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CHAPTER V. Here and
there were people walking; and in the shadowy corners sat young
couples,
apparently quite happy. "I
suppose you don't know the names of one of them," I suggested. "On
the contrary, I know nearly all," answered Hallie. "These apartments
are taken very largely by friends and acquaintances. You see, the
gardens and
roofs are in common, and there are the reading-rooms, ballrooms, and so
on. It
is pleasanter to be friends to begin with, and most of us get to be
afterward,
if we are not at first." "But
surely there are some disagreeable people left on earth!" "Yes;
but where there is so much more social life people get together in
congenial
sets," put in Nellie; "just as we used to in summer resorts." "There
aren't so many bores and fools as there used to be, John," Owen
remarked.
"We really do raise better people. Even the old ones have improved. You
see, life is so much pleasanter and more interesting." "We're
all healthier, Uncle John, because we're better fed; that makes us more
agreeable." "There's
more art in the world to make us happier," said Jerrold. "Hallie thinks it's all
due to her everlasting bread and
butter. Listen to that now!" From a
balcony up there in the moonlight came a delicious burst of melody; a
guitar
and two voices, and the refrain was taken up from another window, from
one
corner of the garden, from the roof; all in smooth accord. "Your
group here must be an operatic one," I suggested. But my nephew
answered
that it was not, but that music — good music — was so common now, and
so well
taught, that the average was high in both taste and execution. We sat
late that night, my new family bubbling over with things to say, and
filling my
mind with a confused sense of new advantages, unexplained and only half
believed. I could
not bring myself to accept as commonplace facts the unusual excellences
so glibly
described, and I suppose my silence showed this as well as what I said,
for my
sister presently intervened with decision: "We
must all stop this for to-night," she said. "John feels as if he was
being forcibly fed — he's got to rest. Then I suggest that to-morrow
Owen take
him in hand — go off for a tramp, why don't you? — and really
straighten out
things. You see, there are two distinct movements to consider, the
unconscious
progress that would have taken place anyway in thirty years, and then
the deliberate
measures adopted by the 'New Lifers,' and it's rather confusing. I've
labored
with him all the way home now; I think the man's point of view will
help." *
*
* Owen was a
big man with a strong, wholesome face, and a quizzical little smile of
his own.
He and I went up the river next morning in a swift motor boat, which
did not
batter the still air with muffled banging as they used to do, and
strolled off
in the bright spring sunshine into Palisade Park. "We've
saved all the loveliest of it — for keeps," he said. "Out here, where
the grass and trees are just as they used to be, you won't be bothered,
and one
expositor will be easier to handle than four at once. Now, shall I
talk, or
will you ask questions?" "I'd
like to ask a few questions first, then you can expound by the hour. Do
give me
the long and short of this 'women-waked-up'
proposition. What does it mean — to a man?" Owen
stroked his chin. "No
loss," he said at length; "at least, no loss that's not covered by a
greater gain. Do you remember the new biological theory in regard to
the
relative position of the sexes that was beginning to make headway when
we were
young?" I nodded.
"Ward's thory? Oh, yes; I heard something of it. Pretty far-fetched, it
seemed to me." "Far-fetched
and dear-bought, but true for all that. You'll have to swallow it. The
female
is the race type; the male is her assistant. It's established beyond
peradventure." I
meditated, painfully. I looked at Owen. He had just as happy and proud
a look
as if he was a real man — not merely an Assistant. I though of Jerrold
—
nothing cowed about him; of the officers and men on the ship; of such
men as I
had seen in the street. "I
suppose this applies in the main to remote origins?" I suggested. "It holds
good all through life — is just as true as it ever was." "Then
— do you mean that women run everything, and men are only helpers?" "Oh,
no; I wasn't talking about human life at all — only about sex. 'Running
things'
has nothing to do with that. Women run some businesses and are in
practically
all, but men still do the bulk of the world's work. There is a natural
division
of labor, after all." This was
pleasant to hear, but he dashed my hopes. "Men
do almost all the violent plain work —
digging and hewing and hammering; women, as a class, prefer the
administrative
and constructive kinds. But all that is open yet, and settling itself
gradually; men and women are working everywhere. The big change which
Nellie is
always referring to means simply that women 'waked up' to a realization
of the
fact that they were human beings." "What
were they before, pray?" "Only
female beings." "Female
human beings, of course," said I. "Yes;
a little human, but mostly female. Now they are mostly human. It is a
great
change." "I
don't follow you. Aren't they still wives and mothers?" "They
are still mothers — far more so than they were before, as a matter of
fact; but
as to being wives — there's a difference." I was
displeased, and showed it. "Well,
is it Polygamy, or Polyandry, or Trial Marriages, or what?" Owen gazed
at me with an expression very like Nellie's. "There
it is," he said. "You can only think about women in some sort of
relation to men, of a change in marriage relations as merely a change
in kind;
whereas what has happened is a change in degree.
