I do not see how it could be arranged
otherwise. But if we could have a quiet spot, so when our work was
finished we could have a room to call our own (not the kitchen, where
the cook is still busy with the pots and pans), but a little space where
our mothers and friends could come and see us, I am sure that we maids
would not abuse that privilege. Also, if you ladies would kindly
remember that our time off is our own, and would not say, "I do wish you
would not go off to-day, as I need you, but it will be all right, as I
will let you off all of to-morrow," and then think that it will be just
the same to us. Our time off should be a positive arrangement, as we
make our plans for those hours, and to-morrow is not to-day with our
friends waiting for us.
"We all hope for a home of our own, and we can only learn from those
that we serve; and if only more interest and consideration were shown
us, I am sure, we would all do much better work, as we all like to
please and we do our best when we are happy and appreciated.
"Unequal wages are a source of discontent, but if we could be taught how
to secure the value for our money, to spend with better judgment, even
less money would go farther.
"Then, again, if our amusements could be arranged so that we could get
something decent between nine and ten o'clock at night; but everything
is half over, or shut, by that time, and we've nothing to do but walk
the streets, sit in the park, drink soda water, or look at moving
pictures, until you hate them all, and when Monday morning comes you've
spent your money and had nothing. It's a deadly life, and we all look
forward to getting out of it soon. Never a minute to call one's own,
not often a room or bed to one's self, at the beck and call of somebody
night and day, and in many places not even trusted with the things to
work with, if there are any."
*
Would you like a tiny book of poetry--real poetry, made by one of our
strong writers?
He makes not only the poems, but the book; prints it, binds it, sends it
to you himself.
It is a dainty thing, five and a half by four inches; but it has in it
both thought and feeling, and beauty of expression.
"A Ship of Souls" is the title, and the first stanza carries the main
idea--touched and re-touched throughout.
"My soul is not one; 'tis a ship of souls,
And I am the vessel in which they ride.
Some handle the ropes and manage the sails,
And one at the helm stands firm to guide.
Some board me for pleasure, and some for gain,
And some make journeys to distant goals,
And my life is steered through the sun and rain,
For I am not a soul, but a ship of souls."
A Ship of Souls.--Being a group of poems written and printed by Harvey
White. The Maverick Press; Woodstock, New York, 1910. 50c.
PERSONAL PROBLEMS
I.
_Question._--"An aged widow would like to live with her married
daughter, but their dispositions are incompatible. The mother is very
fond of the daughter, but the daughter finds it impossible to respond or
feel affectionate, and is so irritated and critical because of the
mother's old-fashioned ways, etc., that continued close association
becomes very unpleasant.
"Who is to blame, and what can the mother do to improve the situation?
"Mutual Wellwisher."
_Answer._--There is no "blame" in the problem as stated.
Incompatibility of disposition is not a crime. If, however, the
daughter allows her irritation and critical attitude to result in actual
discussion and expressed disapproval of her mother's "old-fashioned
ways," then she is certainly to blame; whether her mother is a guest or
a boarder, she is not her daughter's pupil.
Again, if the mother allows herself to interfere with the daughter's
"ways," she is to blame for that; her period of tutoring is past.
Ex-parents should not presume on their unavoidable relationship to give
instruction to ex-children.
The real answer is a long way back, being to this effect:
The aged widow, when a young woman, should have had such large practical
interest in life, over and above her family, that she would not be
reduced to the position of "living with a married daughter; or, if she
did live with her, would have enough else to occupy her to keep her
"old-fashioned ways" in the background. Further, if she had kept up
with human progress in some business, her ways wouldn't be so
old-fashioned.
The Practical Answer to the Practical Question, "What can the mother do
to improve the situation?" is not difficult. She can (a) alter her
ways; (b) live somewhere else; (c) if neither of these is possible, she
can put it clearly to the daughter, "as man to man," that she _has_ to
live with her, that she _cannot_ learn new ways, and that they must use
mutual politeness in accommodating one an other as far as possible.
It is a very carefully worded problem, this. If the daughter is healthy
and otherwise contented, she ought to furnish the patience, as doubtless
the mother did in her time. But it may be that the mother always
irritated the daughter, in her youth, and has never never learned
better.
If I were the aged widow I would live somewhere else!
II
_Question._--A friend writes to ask--
"How about flies its the central kitchen?" (This being apropos of "The
Kitchen and the Fly," in the August number of this magazine.)
_Answer._--One kitchen, though large, is more easily protected than a
hundred kitchens, though small. There will be less "garbage," in
proportion, and it can be better handled. The officers of such a
kitchen will be of a higher grade than the present class of servants,
and capable of maintaining a higher grade of cleanliness; as, for
instance, in the Franco-American soup factory, where there is exquisite
cleanliness and care.
Further, in such a kitchen there will be no laundry or other extraneous
work done; no running in and out of children and others; nothing but the
scientific preparation of food.
