YE YOUNG MAIDENS, LISTEN TO ME
The exercises on this second evening of the Rose-Week began as before
with music. But it was a kind of music such as had never before, or
anywhere else, been heard. A feeling of wonder, and unprecedented
delight took possession of the audience—a delight which almost reached
awe. It was a newly invented instrument, the tone of which had no
resemblance to that of any other instrument. It was more nearly
comparable to bell-tones, like cathedral chimes, loud and grave and
vibrating.
In the midst of a crescendo the player of it suddenly ceased playing and
said to the public:—
“What you are here listening to is the voice of a magician—the magician
‘Electricity.’ The instrument, as you see, is not large, and its
mechanism is concealed; I invented it and constructed it. In honor of
the Mæcenas who enabled me to accomplish my invention, I have christened
it the ‘Toker Organ.’ It is played by any artist who understands the
organ, but its tone and its _timbre_ are the product of a nature-force
tamed. The surprising thing is that the tone has such a sweetness that
it can awake the keenest musical delight, and that its attainable power
has no limits. The crescendo which I just now broke off can be made ever
so many times more tremendous on this ‘Toker Organ.’ A shut-off has to
be introduced here, for otherwise the strength of the tone-waves would
increase so that it might not only burst your ear-drums but even the
ceiling of the hall. Yet, in open space, on a mountain-top or from a
lighthouse in the open sea, one might with impunity fill a circumference
of miles with music. And because you are now assured that the sweet
tone, however powerful it may be, remains sweet and tender, and will
never become a deafening noise, I will once more swell to a hitherto
unknown majesty of power, but certainly not to be unendurable, as the
shut-off is introduced a long way before that point;—I will continue my
playing. I choose an old song known to you all, the text of which seems
appropriate to this festival week; ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’”
These words, spoken in English,—the young inventor was an American
engineer of the Edison school,—were repeated in French and German by
interpreters. Then the young man again seated himself at the instrument,
allowing the resounding bells to give out the melancholy melody, ever
fuller and fuller, so that it seemed to the listeners as if the whole
hall were filled with the vibrating waves of sound. When the crescendo
grew four or five times as loud as it was when the player had broken off
the first time, voices were heard here and there in the hall as if
crying in anguish: “Enough, enough!” The artist nodded and instituted
immediately a diminuendo, and gradually the melody, just as it had
mounted, so now it decreased to the most thread-like pianissimo, dying
away as if in the remotest distance.
Stormy applause now broke loose. Something never before known had been
experienced, life was enriched by a new sensation. Then followed the
social intermission. Many mounted the platform to examine the
instrument. A buzz of conversation filled the hall. Impressions
regarding the marvelous music were exchanged. A composer told his
delight that music had achieved now a new means of expression of such
inimitable beauty. An officer of the general staff remarked that, in the
infinite possibilities of overwhelming noise, there might be something
of strategic importance. A passionate lover of nature cried, “Well, I
must say: now that the sublime emptiness of heavenly space is to be
darkened with every kind of whirring aviating rabble, the splendid
silence of the mountains and the seas will be desecrated by electrically
bellowed street-songs.” On the other hand, a philosopher remarked
thoughtfully: “Boundless powers put into the hand of man—what prospects
open up!”
Coriolan expressed his views to his cousins: “Didn’t I tell you so?
Tingel-tangel, klingel-klangel.... Variété.... And the next number is
the appearance of Franka Garlett, who is still, unfortunately, our
kinswoman. Where is she hiding? She is not to be seen anywhere.”
Franka was in fact not present in the hall. All day long she had denied
herself to every one, so that she might devote her time uninterruptedly
to the preparation of her address. She had not even gone to the hall at
the beginning of the exercises, but had asked to be called only when it
was her turn to speak.
The moment had now arrived. She stepped out on the platform.
A murmur of admiration swept through the hall. She looked classically
beautiful in her trailing pure white gown with its long, winglike
sleeves, with no other adornment than a pearl necklace and the usual
small bouquet of violets at the heart-shaped opening of her bodice. Her
face was pallid in contrast to the black diadem of her tresses, coiled
high on her head. As she stepped forward, loud applause broke out. She
acknowledged it, without smiling, with a graceful inclination and
began:—
“Ye young maidens, listen to me!” Just as Helmer had suggested, she
delivered her proem and then repeated the argument of her first speech
in which she took as her text the injunction: “We are here to share in
man’s thought,” added to Goethe’s “We are here to share in men’s love.”