We still have monogamous marriages, on a much purer and more lasting
plane than
a generation ago; but the word 'wife' does not mean what it used to." "Go
on — I can't follow you at all." "A
'wife' used to be a possession; 'wilt thou be mine?' said the lover,
and the
wife was 'his.' " "Well
— whose else is she now?" I asked with some sharpness. "She
does not 'belong' to anyone in that old sense. She is the wife of her
husband
in that she is his true lover, and that their marriage is legally
recorded; but
her life and work does not belong to him. He has no right to her
'services' any
more. A woman who is in a business — like Hallie, for instance — does
not give
it up when she marries." I stopped
him. "What! Isn't Hallie married?" "No
— not yet." "But
— that is her flat?" "Yes;
why not?" He laughed at me. "You see, you can't imagine a woman
having a home of her own. Hallie is twenty-three. She won't marry for
some
years, probably; but she has her position and is doing excellent work.
It's
only a minor inspectorship, but she likes it. Why shouldn't she have a
home?" "Why
doesn't she have it with you?" "Because
I like to live with my wife. Her business, and mine, are in Michigan;
Hallie's
in New York." "And
when she marries she keeps on being an inspector?" I queried. "Precisely.
The man who marries that young woman will have much happiness, but he
will not
'own' her, and she will not be his wife in the sense of a servant. She
will not
darn his socks or cook his meals. Why should she?" "Will
she not nurse his babies?" "No;
she will nurse her babies — their
babies, not 'his' merely." "And
keep on being an inspector?" "And
keep on being an inspector — for four hours a day — in two shifts. Not
a bit
more difficult than cooking, my dear boy." "But
— she will not be with her children — " "She
will be with her children twenty hours out of the twenty-four — if she
wants
to. But Hallie's not specially good with children. . . . You see, John,
the
women have specialized — even in motherhood." Then he
went on at considerable length to show how there had arisen a
recognition of
far more efficient motherhood than was being given; that those women
best
fitted for the work had given eager, devoted lives to it and built up a
new
science of Humaniculture; that no woman was allowed to care for her
children
without proof of capacity. "Allowed
by whom?" I put in. "By
the other women — the Department of Child Culture — the Government." "And
the fathers — do they submit to this, tamely?" "No;
they cheerfully agree and approve. Absolutely the biggest thing that
has
happened, some of us think, is that new recognition of the importance
of
childhood. We are raising better people now." I was
silent for a while, pulling up bits of grass and snapping small sticks
into
inch pieces. "There
was a good deal of talk about Eugenics, I remember," I said at last,
"and — what was that thing? Endowment of Motherhood?" "Yes
— man's talk," Owen explained. "You see, John, we couldn't look at
women but in one way — in the old days; it was all a question of sex
with us —
inevitably, we being males. Our whole idea of improvement was in better
breeding; our whole idea of motherhood was in each woman's devoting her
whole
life to her own children. That turbid freshet of an Englishman, Wells,
who did
so much to stir his generation, said 'I am wholly feminist' — and he
was! He
saw women only as females and wanted them endowed as such. He was never
able to
see them as human beings and amply competent to take care of
themselves. "Now,
our women, getting hold of this idea that they really are human
creatures,
simply blossomed forth in new efficiency. They specialized the food
business —
Hallie's right about the importance of that — and then they specialized
the
baby business. All women who wish to, have babies; but if they wish to
take
care of them they must show a diploma." I looked
at him. I didn't like it — but what difference did that make? I had
died thirty
years ago, it appeared. "A
diploma for motherhood!" I repeated; but he corrected me. "Not
at all. Any woman can be a mother — if
she's normal. I said she had to have a diploma as a child-culturist —
quite a
different matter." "I
don't see the difference." "No,
I suppose not. I didn't, once," he said. "Any and every mother was
supposed to be competent to 'raise' children — and look at the kind of
people
we raised! You see, we are beginning to learn — just beginning. You
needn't
imagine that we are in a state of perfection — there are more new
projects up
for discussion than ever before. We've only made a start. The
consequences, so
far, are so good that we are boiling over with propositions for future
steps." "Go
on about the women," I said. "I want to know the worst and become
resigned." "There's
nothing very bad to tell," he continued cheerfully. "When a girl is
born she is treated in all ways as if she was a boy; there is no hint
made in
any distinction between them except in the perfectly open physiological
instruction as to their future duties. Children, young humans, grow up
under
precisely the same conditions. I speak, of course, of the most advanced
people
— there are still backward places — there's plenty to do yet. "Then
the growing girls are taught of their place and power as mothers — and
they
have tremendously high ideals. That's what has done so much to raise
the
standard in men. It came hard, but it worked." I raised
my head with keen interest, remarking, "I've glimpsed a sort of 'iron
hand
in a velvet glove' back of all this. What did they do?" Owen
looked rather grim for a moment. "The
worst of it was twenty or twenty-five years back. Most of those men are
dead.