Also, as shown in the article, the flies will be reduced 99 per cent. by
the reduction in the number of horses required to bring supplies and
remove garbage and ashes. To the large kitchen, wholesale supplies
could be brought in motor trucks--a further loss to the fly.
III
_Question._--"A certain husband has been in the habit for years of
paying a dollar a month lodge dues, and other incidental expenses of
lodge meetings. The wife has paid a dollar a year dues in a suffrage
club, and a dollar and a half a year for subscription to the Woman's
Journal. The 'late' panic has shrunk the family income, and something
must be cut off. The Wife will cut off the two small amounts mentioned.
She will cut off anything else that is for her separate existence.
Now, the question is, how may her feeling of virtue and self-sacrifice
be changed to a realization of injustice?"
_Answer._--This is a very large question--how to change the ethical
values of a woman's life!
We gather by inference that the "certain husband" has not cut off his
lodge dues--or anything else.
The best answer is: let the woman EARN HER OWN LIVING. That goes
farthest in changing self-sacrifice to justice.
OUR BOUND VOLUME AS A CHRISTMAS PRESENT
The first year comprises fourteen issues--November, 1909, to December,
1910, inclusive.
In it is the Housekeeping novel--"What Diantha Did"--which will interest
many, both men and women. It offers a very practical solution to the
Servant Question.
In it is also the Book About Men--"The Man-Made World, or Our
Androcentric Culture."
There have been books and books about women--mostly, unpleasant. This
is the first one about men, as such; men as distinguished from Human
Beings--as women have always been distinguished from Human Beings.
You won't wholly like the book--just consider whether it is true!
The novel separately, or the book separately, would also make good
presents, but the date of their publication is not settled, while in the
bound volume of the magazine you get them both for only 25c. more than
one would cost.
This set, making a volume of some 420 pages, with its twelve short
stories, its articles, fables, verse, and other matter, will make a very
good gift--for some people. Ready early in December. $1.25.
TO THOSE SPECIALLY INTERESTED IN THIS MAGAZINE, OR SPECIALLY INTERESTED
IN FIFTY DOLLARS
This is not a "Popular Magazine." It does not try to be. It is a
magazine which meets the needs of a comparatively few, but they like it
immensely--as is shown by the extracts from their letters we are now
publishing.
We want to reach, if possible, all the people who would like The
Forerunner if they knew about it.
For the rest of this year we are making a special offer to anyone who
will get us new subscribers; the regular commission of 25 per cent., and
a rising premium which goes up to a total of 50 per cent. for a hundred
new paid year's subscriptions.
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Copyright for 1910
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"The Public Wants Facts!" says the Popular Editor; "Give us the Facts!"
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Isn't it time we learned _to think about them?_
WORSHIP
How does it feel?--
The drawing of the magnet on the steel?
All else gives way;
No rivets hold, no bars delay,
Called in that overwhelming hour,
From far and near they fly and cling,
Allied, united, clustering;
And the great pulsing currents flow
Through each small scattered scrap below.
Scattered no more;
One with that all compelling core;
One absolute, one all alive with power.
How does it feel?--
The swift obedient utmost flight
Of radiant sky-wide waves of light,
Far couriers of the central sun,
Crossing a million miles as one--
Still going--going--
Limitless joy that needs no knowing
Each last least flickering ray
One with the Heart of Day.
MY ASTONISHING DODO
She was twenty-six, and owned it cheerfully, the day I met her.
This prejudiced me in her favor at once, for I prize honesty in women,
and on this point it is unusual. She did not, it is true, share largely
in my special artistic tastes, or, to any great extent, in my social
circle; but she was a fine wholesome sweet woman, cheerful and strong,
and I wished to make a friend of her. I greatly prized my good friends
among women, for I had conscientious views against marrying on a small
salary.
Later it appeared that she had other and different views, but she did
not mention them then.
Dorothea was her name. Her family called her Dora, her intimate
friends, Dolly, but I called her Dodo, just between ourselves.
A very good-looking girl was Dodo, though not showy; and in no way
distinguished in dress, which rather annoyed me at first; for I have a
great admiration for a well-gowned, well-groomed woman.
My ideas on matrimony were strongly colored by certain facts and figures
given me by an old college friend of mine. He was a nice fellow, and
his wife one of the loveliest girls of our set, though rather delicate.
They lived very comfortably in a quiet way, with a few good books and
pictures, and four little ones.
"It's a thousand dollars a year for the first year for each baby," he
told me, "and five hundred a year afterward."
I was astonished. I had no idea the little things cost so much.
"There's the trained nurse for your wife," he went on, "at $25.00 a week
for four weeks; and then the trained nurse for your baby, at $15.00 a
week for forty-eight weeks; that makes $820.00. Then the doctor's
bills, the clothes and so on--with the certified milk--easily take up
the rest."
