Although the house to which Mr. Justin Lister now introduced me was
more orderly than many which I had observed on the streets through
which I had passed, the absence of woman from its walls was still
painfully apparent. It was as if warmth and light and flowers and sweet
perfumes were suddenly wanting in a place in which you had always been
accustomed to find them and to solace yourself with them. Indeed, the
suddenness of woman’s flight, if I may so term it, was brought much
more sharply to my consciousness by this visit to a house in which
she had so recently held sway. There were unmistakable signs on every
hand of unfinished feminine occupations. The piano stood open with a
sonata by Beethoven lying upon it; artistic needlework with the needles
still sticking in it lay in a window-seat, and a half finished sketch
upon an easel all bore mute but telling testimony to the irreparable
loss of gentle and artistic hands. Plants which had evidently had the
cherishing care of feminine tenderness were languishing in a window,
and a drooping canary disconsolately buried its head in its feathers
in its cage. But that which weighed most heavily upon my sunken
spirits was the indescribably pathetic sighing and whining of a large
Newfoundland dog as he constantly roamed from room to room in search of
a mistress’s caressing hand. I finally had to entreat Mr. Lister with
tears in my eyes to put him away where I could not see his grief.
Mr. Lister, as he explained to me, had lost not only his sweetheart and
prospective bride by the Great Woman’s Strike, but his mother and two
sisters as well. This fact raised the question in my mind as to how the
women were supported in their retirement, and I said:
“I can easily understand how the dockmen of London could stand the
hunger of protracted idleness with their muscular frames and rude
tastes, but how can refined and delicate women undergo the hardships of
such a siege?”
“You forget,” said Mr. Lister, “that the London dockmen had many
sympathizers who contributed food and money to their cause. The women
also have a legion of sympathizers, and if they had not, no man who
has a mother or a sister would see them want. The result is that the
women are like a vast army which is voluntarily supported by the very
persons with whom they are in controversy.”
The meal which Mr. Lister now prepared with his own hands, consisted
wholly of canned meats and vegetables which he had procured from
a neighbouring grocery. These he had warmed on the stove in their
original packages, in order, as he explained, “to save dish-washing.”
“Fourier,” he added, “was claimed by his disciples to be a truly great
man, and in his ‘Division of Labour’ he did not put dish-washing into
the ‘Class of Attractiveness,’ but into the ‘Class of Necessity,’ so
you see I am trying to dispense with it altogether.”
But the rudeness of the service or the incompleteness of the meal
scarcely provoked a thought, so deeply was my mind engrossed by the
consideration of the astounding facts of which I had that day for the
first time been made aware. I had read and heard many times before,
with a pang, of the breaking up of single households and the parting
of husbands and wives by divorce, but to have the ties which bound
together all men and all women sundered so suddenly, produced a groping
confusion of mind that made it impossible for me to think with any
continuity. I mention this fact because it may seem strange to the
reader that I did not immediately pursue my inquiry as to the specific
nature of the right which woman was asking of man. To tell the truth,
that inquiry had for the time being entirely passed out of my mind,
and I could only express such fitful ideas as came to me without any
premeditation.
When the simple meal was finished and the cans containing it were
(manlike) tucked away in the corner of a bookshelf, we settled
ourselves in easy chairs for the evening, and Mr. Lister produced
cigars. After we had smoked for a few minutes in silence, I said, as
the first thought that chanced to come into my mind:
“I understood you to say that the Strike included all classes of women,
but of course you excepted the courtesans. I cannot help wondering how
the Strike affects their condition.”
“Courtesans!” said Mr. Lister in a tone of deep surprise. “Don’t you
know that there are no courtesans?”
“No courtesans!” I exclaimed. I abruptly arose from my chair and
walked aimlessly into the centre of the room. Then, partly recovering
myself, I walked back and again sat down. The continuous succession
of surprises which the day had brought to me had insensibly worn upon
my nervous system. I repeated mechanically, more to myself than to Mr.
Lister, “No courtesans!”
“Yes,” said Mr. Lister. “I did not think but that you knew it, there
are no courtesans. When woman saw that the success of her movement
depended upon her solidly combining into one vast Sisterhood, she was
confronted at the outset by the fearful chasm which existed between
her and her so-called fallen sisters. How could the chasm be bridged?
Studying this problem with agonizing earnestness, woman soon saw that
the only way to solve it was for woman herself to at once and forever
abolish the courtesan class. She clearly recognized the fact, and it
was like a revelation to her, that the courtesan was but the extreme
victim of an intolerably cruel and satanic dispensation; that the
courtesan had been but a little more deeply trodden under foot than her
more respectable sister. With this new view woman utterly discarded
the idea that the courtesan was a special sinner to be approached with
a moral tract and a condescending kind of forgiveness. The courtesan
had been unspeakably sinned against, not only by man but by woman as
well, and more, perhaps, than any sufferer from cruelty on the globe,
deserved the loving pity and succour of her sisters. Seeing this, with
real contrition the women decided at once that it was their first
business to take these sisters who had been so cruelly perverted by
man, to their own bosoms, not as if they were prodigals, but as if they
were loved ones who had met with the most cruel blow of misfortune.”
“This, bear in mind, was the first great act in the Woman’s Strike. By
an edict which was as effectual and will be as celebrated in history as
Lincoln’s Proclamation of Emancipation, woman has forever abolished the
courtesan class. There can never be another courtesan, simply because
woman has formed a self-protecting league that will never permit
it. Dastards there may be among men who will hereafter seek to take
advantage of woman’s love, or her sweet complaisance toward man, but
if such there be it were better for them if they had never been born.
They only will be the sufferers. Held up to the scorn of the universe
and forever ostracised by woman, their punishment will be as heavy as
Cain’s. But whatever may take place, woman will never again allow one
of her own sex to lose caste through man’s treachery. They will defend
each other against the world.”
“Can it be possible,” I said, “that so terrible a problem as the social
evil, that has been hopelessly discussed by moral philosophers for
ages, could be solved so quickly, and by woman, too?”
“And who in God’s name,” said Mr. Lister, “if you stop to think of
it, who but woman could ever abolish the courtesan class? Certainly
not man. He is constantly creating courtesans. Nothing but a
self-protecting league among all women, uniting them into one common
sisterhood, could ever have stopped this evil. Moreover, the power to
do it came with their combination into a universal sisterhood.”
Too much overwhelmed by the strange things that I had heard to keep
up the conversation, I sank into a seemingly hopeless labyrinth of
confusing thoughts. This lasted till Mr. Lister, who observed that I
was very tired, showed me to my room, having first accomplished the
somewhat difficult and precarious task of filling a lamp with coal
oil. The room to which he conducted me was evidently the choicest
guest-chamber in the house, and it was equally evident that it had
not been occupied since the flight of the women. It was in the most
exquisite order. No man’s hand could have equalled the artistic
precision with which the snowy coverings were laid upon the spotless
bed. Weary as I was I gazed upon it with a feeling of profound awe. To
lie upon that couch which showed the last skilful touch of a vanished
woman’s hand was a profanation of which, thank Heaven, I was not
capable. A luxurious rug which lay on the floor beside the bed better
accorded with my feeling of deep humility. I stretched myself upon it,
and, completely worn out by the fatigues and mental shocks of the day,
swiftly sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]