That new religious movement stirred the socio-ethical sense to sudden
power; it
coincided with the women's political movement, urging measures for
social
improvement; its enormous spread, both by preaching and literature, lit
up the
whole community with new facts, ideas and feelings. Health — physical
purity —
was made a practical ideal. The young women learned the proportion of
men with
syphilis and gonorrhoea and decided it was wrong to marry them. That
was
enough. They passed laws in every State requiring a clean bill of
health with
every marriage license. Diseased men had to die bachelors — that's
all." "And
did men submit to legislation like that?" I protested. "Why
not? It was so patently for the protection of the race — of the family
— of the
women and children. Women were solid for it, of course — and all the
best men
with them. To oppose it was almost a confession of guilt and injured a
man's
chances of marriage." "It
used to be said that any man could find a woman to marry him," I
murmured,
meditatively. "Maybe
he could — once. He certainly cannot now. A man who has one of those
diseases
is so reported — just like small-pox, you see. Moreover, it is
registered
against him by the Department of Eugenics — physicians are required to
send in
lists; any girl can find out." "It
must have left a large proportion of unmarried women." "It
did, at first. And that very thing was of great value to the world.
They were
conscientious, strong women, you see, and they poured all their
tremendous
force into social service. Lots of them went into child culture — used
their
mother-power that way. It wasn't easy for them; it wasn't easy for the
left-over men, either!" "It
must have increased prostitution to an awful extent," I said. Owen shook
his head and regarded me quizzically. "That
is the worst of it," he said. "There isn't any." I sat up.
I stood up. I walked up and down. "No prostitution! I — I can't believe
it. Why, prostitution is a social necessity, as old as Nineveh!". Owen
laughed outright. "Too late, old man; too late! I know we used to think
so. We did use to call it a 'social necessity,' didn't we? Come, now,
tell me
what necessity it was to the women." I stopped
my march and looked at him. "To
the women," he repeated. "What did they want of prostitution? What
good did it do them?" "Why
— why — they made a living at it," I replied, rather lamely. "Yes,
a nice, honorable, pleasant, healthy living, didn't they? With all
women
perfectly well able to earn an excellent living decently; with all
women fully
educated about these matters and knowing what a horrible death was
before them
in this business; with all women brought up like human beings and not
like
over-sexed female animals, and with all women quite free to marry if
they
wished to — how many, do you think, would choose that kind of business?
"We
never waited for them to choose it, remember! We fooled them and lied
to them
and dragged them in — and drove them in — forced them in — and kept
them as
slaves and prisoners. They didn't really enjoy the life; you know that.
Why
should they go into it if they do not have to — to accommodate us?" "Do
you mean to tell me there are no wantons — among women?" I demanded. "No,
I don't mean any such thing. There are various kinds of over-developed
and
morbidly developed women as there are men, and we haven't weeded them
out
entirely. But the whole thing is now recognized as pathological — cases
for
medical treatment, or perhaps surgical. Besides, wantonness is not
prostitution. Prostitution is a social crime of the worst order. No one
thing
did more harm. The women stamped it out." "Legislated
us all into morality, did they?" I inquired sarcastically. "Legislation
did a good deal; education did more; the new religion did most; social
opinion
helped. You remember we men never really tried to legislate against
prostitution — we wanted it to go on." "Why,
surely we did legislate against it — it was of no use!" I protested. "No;
we legislated against the women, but not against the men, or the thing
itself.