"Isn't fifteen dollars a week a good deal for a child's nurse?" I asked.
"What do you pay a good stenographer?" he demanded.
"Why, a special one gets $20.00," I admitted. "But that work needs
training and experience."
"So does taking care of babies!" he cried triumphantly. "Don't try to
save on babies, Morton; it's poor economy."
I liked his point of view, and admired his family extremely. His wife
was one of those sympathetic appreciative women who so help a man in his
work. But the prospects of my own marriage seemed remote. That was why
I was so glad of a good wholesome companionable friend like Dodo.
We were so calmly intimate that I soon grew to discuss many of my ideas
and plans with her. She was much interested in the figures given by my
friend, and got me to set them all down for her. He had twice my
salary, and not a cent left at the year's end; and they were not in
"society" either. Five hundred dollars was allowed for his personal
expenses, and the same for her; little enough to dress on nowadays, he
had assured me, with all amusements, travel, books and periodicals, and
dentist bills, included.
"I don't think it ought to cost so much," said Dodo.
She was a business woman, and followed the figures closely; and of
course she appreciated the high views I held on the subject, and my
self-denial, too.
I can't tell to this day how it happened; but before I knew it we were
engaged. I was almost sorry, for a long engagement is a strain on both
parties; but Dodo cheered me up; she said we were really no worse off
than we were before, and in some ways better. At times I fully agreed
with her.
So we drifted along for about a year, and then, after a good deal of
distant discussion, we suddenly got married.
I don't recall now just why we so hastily concluded to do it; I seemed
to be in a kind of dream; but anyway we did, and were absurdly happy
about it, too.
"Don't be a Goose, dear boy!" she said. "It isn't wicked to be married.
And we're _quite_ old enough!"
"But we can't afford it--you know we can't," I said. This was while we
were camping out on our honey-vacation.
"Mr. Morton Howland," said my wife; "don't you worry one bit about
affording it. I want you to understand that you've married a business
woman."
"But you've given up your position!" I cried, aghast. "Surely, you
don't think of going back!"
"I've given up one position," she replied with calmness, "and taken
another. And I mean to fill it. Now you go peacefully on earning what
you did before, and leave the housekeeping business to me--will you,
Dear?"
Naturally I had to; for I couldn't keep house; even if I so desired I
didn't know how. But I had read so much and heard so much and seen so
much of the difficulties of housekeeping for young married people, that
I confess I was a good deal worried.
Toward the end of our trip I began to anticipate the burden of
house-hunting.
"About where do you think we are going to live?" I tentatively inquired.
"At 384 Meter Avenue," she promptly answered. I nearly dropped the
paddle (we were canoeing at the moment), I was so astonished.
"That's a good location--for cheap flats," I said slowly. "Do you mean
to say you've rented one, all by yourself?"
She smiled comfortingly. Lovely teeth had my Dodo, strong and white and
even, though not small.
"Not quite so bad as that, Dear," she answered, "but I've got the
refusal. My friends the Scallens had it, and are moving out this Fall.
It's a new building, they had it all papered very prettily, and if you
like it we can move in as soon as they leave--say a week after moving
time--it will be cheaper then. We'll look at it as soon as we return."
We did. It seemed suitable enough; pleasant, and cheaper than I had
thought possible. Indeed, I demurred a little on the question of style,
and accessibility to friends; but Dodo said the people who really cared
for us would come, and the people who did not could easily be spared.
We had married so hastily, right on the verge of vacation time, that I
had hardly given a thought to furnishing but Dodo seemed to know just
where to go and what to get; at much less cost than I had imagined.
She produced $250.00 from her bank account, which she had been saving
for years she said. I put up about the same; and we had that little
flat as pretty and comfortable as any home I ever saw.
She set her foot down about pictures though. "Time enough for those
things when we can afford it," she said, and we certainly could not
afford it then.
Then was materialized from some foreign clime a neat, strong young woman
to do our house-work, washing and all.
"She's an apprentice," said Dodo. "She is willing to learn
housekeeping, and I am willing to teach her."
"How do you come to be so competent in house-work?" said I; "I thought
you were a bookkeeper."
Then Dodo smiled her large bright smile. "Morton, dear," she said, "I
will now tell you a Secret! I have always intended to marry, and, as
far as possible, I learned the business. I am a business woman, you
know."
She certainly did know her business. She kept the household accounts
like--well, like what she was--an expert accountant. When she furnished
the kitchen she installed a good reliable set of weights and measures.
She weighed the ice and the bread, she measured the milk and the
potatoes, and made firm, definite, accurate protests when things went
wrong; even sending samples of queer cream to the Board of Health for
analysis. What with my business stationery and her accurate figures our
letters were strangely potent, and we were well supplied, while our
friends sadly and tamely complained of imposture and extortion.
Her largest item of expense in furnishing was a first-class sewing
machine, and a marvellous female figure, made to measure, which stood in
a corner and served as a "cloak tree" when not in use.