“Since she had thus spoken,” she added, “the domain had widened out ever
more and more,—the domain which woman had conquered for herself inch by
inch,—and the time was rapidly approaching when young womanhood was also
to share in man’s work, even in his political work. Now the important
question was not as formerly to win positions for themselves, but it was
important for them to make themselves capable and worthy of filling the
places waiting for them. In many countries—Australia, Finland, Norway,
and other lands—the doors of Parliament have been thrown open to women
as electors and elected; probably little by little the other countries
would follow. Probably, also, women—if once they entered deliberative
bodies—would be entrusted with official positions, and the ministries
would not remain closed to them. In short, equal rights and equal
positions would be theirs along the whole line: simply a terrible state
of things, unless we have sufficient imagination to conceive of
simultaneously altered forms of society and a more highly developed
community. The great distrust and displeasure, ordinarily felt against
any proposed change in conditions, are derived from the fact that the
environing conditions are supposed to be unchanged, and a harsh
dissonance is experienced, just such an one as a discordant tone must
give in a well-tuned instrument.
“Only one example: a woman as an executioner—what a horrid picture.
Restrain your emotion—if ever woman finds her place among the lawgivers
of the land, capital punishment will surely be abolished.
“Do you fully realize what is the gist of this question? Whether our sex
shall share in the direction of institutions and events is not merely a
question of the improvement of women’s lot, but it is also that of the
improvement of man’s lot. All the virtues which are entrusted to our
charge, and which are supposed to be superfluous in public affairs,
wholly conducted from the masculine side,—mildness, gentleness,
moderation, purity, the power to endure without complaining, and to love
with utter devotion,—all these virtues we must carry intact into the new
circles of activity. Before all, however, we must strive to possess
them, indeed; those virtues in a large measure are only ascribed to us
in poems.
“But that is not sufficient. If women are to enjoy equal rights with men
in deliberation and action, then they must also appropriate those
characteristics that are generally regarded as exclusively masculine
virtues: courage, steadfastness, energy, resolution, logical thought. On
the other hand, they must beware (thinking thus to legitimate their
claim to equal rights) of adopting those failings which are regarded as
masculine prerogatives: habits of drinking and brawling, brutality,
harshness, intemperance. If the emancipation of women develops in this
direction, as its opponents at the outset generally believed to be its
tendency, then it would be no blessing—it would be a curse. But this
will not happen. For humanity develops upward. And the coöperation of
both sexes in all callings will have as consequences that each will
adopt the virtues characteristic of the other and will drop the faults
and vices hitherto regarded as special privileges, so that they
themselves and the practice of their callings will be thereby ennobled.
Then there will not be mannish girls and coarse, manlike women, and no
effeminate men, but complete human beings of both sexes, standing on a
loftier plane!”
Here Franka was interrupted by applause. As she stood there in her
thoroughly gracious womanliness, in her absolutely feminine dignity, at
the same time performing her great mission with such unshaken
conviction, she seemed, indeed, to be the personification of that
ideal—of combined tenderness and strength—which she had conjured up
before the audience.
She continued speaking for some time longer. She depicted what had been
gained in positive social advantage by the participation of women in the
social duties of the present day, now that this movement was really on
the fair road to accomplishment. The battle against one of the worst
foes of humanity—alcoholism—had resulted in its greatest victories in
countries where women exercise an influence on the making of laws. The
war against another of the shameful blots on our civilization—the sexual
slavery of women; this is also to be eradicated only where pure and
blameless women have the courage to look the infamous evil in the face,
to call it by name, and to lead the revolt against it. Dueling and war
are two functions in which the feminine sex are forbidden to take part,
because they stand in absolute opposition to all those qualities and
feelings that characterize the feminine half of mankind. If now this
half should gain their due influence in the conduct of public life, then
those two deadly modes of settling disputes would no longer remain
legitimate. “The mission of woman, thus conceived, is anticipated and
poetically symbolized by the sovereign figure of the Madonna trampling a
dragon under her dainty foot.”