We examined the women, and fined them, and licensed them — and never
did
anything against the men. Women legislators used very different
measures, I
assure you." "I
suppose it is for the good of the world," I presently admitted; "but
— " "But
you don't quite like to think of men in this new and peculiar position
of
having to be good!" "Frankly
— I don't. I'm willing to be good, but — I
don't like to be given no choice." "Well,
now, look at it. As it was, we had one way, according to what we
thought was
good for us. Rather than lead clean, contented lives at some expense to
ourselves in the way of moral and physical control, we deliberately
sacrificed
an army of women to a horrible life and a more horrible death, and
corrupted
the blood of the nation. It was on the line of health they made their
stand,
not on 'morality' alone. Under our new laws it is held a crime to
poison
another human being with syphilis, just as much as to use prussic
acid." "Nellie
said you had no crime now." "Oh,
well, Nellie is an optimist. I suppose she meant the old kinds and
definitions.
We don't call things 'crimes' any more. And then, really, there is not
a
hundredth part of the evil done that there used to be. We know more,
you see,
and have less temptation." We were
silent for a while. I watched a gull float and wheel over the blue
water. Big
airships flew steadily along certain lines. Little ones sailed about on
all
sides. One darted
over our heads and lit with a soft swoop on an open promontory. "Didn't
they use to buzz?" I asked Owen. "Of
course; just as the first motor boats thumped and banged abominably. We
will
not stand for unnecessary noise, as we used to." "How
do you stop it? More interference with the individual rights?" "More
recognition of public rights. A bad noise is a nuisance, like a bad
smell. We
didn't used to mind it much — but the women did. You see, what women
like has
to be considered now." "It
always was considered!" I broke in with some heat. "The women of
America were the most spoiled, pampered lot on earth; men gave up to
them in
all ways." "At
home, perhaps, but not in public. The city and state weren't run to
suit them
at all." "Why
should they be? Women belong at home. If they push into a man's world
they
ought to take the consequences." Owen
stretched his long legs and looked up at the soft, brilliant blue above
us. "Why
do you call the world 'man's?" he asked. "It was
man's; it ought to be. Woman's place
is in the home. I suppose I sound like ancient history to you?" and I
laughed a little shamefacedly. "We have
rather lost that point of
view," Owen guardedly admitted. "You see —" and then he laughed.
"It's no use, John; no matter how we put it to you it's a jar. The
world's
thought has changed — and you have got to catch up!" "Suppose
I refuse? Suppose I really am unable?" "We
won't suppose it for a moment," he said cheerfully. "Ideas are not
nailed
down. Just take out what you had and insert some new ones. Women are
people —
just as much as we are; that's a fact,
my dear fellow. You'll have to accept it." "And
are men allowed to be people, too?" I asked gloomily. "Why,
of course! Nothing has interfered with our position as human beings; it
is only
our sex supremacy that we have lost." "And
do you like it?" I demanded. "Some
men made a good deal of fuss at first — the old-fashioned kind, and all
the
worst varieties. But modern men aren't worried in the least over their
position. . . . See here, John, you don't grasp this — women are vastly
more
agreeable than they used to be." I looked
at him in amazement. "Fact!"
he said. "Of course, we loved our own mothers and daughters and
sisters,
more or less, no matter how they looked or what they did; and when we
were 'in
love' there was no limit to the glory of 'the beloved object.' But you
and I
know that women were pretty unsatisfactory in the old days." I refused
to admit it, but he went on calmly. "The
'wife and mother' was generally a tired, nervous, overworked creature.
She soon
lost her beauty and vigor, her charm and inspiration. We were forever
chasing
fine, handsome, highly desirable young girls, and forever reducing them
to
weary, worn-out women — in the name of love! The gay outsiders were
always a
fresh attraction — as long as we couldn't have them. . . . See here,
John,
can't you understand? Our old way of using women wasn't good for them — nor for us, either, by the way — but it
simply spoiled the women. They were hopelessly out of the running with
us in
all human lines; their business was housework, and ours was world work.