"You don't propose to make your own clothes, surely?" said I when this
headless object appeared.
"Some of 'em," she admitted, "you'll see. Of course I can't dress for
society."
Now I had prepared myself very conscientiously to meet the storms and
shallows of early married life, as I had read about them; I was bound I
would not bring home anybody to dinner without telephoning, and was
prepared to assure my wife verbally, at least twice a day, that I loved
her. She anticipated me on the dinner business, however.
"Look here!" she said, leading me to the pantry, when it was filled to
her liking, and she showed me a special corner all marked off and
labelled "For Emergencies." There was a whole outfit of eatables and
drinkables in glass and tin.
"Now do your worst!" she said triumphantly. "You can bring home six men
in the middle of the night--and I'll feed them! But you mustn't do it
two nights in succession, for I'd have to stock up again."
As to tears and nervousness and "did I love her," I was almost,
sometimes, a bit disappointed in Dodo, she was so calm. She was happy,
and I was happy, but it seemed to require no effort at all.
One morning I almost forgot, and left the elevator standing while I ran
back to kiss her and say "I love you, dearest." She held me off from
her with her two strong hands and laughed tenderly. "Dear boy!" she
said, "I mean you shall."
I meditated on that all the way downtown.
She meant I should. Well, I did. And the next time one of my
new-married friends circuitously asked for a bit of light on what was to
him a dark and perplexing question, I suddenly felt very light-hearted
about my domestic affairs. Somehow we hadn't any troubles at all. Dodo
kept well; we lived very comfortably and it cost far less than I had
anticipated.
"How did you know how to train a servant?" I asked my wife.
"Dear," said she, "I have admitted to you that I always intended to be
married, when I found the man I could love and trust and honor." (Dodo
overestimates my virtues, of course.)
"Lots of girls intend to marry," I interposed.
"Yes, I know they do," she agreed, "they want to love and he loved, but
they don't learn their business! Now the business of house-work is not
so abstruse nor so laborious, if you give your mind to it. I took an
evening-course in domestic economy, read and studied some, and spent one
vacation with an aunt of mine up in Vermont who 'does her own work.'
The next vacation I did ours. I learned the trade in a small way."
We had a lovely time that first year. She dressed fairly well, but the
smallness of her expense account was a standing marvel, owing to the
machine and the Headless One.
"Did you take a course in dressmaking, too?" I inquired.
"Yes, in another vacation."
"You had the most industrious vacations of anyone I ever knew," said I,
"and the most varied."
"I am no chicken, you see, my dear," was her cheerful reply, "and I like
to work. You work, why shouldn't I?"
The only thing I had to criticize, if there was anything, was that Dodo
wouldn't go to the theatre and things like that, as often as I wanted
her to. She said frankly that we couldn't afford it, and why should I
want to go out for amusement when we had such a happy home? So we
stayed at home a good deal, made a few calls, and played cards together,
and were very happy, of course.
All this time I was in more or less anxiety lest that thousand dollar
baby should descend upon us before we were ready, for I had only six
hundred in the bank now. Presently this dread event loomed
awe-inspiringly on our horizon. I didn't say anything to Dodo about my
fears, she must on no account be rendered anxious, but I lay awake
nights and sometimes got up furtively and walked the floor in my room,
thinking how I should raise the money.
She heard me one night. "Dear!" she called softly. "What are you
doing? Is it burglars?"
I reassured her on that point and she promptly reassured me on the
other, as soon as she had made me tell her what I was worrying about.
"Why, bless you, dear," she said, serenely, "you needn't give a thought
to that. I've got money in the bank for my baby."
"I thought you spent all of it for the furnishings," said I.
"Oh, that was the Furnishing Money! Cuddle down here, or you'll get
cold, and I'll tell you all about it."
So she explained in her calm strong cheerful way, with a little
contented chuckle now and then, that she had always intended to be
married.
"This is now no news," I exclaimed severely, "tell me something
different."
"Well, in order to prepare for this Great Event," she went on, "I
learned about housework, as you have seen. I saved money enough to
furnish a small flat and put that in one bank. And I also anticipated
this not Impossible Contingency and saved more money and put it in
another bank!"
"Why two banks, if a mere man may inquire?"
"It is well," she replied sententiously, "not to have all one's eggs in
one basket."
I lay still and meditated on this new revelation.
"Have you got a thousand dollars, if this Remote Relative may so far
urge for information?"
"I have just that sum," she replied.
"And, not to be impertinent, have you nine other thousands of dollars in
nine other banks for nine other not Impossible Contingencies?"
She shook her head with determination. "Nine is an Impossible
Contingency," she replied. "No, I have but one thousand dollars in this
bank. Now you be good, and continue to practice your business, into the
details of which I do not press, and let me carry on the Baby Business,
which is mine."