Here the speaker paused for a moment. On many sides there was applause.
Yet many refrained from expressing approbation, because they felt
offended by Franka’s words—what did she mean by dragon? Could she mean
militarism? Or the whole masculine sex? Would she like to see petticoat
government established? Remarks were heard: “What idiots these feminists
are!” “And she is so pretty; she certainly would not need to take up
such fads!”
On the other hand, those in the audience who did not understand German
were captivated by her appearance and entranced by her melodious voice.
They followed the occasional gestures with which she emphasized certain
phrases, and they kept their eyes fixed on her calm, white hands with
their long, tapering fingers and their rosy, gleaming nails. Her tone of
queenly calmness, now and again vibrating with restrained feeling,
exercised on all the same charm, whether they understood her spoken word
or not; and the very ones who could not understand applauded most
unrestrainedly, because they detected nothing in her speech to disturb
their convictions. Even De la Rochère clapped vigorously, as he
assuredly would not have done if he had known what she had been pleading
for: in his eyes there was nothing more ridiculous, nothing more
baneful, than the object aimed at in the Feminist Movement. In his eyes
“woman” was “une créature d’amour,” and this sentimentally uttered
epithet was, as he believed, the highest compliment that could be given
to a woman. Prince Victor Adolph found an artistic satisfaction in
listening to Franka’s address. For the cause itself, he had little
sympathy—it did not appeal to him.
In the Sielenburg group a painful emotion was stirred. Coriolan gave
utterance to an inarticulate grunt of disapprobation; the Countess Adele
sighed; Fräulein Albertine raised her eyes beseechingly to heaven; only
Baron Malhof cried, with sincere warmth: “Ah, she is a splendid young
creature!”
Franka proceeded: “I have indeed overpassed the limits that I once set
for myself as a field of labor. I am not accustomed to plead for the
conquest of professions and for attainment of political rights—all that
I leave to other champions of the Woman Movement. But if these callings
and rights come gradually into the hands of those of my sex, then they
must know how to exercise them; they must be educated to the task. Their
minds must be open and their interest must be awake to the universality
of the problems of civilization: these are all correlated, and for this
reason the only duty that I put before my young sisters was this: _Learn
how to think!_ But to-day, knowing that an echo from this address will
be carried to the remotest circles, and therefore also to those women
who stand in the van and who have already won such important strategic
points,—as, for example, the women in Australia,—I felt myself compelled
to drop those restrictions, in order to gaze out over the whole wide
field of the Woman Question.
“And, in conclusion, I turn to the men that hear me: We demand nothing
of your magnanimity. We do not come as petitioners, but as givers—for
the time being as desirous of giving; for still a portion of mankind,
both men and women, reject the gifts we would confer. ‘Let things remain
as they are!’ this fundamental desideratum of the conservative spirit is
still cherished by the majority of women. Therefore, even among them
there is still a large proportion of those opposed to the Feminist
Movement. Among men, on the other hand, it numbers an ever-increasing
host of adherents. The admission of collective energy to the work for
the elevation and enrichment of human society is a matter of equal
concern to both halves. The ideal of that social condition in which
brutality is to be driven out, in which gentleness, benevolence, and
beauty are to become effective, is, God knows, no exclusively feminine
ideal. It has swept before the vision of all the great teachers of
mankind; and that is to-day also the guiding star of all those poets,
thinkers, and statesmen who are yearning for a new and better day and
are laboring to bring it to pass.
“All these welcome the coöperation of women as a reinforcement of their
effective forces. The battle against ancient rooted evil, against the
dominion of force, is truly not easy, and the men who are conducting it
will only rejoice if to their aid come forth coadjutors and assistants
from the ranks of that half of mankind whose most distinctive domain
lies in those virtues which they are trying to diffuse.
“Aye, this is what the new Eve is to become: a coadjutor recognized as
of equal value; and for this purpose must you, my young sisters, educate
yourselves, and for this purpose must you, my noble brethren,”—and here
she extended one hand toward her auditors,—“help and sustain us.”