There
was very little real companionship. "Now
women are intelligent, experienced, well-trained citizens, fully our
equals in
any line of work they take up, and with us everywhere. It's made the
world
over!" "Made
it 'feminist' through and through, I suppose!" I groaned. "Not
a bit! It used to be 'masculist' through and through; now it's just human. And, see here — women are more
attractive, as women, than they used to be." I stared
at this, unbelieving. "That's
true! You see, they are healthy; there's a new standard of physical
beauty —
very Greek — you must have noticed already the big, vigorous,
fresh-colored,
free-stepping girls." I had,
even in my brief hours of observation. "They
are far more perfect physically, better developed mentally, with a
higher moral
sense — yes, you needn't look like that! We used to call them our
'moral
superiors,' just because they had the one virtue we insisted on — and
we never
noticed the lack in other lines. Women to-day are truthful, brave,
honest,
generous, self-controlled; they are — jollier, more reasonable, more
companionable." "Well,
I'm glad to hear that," I rather grudgingly admitted. "I was afraid
they would have lost all — charm." "Yes,
we used to feel that way, I remember. Funny. We were
convinced on the one hand that there was nothing to a woman but her
eternal
womanliness, and on the other we were desperately afraid her
womanliness would
disappear the moment she turned her mind to anything else. I assure you
that
men love women, in general and in particular, much more than they used
to." I
pondered. "But — what sort of home life do you have?" "Think
for a moment of what we used to have — even in a 'happy home.' The man
had the
whole responsibility of keeping it up — his business life and interests
all
foreign to her. She had the whole labor of running it — the direct
manual labor
in the great majority of cases — the management in any case. They were
strangers in an industrial sense. "When
he came home he had to drop all his line of thought — and she hers,
except that
she generally unloaded on him the burden of inadequacy in housekeeping.
Sometimes he unloaded, too. They could sympathize and condole, but
neither
could help the other. "The
whole thing cost like sin, too. It was a living nightmare to lots of
men — and
women! The only things they had in common were their children and
'social
interests.' "Well
— nowadays, in the first place every body is easy about money. (I'll go
into
that later.) No woman marries except for love —
and good judgment, too; all women are more desirable — more men want
to marry them — and that improves the men! You see, a man naturally
cares more
for women than for anything else in life — and they know it! It's the
handle
they lift by. That's what has eliminated tobacco." "Do
you mean to say that these women have arbitrarily prevented smoking?" I
do
not smoke myself, but I was angry nevertheless. "Not
a bit of it, John — not a bit of it. Anybody can smoke who wants to." "Then
why don't they?" "Because
women do not like it." "What
has that to do with it? Can't a man do what he wants to — even if they
don't
like it?" "Yes,
he can; but it costs too much. Men like tobacco, but they like love
better, old
man." "Is
it one of your legal requirements for marriage?" "No,
not legal; but women disapprove of tobacco-y lovers, husbands, fathers;
they
know that the excessive use of it is injurious, and won't marry a heavy
smoker.
But the main point is that they simply don't like the smell of the
stuff, or of
the man who uses it — most women, that is." "But
what difference does it make? I dare
say that most women did not like it before, but surely a man has a
right —
" "To
make himself a disgusting object to his wife," Owen interrupted.
"Yes, he has a 'right' to. We would have a right to bang on a tin pan,
I
suppose — or to burn rubber, but he wouldn't be popular!" "It's
tyranny!" I protested. "Not
at all," he said, imperturbably. "We had no idea what a nuisance we
used to be, that's all; or how much women put up with that they did not
like at
all. I asked a woman once — when I was a bachelor — why she objected to
tobacco, and she frankly replied that a man who did not smoke was much
pleasanter to kiss! She was a very fascinating little widow — I confess
it made
me think." "It's
the same with liquor, I suppose? Let's get it all told." "Yes,
only more so. Alcoholism was a race evil of the worst sort. I cannot
imagine
how we put up with it so long." "Is
this spotless world of yours one solid temperance union?" "Practically.
We use some light wines and a little spirits yet, but infrequently — in
this
country, at least, and Europe is vastly improved. "But that was a much more serious thing than the other. It wasn't a mere matter of not marrying! They used all kinds of means. But come on — we'll be late to dinner; and dinner, at least, is still a joy, Brother John." |