It was a great load off my mind, and I slept well from that time on.
So did Dodo. She kept well, busy, placid, and cheerful. Once, I came
home in a state of real terror. I had been learning, from one of my
friends, and from books, of the terrible experience which lay before
her. She saw that I was unusually intense in my affection and
constantly regarded her with tender anxiety. "What is the matter with
you, Morton?" said she. "I'm--worried," I admitted. "I've been
thinking--what if I should lose you! Oh Dodo! I'd rather have you than
a thousand babies."
"I should think you would," said she calmly. "Now look here, Dear Boy!
What are you worrying about? This is not an unusual enterprise I've
embarked on; it's the plain course of nature, easily fulfilled by all
manner of lady creatures! Don't you be afraid one bit, I'm not."
She wasn't. She kept her serene good cheer up to the last moment, had
an efficient but inexpensive woman doctor, and presently was up again,
still serene, with a Pink Person added to our family, of small size but
of enormous importance.
Again I rather trembled for our peace and happiness, and mentally girded
up my loins for wakeful nights of walking. No such troubles followed.
We used separate rooms, and she kept the Pink Person in hers.
Occasionally he made remarks in the night, but not for long. He was
well, she was well--things went along very much as they did before.
I was "lost in wonder, love and praise" and especially in amazement at
the continued cheapness of our living.
Suddenly a thought struck me. "Where's ths nurse?" I demanded.
"The nurse? Why she left long ago. I kept her only for the month."
"I mean the child's nurse," said I, "the fifteen dollar one."
"Oh--I'm the child's nurse," said Dodo.
"You!" said I. "Do you mean to say you take all the care of this child
yourself?"
"Why, of course," said Dodo, "what's a mother for?"
"But--the time it takes," I protested, rather weakly.
"What do you expect me to do with my time, Morton?"
"Why, whatever you did before--This arrived."
"I will not have my son alluded to as 'This'!" said she severely.
"Morton J. Hopkins, Jr., if you please. As to my time before? Why, I
used it in preparing for time to come, of course. I have things ready
for this youngster for three years ahead."
"How about the certified milk?" I asked.
Dodo smiled a superior smile; "I certify the milk," said she.
"Can you take care of the child and the house, too?"
"Bless you, Morton, 'the care' of a seven-room flat and a competent
servant does not take more than an hour a day. And I market while I'm
out with the baby.
"Do you mean to say you are going to push the perambulator yourself?"
"Why not?" she asked a little sharply, "surely a mother need not be
ashamed of the company of her own child."
"But you'll be taken for a nurse--"
"I _am_ a nurse! And proud of it!"
I gazed at her in my third access of deep amazement. "Do you mean to
say that you took lessons in child culture, _too_?"
"_Too?_ Why, I took lessons in child culture first of all. How often
must I tell you, Morton, that I always intended to be married! Being
married involves, to my mind, motherhood, that is what it is for! So
naturally I prepared myself for the work I meant to do. I am a business
woman, Morton, and this is my business."
*
That was twenty years ago. We have five children. Morton, Jr., is in
college. So is Dorothea second. Dodo means to put them _all_ through,
she says. My salary has increased, but not so fast as prices, and
neither of them so fast as my family. None of those babies cost a
thousand dollars the first year though, nor five hundred thereafter;
Dodo's thousand held out for the lot. We moved to a home in the
suburbs, of course; that was only fair to the children. I live within
my income always--we have but one servant still, and the children are
all taught housework in the good old way. None of my friends has as
devoted, as vigorous and--and--as successful a wife as I have. She is
the incarnate spirit of all the Housewives and House-mothers of history
and fiction. The only thing I miss in her--if I must own to missing
anything--is companionship and sympathy outside of household affairs.
My newspaper work--which she always calls "my business"--has remained a
business. The literary aspirations I once had were long since laid
aside as impracticable. And the only thing I miss in life beyond my
home is, well--as a matter of fact, I don't have any life beyond my
home--except, of course, my business.
My friends are mostly co-commuters now. I couldn't keep up with the set
I used to know. As my wife said, she could 't dress for society, and,
visibly, she couldn't. We have few books, there isn't any margin for
luxuries, she says; and of course we can't go to the plays and concerts
in town. But these are unessentials--of course--as she says.
I am very proud of my home, my family, and my Amazing Dodo.
WHY TEXTS?
I once listened to a sermon in the Temple Church in London; a sermon
delivered with great dignity by an Eminent Divine, a Canon, as I
remember.
Here was this worthy man, in that historic place, in the heart of huge
London, in the fierce whirring center of so many present social
problems, so many aching, hoping human hearts. He had a chance to speak
to them; with the purpose, presumably, of giving light and cheer and
strength to live better.
There he stood, a conspicuous and powerful figure; and there sat his
audience, waiting. To say the truth, they did not look particularly
hopeful; having doubtless "sat under" him before.
