“Into our hands hath it been given to settle the course of the
world.”—_Shah Nameh_, FIRDAUSI.
We were a committee—the Doctor, Janet, the Altruist, and I—to consider
what could be done for the women and girls in Brand Street. The Altruist
wished us to undertake some work in connection with Barnet House.
We sat round the table in the parlour of my boarding-house. The cloth
had been removed. A block of paper and a pencil lay in front of each of
us, ready for taking notes.
“I like the way we have,” said Janet, who looked the incarnation of the
spirit of mischief, “of trying to teach other people how to live because
we do not know how ourselves.”
“You and I have not erred very deeply in that way, Janet,” said the
Doctor, drily. “You must not accuse yourself where you do not deserve
it.”
The Altruist looked impatient. “We want to consider,” he said, “how we
can help our friends in Brand Street. We must begin at once. I have an
appointment at four.”
“Another lecture?” asked Janet.
“Yes,” answered the Altruist, wearily. “I get invitations almost every
day to lecture on life in the slums.”
“Paul,” said Janet, solemnly, though her eyes were dancing, “you will be
talking in the park next on Sunday afternoons, and we will all come and
stand with the crowd to listen to you.”
“Perhaps I shall,” said the Altruist. “If it is necessary to convince
the working-man of my sympathy, I shall be glad to do it. I should like
to see my up-town friends standing side by side with my neighbours from
the slums. Only,” he added thoughtfully, “I doubt if my voice could
carry. I have said definitely that I will not speak to more than three
thousand people. And in the open air—”
Then we opened the discussion. Janet suggested that we begin with
private theatricals for the poor.
“They need to have their minds taken off their troubles,” she said. “We
cannot really better their condition. Perhaps we can divert their
attention.”
The Altruist withheld his opinion of this idea. He did not wish to
discourage Janet. It was partly in order to give her a practical
interest that he had started the work. But an expression came into his
face that made Janet whisper,—
“It really is not polite, Paul, to look bored when other people are
talking.”
“We want to accomplish something that will be of permanent service,” he
began. “Mere temporary distraction will not do. I thought that you three
women would know how to bring them something of the graciousness and
sweetness of your own lives.”
“How can we effect anything whatever,” asked the Doctor, “while those
women live under the conditions in which they must live? They cannot
even keep clean. It is absolutely impossible. Cleanliness is the most
expensive luxury in the world. What beauty and graciousness can be
brought into their lives so long as they cannot take baths?”
“We cannot correct at once,” the Altruist answered, “all the evil
consequences of our present system. But we can bring these people into
touch with higher spiritual ideals—”
“We can form clubs,” I hastened to say, wishing to appease the Doctor by
means of a practical suggestion. “We can teach the women to sew, or we
can have a literary club and teach them how to read.”
The Altruist’s face brightened.
“Yes,” he said, “these cruder methods open the way. When our neighbours
understand that we want to meet them on the common ground of human
brotherhood, that we ignore all class distinctions—”
“Don’t you think,” asked the Doctor, eyeing the Altruist sharply, “that
you create class distinctions in order to wipe them out? I thought that
the idea of any class distinction ran counter to the principles of
American democracy.”
“It is impossible to ignore the fact that the distinctions do exist,”
answered the Altruist. “The lines of caste are just as exclusive here as
in Europe.”
“And are you willing to forget them, and to tell those people that you
meet them on terms of absolute equality? I think that you will do it,”
smiled the Doctor, “just as long as you are not taken at your word.”
There was something about the Altruist that made him superior to petty
annoyance of this kind. He was not angry.
“We can convince them of our sympathy, we can share with them our faith
and our aspiration,” he said gently.
“My faith and aspiration would be a great support to them,” murmured
Janet, her lip curling in self-scorn. “No, cousin Paul, just at present
the relations between Providence and me are a little strained, and the
greatest service I can do the world is to hold my peace. There is no
command to go into all the world and preach the interrogation point.”
After beating the air for this length of time we began to work, and in
ten minutes had formed a plan for a woman’s club. It was to meet every
week at Barnet House. It was to be a literary club, carried on by
reading and by lectures. Once a week there was to be a social evening.
“We must have a party at least as often as that,” pleaded the Altruist.
“Our parties are a great success. The neighbours do so delight in
lemonade.”
“In short,” said Janet, “we will elevate the masses by Swinburne and
_frappee_!”
We reproved her for her flippancy, and proceeded to work out the details
of our plan.