She bowed and stepped back. John Toker went to meet her and shook her
hand. The audience applauded vigorously.
During the social intermission following her address, Franka went down
into the hall. She was surrounded, and numerous admirers—both men and,
especially, women—asked to be introduced to her. She had the agreeable
feeling that she had made a good impression, and this conviction was
assured in her mind not so much by the warm reception given her by the
public as by the silent glance and pressure of the hand whereby Chlodwig
Helmer had expressed his satisfaction on the platform after she had
finished.
Baron Malhof now mingled with the group that surrounded her. He offered
her his arm: “Come, please. Your aunts are eager to offer you their
congratulations.”
“Really?” exclaimed Franka, astonished, as she took Malhof’s arm and
went with him. “I should never have believed it.”
At the other end of the hall sat the two old ladies and Coriolan.
“Here I come, bringing the conquering heroine,” said Malhof.
Countess Adele moved along on her sofa to give room for Franka. “You
surprised me ... to talk so long at one stretch without stammering and
with no paper in your hand ... that is remarkable. It is plain that you
have had much practice. Aren’t you very tired?”
“I am a little used up.... I have been dreading all day the ordeal of
speaking;—before so many people ... I mean those out in the wide
world ... and also to a certain degree before you. I realize how little
you approve of my speaking and of what I say.”
“Well, that is quite true,” said Aunt Albertine.
Coriolan wanted for once to be courteous: “Well, I must admit, your
voice is very pleasant and you do look very beautiful.”
“But you ought to wear gloves,” remarked Albertine; “you notice, don’t
you, that everybody wears gloves?”
Franka smiled. “But have you nothing to say about the subject of my
address?”
“If you were to kill me,” replied Coriolan, “I could not tell you now
what you talked about. I am incapable of following a lecture for five
minutes consecutively.... I only know that you preached, girls ought to
be like men, and men like girls ... and, truly, that is not to my taste.
It would be a fine muddle—but it is the end and aim of all modern
movements—the topsy-turvy world! Fortunately, it is not so easily turned
topsy-turvy, and whatever you may talk—man remains man, and woman
remains woman—and that is as it ought to be.”
The old countess came to Franka’s aid: “Franka only urged that both
ought to be better, and that surely could not do any harm to mankind.
But there is one thing that I should like to blame you for, Franka. If
you really want to improve people, why do you not draw their attention
to the injunctions of our holy Faith? And if you call attention to the
virtues of women, why do you forget the most womanly and most
important—piety? As far as I can remember, you did not say one single
word about religion.”
“I spoke of goodness, of mercy, and of mildness—is not that religion?”
“But, my dear friends,” cried Malhof at this juncture, “Miss Garlett is
certainly not an officer in the Salvation Army. Moreover, as far as
concerns these religious dogmas....”
Countess Adele evidently wanted to turn the conversation from this
theme, for Malhof’s skepticism was well known to her: “Franka, tell me
where are you going, when this week is ended? Don’t you want to come to
the Sielenburg for a while?”
“What am I going to do? I have not the slightest idea; I have an
invitation to London, but I am hesitating. If I go back to Austria, then
I will make you a visit at the Sielenburg. But now, I will say
good-evening. We shall meet again to-morrow.”
She had gone only a few steps when Prince Victor Adolph joined her.
“At last I can tell you, my dear young lady, how fascinating—but, no, I
will not pay you compliments; but I should like to have a little serious
discussion with you on what I heard you say this evening. You were
fascinating, that is a fact, but that is not the point. What I want to
talk about is the meaning and the scope of what you put before us. Your
idea certainly was not to please, but to attain something definite,
wasn’t it? This is what I should like to ask you about—your purpose. It
is not altogether clear to me.”
“So you expect me to give you a private lesson on the Woman Question?
Very good, you may ask what you desire to know, and I will answer.”
“Here is no place for a serious, undisturbed conversation, among all
these people fluttering about. Might I do myself the honor of calling on
you some afternoon?”
“Certainly, Your Highness.”
“Then perhaps to-morrow?”
She nodded: “Yes, to-morrow at three o’clock.”