He took his text from the Nineteenth Chapter of "Acts"--something about
"the town clark" of Ephesus; and how he appeased the people. There was
some excitement, it appeared, among the citizens, and they raised a
noise comparable to the convention which nominated Bryan; "and all with
one voice about the space of two hours cried out, Great is Diana of the
Ephesians."
Well. She certainly was--is yet, for that matter, though her influence
is not confined to Ephesus.
In the face of this tumult, the "town clark," who seems to have been a
peaceable person, with a strong sense of justice and propriety, quieted
the people with fair words, explaining to them that their vociferous
statement as to the dimensions or efficacy of their goddess were quite
indisputable; and "matters of common knowledge," and that if they had
any complaint against these missionaries they should go to law about it.
Evidently a fair-minded and law-abiding citizen, the "town clark of
Ephesus"; but--what of it?
What shadow of interest, to modern life, has this chatty anecdote about
the attitude of the Ancient Ephesian toward visiting preachers?
It is barely possible; intellectually conceivable, that is, that the
distinguished clergyman was drawing a parallel between these long dead
gentry, and ourselves; in our attitude toward the advocates of new
faiths.
For instance, there come among us persons teaching Socialism; and we all
cry with one voice for about the space of fifty years, "Great is the
Competitive System!"--and are minded to destroy the teachers, no "town
clark" intervening.
But this did not seem to be in his mind at all. He was talking about
ancient history pure and simple; the only merit in his extract lying in
its location--it was in the Bible.
Whence to my title--Why texts?
Why does a modern sermon to modern people have to be based upon and
buttressed by a quotation from the writings of the ancient Hebrews, or
the more modern group of mixed blood and more mixed language through
whom came the New Testament?
This is no question either verbal or general; but a very sincere
question of the need of such quotation in the religious teaching of the
present time.
Suppose we have a glaring modern instance of good or evil, which every
live minister feels called upon to preach about; to the genuine
edification of his hearers; why must he get out his concordance and
ransack the Scriptures to find an applicable remark?
In the Hebrew Church the Reading is longer and the Exposition closer, I
understand; and in the "Christian Science" church there is Reading
without even that much licence; but in our liberal Christian "services"
the sermon is generally intended to be of immediate use to the hearers,
not merely to give them an extract from "that which is written."
What people want most is to know how to behave, now.
They want teaching that shall explain clearly what they ought to do; why
they want to do it, and how they may best learn to do it.
Clear, strong, simple, convincing Explanations of Life--Directions for
Action; Stimulus and Strength; Courage and Hope; Peace and
Comfort--these are the things we want in our sermons.
Are they any better for the laborious far-fetched text?
THE LITTLE WHITE ANIMALS
Reprinted from "The Conservator," by courtesy of Mr. Horace Traubel.
We who have grown Human--house-bodied, cloth-skinned,
Wire-nerved and steam-heated--alas! we forget
The poor little beasts we have bandaged and pinned
And hid in our carpet-lined prisons!--and yet
Though our great social body be brickwork and steel,
The little white animals in it, can feel!
Humanity needs them. We cannot disclaim
The laws of the bodies we lived in before
We grew to be Human. In spite of our frame
Of time-scorning metals, the life at its core,
Controlling its action and guarding its ease,
Is the little white animal out of the trees!
It is true that our soul is far higher than theirs;
We look farther, live longer, love wider--we _know;_
They only can feel for themselves--and their heirs;
We, the life of humanity. Yet, even so,
We must always remember that soul at its base
Looks out through the little white animal's face.
If they die we are dead. If they live we can grow,
They ply in our streets as blood corpuscles ply
In their own little veins. If you cut off the flow
Of these beasts in a city, that city will die.
Yet we heighten our buildings and harden our souls
Till the little white animals perish in shoals.
Their innocent instincts we turn to a curse,
Their bodies we torture, their powers we abuse,
The beast that humanity lives in fares worse
Than the beasts of the forest with nothing to lose.
Free creatures, sub-human--they never have known
The sins and diseases we force on our own.
And yet 'tis a beautiful creature!--tall--fair--
With features full pleasant and hand-wooing hair;
Kind, docile, intelligent, eager to learn;
And the longing we read in its eyes when they burn
Is to beg us to use it more freely to show
To each other the love that our new soul can know.
Our engines drive fast in earth, water and air;
Our resistless, smooth-running machines still unroll,
With brain-work unceasing and handiwork fair,
New material forms for each step on the soul;
But that soul, for the contact without which it dies,
Comes closest of all through that animal's eyes.
WOMEN TEACHERS, MARRIED AND UNMARRIED
We have still active and conspicuous among us, saying and doing foolish
things about women, men, both eminent and ordinary, whose attitude in
this matter will make them a shame to their children, and a laughing
stock to their grandchildren. We are proud to exhibit name and portrait
of the great-grandfather who signed the Declaration of Independence, but
our descendants will forget as soon as possible those asinine ancestors
who are to-day so writing themselves down--in their attitude in regard
to women teachers, married and unmarried.
For long women were kept out of the schools altogether--education was
for boys. They were not allowed to teach, save in a small way, in
infant schools, or schools for girls; teaching was a masculine
profession. Now they have equal educational opportunities--in large
measure, and constitute the majority of pupils; and, what is more
alarming, the majority of teachers. The "male mind"--essentially and
hopelessly male--sees in this not the natural development of a long
suppressed human being, but the entrance of females upon a masculine
province.
In her relation of pupil, there is a large body of eminent educators
clamoring that girls should be taught female things; that, whether our
universities are turned into trade schools or not, the women's colleges
and "annexes" should teach girls "the duties of wife and mother." By
this, of course, they mean the duties of house-service, and, perhaps, of
nursing. Nothing would scandalize these Antique Worthies more than to
have girls taught the real duties of wife and mother!
Also, in the relation of pupils, a man of as high standing as Professor
Barrett Wendell of Harvard claims that teaching girls lowers the
mentality of men! In coeducational colleges the "male mind," seeing in
the violent games of young men a profound educational influence (and
large profits!), considers that the presence of the purely studious
element--the girls--is an injury to the college, and is even now
endeavoring to eliminate them.
But it is in treatment of women teachers that this sex attitude of mind
is most prominent to-day, most offensive, and most ridiculous.
The first effect is, of course, to give to the woman teacher the lowest
grades of work and the lowest pay. Even when she has forced her way
into high-grade work, and won a good position over all competitors, her
pay is still measured by her status as a female--not as a teacher. The
"male mind" can never for a moment forget or overlook the fact that
women are females; and is rigidly incapable of admitting that they are
also human beings as much as he.
In spite of this absurd limitation, women teachers have increased in
numbers and in power; and are pressing steadily up into the higher
positions reserved for men. An enormous majority of our teaching force
is now composed of women; and, in our public schools, they naturally
teach boys. Upon this point has arisen, and is still rising, an angry
protest among men. Women teachers are, they say, unmarried; to be
unmarried is an unnatural state, productive of various mental and
physical morbidities; and as such does not form a suitable atmosphere
for growing boys.
Recently President Hamilton of Tufts College goes even further than
this, and objects to the influence of unmarried teachers upon girls!
To the "male mind," viewing the woman as first, last and always a
female, and marriage and motherhood as her only normal relations, these
crowding thousands of calm, respectable, independent, unmarried women
are in a condition of unrest, of acrimonious rebellion against fate, of
a contemptuous dislike for their unattainable "sour grapes." They are
assumed to have been queer in the first place, or some gracious
protector would have married them; and to grow queerer as life drags
away, leaving them eternally unsatisfied, bitter and perverse. This
deadly influence is supposed to have some poisonous effect on the
pupils; just what is not defined. The unselfish, tireless service of
the "maiden aunt" in the home we all know; but set her to teaching
school, and some strange evil follows from the contact.
President Hamilton says college girls need to have their outlook on life
broadened, not narrowed; and thinks these limited ladies, the teachers,
are fitted only for work in the lower preparatory schools, or in "homes"
and "settlements."
Just how the average male teacher in a college is to broaden the outlook
of his pupils is not explained. It does not need explanation. It is
broader because he is a man!
Most of our men teachers are still young men, by the way, and unmarried.
Is the influence of the unmarried male on classes of girls an unmixed
good? Is a man by nature a better teacher? More subtly sympathetic,
more capable of understanding the difficulties of each pupil and meeting
them, more patient and tender?
No--but he is "more methodical," and "a better disciplinarian." In
other words, he is more male--and therefore a better teacher! All this
is absurd enough, and injurious enough; false, unjust, pitifully
ignorant.
But the crowning feat of the "logical male mind" is in its exclusion of
married women from schools. This is what the living children of living
men will laugh at and blush for--that their fathers should have made
themselves thus lamentably conspicuous in present-day history. Here in
this city of New York, where a system of competitive examination ensures
the required degree of learning and promotion follows on proved
efficiency (or is supposed to); some women teachers, following "that
inexorable law of nature" which so many others successfully evade, have
presumed to marry. Surely now the stock objection to women teachers is
removed.
All that "narrowness," that "bitterness," that "morbidity" is
transformed by this magic alchemy into breadth and sweetness and all
health. Now we have for our children the influence of "normal
womanhood"--of "the wife and mother."
No. Married women are not desired in our schools; not allowed; they are
specifically discriminated against.
Some years ago a woman teacher of New York married, and refused to give
up her position. There was no reason for discharging her--she fulfilled
every duty as competently as before. But these historic school
officials withheld her pay!
They had no right to; she had earned the money--it was hers. But they
had the power, and used it. After many months of this high-handed
withholding of her legitimate salary, this woman, and another similarly
placed, sued for their back pay, making a test case of it.
They won. It was a perfectly plain case in law and equity.
Then the Board, naturally displeased, passed a by-law prohibiting the
appointment, or reappointment, of married women. One woman, already in,
and married, a very efficient teacher, and candidate for promotion to
principalship, was not promoted, for this plain reason: they do not wish
married women to teach in our schools.
Now, why?
What injurious influence exudes from previously competent teachers
merely because they now know this personal, as well as their former
professional, happiness!
Then with bated breath the official male mind suggests that they might
become mothers.
Well? So they should. Is there anything about mothers which renders
them unfit persons to teach children?
"You do not understand!" says the official male mind, a little
nervously. "They would be--about to become mothers--and the children
might notice it!"
Here we have Justice Shallow, Mrs. Grundy and King Canute rolled into
one. What gross ignorance, what narrow conservatism, what petty and
futile resistance to progress, as well as a low coarseness, prompts this
objection! If our system of education allows children to grow up in
such neglect that they neither know nor reverence motherhood, it is high
time that the system was changed.
And it will be changed; by women--who are mothers.
Aside from this, and admitting that most married teachers who are in
this dreaded "condition" do rapidly remove themselves from school, and
do not come back for a year or more, the next objection is "the
continued absence" of the married woman teachers.
Since there is a long array of substitutes, excellent substitutes (often
married women, these!) who are paid less than the salary the absent one
does not draw, it is difficult to see the evil of this. Unless indeed
the merits of the married teacher are so supreme that even her temporary
absence is a real loss. If that be so, then she is worth keeping, it
would seem, at any cost.
In all this tissue of injustice and absurdity is there no thread of
explanation, no reason better than these for such arbitrary interference
with personal rights? There is a veritable cable; enough to hang the
whole case on. It is shown in this provision:
If the married woman teacher can bring a doctor's certificate showing
that her husband is sick--_then_ she can hold her place and draw her
pay, undisturbed!
The plain ordinary un-male mind will say, "What has that to do with it?"
It has nothing to do with it. The position in question is that of the
teacher; the relation one between the teacher and pupil on the one side,
and teacher and governing officers on the other side. Whether teacher,
pupil or official is married or unmarried had nothing to do with the
case, unless it can be shown to interfere with the legitimate work
involved. Are we to suppose that the unseen extraneous husband has,
when well, a malign influence on his wife's proficiency as a teacher,
and, when ill, a beneficent one? Not at all; there is no such subtlety
involved. It is not in the least a question of professional efficiency;
it is a question of money.
Money is for men--who should use some of it to take care of their women.
When a woman marries, she has a claim for support, and no further use
for money of her own, no right to it, in fact!
Now let us temporarily admit that this is so--what has it to do with the
action of school boards? Is our public school system an institution for
the regulation of married women's property rights? Does it make
inquiries as to the family relations of men teachers and pay them
according to the number of dependents they have to support? Among the
unmarried women, are those who are putting brothers through college, or
maintaining invalid sisters or aged parents, paid more than the young
lady living at home and not "having to work" at all? If there is no
discrimination made in this matter among men teachers, nor among
unmarried women teachers, why does it instantly enter into consideration
in the case of married teachers?
All "systems" grow stiff, case-hardened, difficult to change; but in
America we have the newest and most pliable, and we are bravely used to
altering things. It is high time we altered our system of education.
The very crown and flower of our best minds and noblest characters are
called for to bring up children:
"That our childhood may pass with the best you can give--
And our manhood so live!"
Men and women both are needed as teachers; education is a social
process--not one of sex. Yet the woman is, by virtue of her motherhood,
the original teacher; and is more frequently possessed of the teaching
instinct. All normal women would naturally marry, circumstances
permitting; should marry, and would be no poorer teachers for that new
relationship. All normal women should be mothers; and as such, would be
_better_ teachers--not worse!
As to payment, so long as we must measure off our services and pay for
them, no form of human work is worthy of higher reward than this. To
gather the fruit of all our progress, to prepare it for a child's mind,
and lead him to eat that fruit, freely, and so grow to his best and
highest--this is _the_ human work.
It should be so prized, so honored, and so paid. And the payment should
be for great work done--and bear no relation whatever to age or sex, or
sex-relation; much less to the pathological condition of irrelevant
husbands.
There is now formed in New York City, "The Married Women Teachers'
Association" (secretary, Miss Anna G. Walsh, 22 Harvard Street, Jamaica,
N. Y.), the purpose of which is to resist this unjust and illegitimate
discrimination.
It is unfortunate that more of the unmarried teachers do not cheerfully
assist in the work.
They do not yet seem to realize that all women should make common cause
against what is not only an injustice, but the most insolent and
presuming interference on the part of men, with the private and personal
affairs of women.
WHAT DIANTHA DID