Complete Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman

by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

  ‘You know what they say about us — call us “surplus women”, say we are “denied our natural functions”, and have become “an economic burden on the state”, call the men “producers”, and us “consumers”. And then here’s this talk about a “grant” for us, about government aid and so on. It is like — why it is like the way they talked about the suddenly enfranchised negroes in the States.’

  ‘Well—’ Lady Eleanore narrowed her fine eyes with an air of judicial consideration. ‘There are points in common, Susan.’

  ‘Perhaps — but there are points of difference also. What I have to suggest is this: Everyone of us women, given suitable occupation, is able to produce more than she consumes, even now. Very well; now if we can do three things: A, develop our opportunities; B, increase our efficiency; and, C, decrease our expenses — then we should become not only an independent class of citizens, but a productive class — a positive benefit to the community.’

  ‘That’s all true enough,’ agreed Gertrude Murray, ‘but what miracle is going to do all this?’

  ‘No miracle at all,’ answered Susan calmly. ‘Just the laws of nature! What we ought to realize first is that this is not a personal matter; it is a social phenomenon. It is sudden and of course, transient, but the practical fact is that we constitute an enormous body of women who must be celibates.’

  ‘Unless—’ commented Gertrude grimly.

  ‘Oh, yes, I know the “unlesses”. But we women of England are not going to accept polygamy, much less prostitution. No — we are a vast mass of enforced celibates. We know perfectly well that the way to bear it is to fill our lives with work that is loved and honored, big satisfying work which not only tires us and feeds us, but fills our hearts.’

  ‘We can’t all be reformers — even if we earn our living by it,’ urged Joan.

  ‘Of course not — nor do we wish to be. But here is what I have in mind: a simple form of organization, with some straightforward name like the Women’s Economic Alliance, which shall have for its purpose those three things I spoke of: to develop the opportunity, to increase the efficiency, and to decrease the expenses of women.’

  ‘Go on,’ they said, as she looked around for comment.

  ‘Of course I have only a sketch of it in mind,’ she continued; ‘but it would be something like this. A headquarters in town, of course; in the very best hands; women known and trusted by everybody. There would be at first a mass of secretarial and research work to do; no less than listing and classifying all the women who wished to join; sending in name, address, capacity, preferred occupation, and one shilling.’

  ‘Some mightn’t have it,’ suggested Joan.

  ‘We’d begin with those who had — there would be plenty, and that would carry expenses from the start.

  ‘The first duty of this organization would be to open a national employment agency for women, with branch after branch till every town and village had its “WEA” office. Then all those who wanted to employ women could have an authoritative place of reference, and the workers too. That would be to take the best advantage of existing conditions.

  ‘Second comes the educational work; to be developed as fast as our funds increased. It could begin with small local classes — you see how this works, locally, don’t you? Say that we here, with Lady Eleanore to head it, proceeded to take a little economic census of women, classify it, and send it in to headquarters; then we could open evening classes for such of our girls as had no trade whatever, and not only give them such special instruction as we could, but general education too, lectures, cinema pictures, legitimate helpfulness. In time we’d have a high grade vocational college, with branches everywhere, with a traveling library, with a special corps of lectures and teachers — we would deliberately plan to lift the standard of efficiency among all our women.’

  ‘What’s to make them come in?’ questioned Gertrude.

  ‘Economic advantage of course. Prompt and reliable employment service. The help of solidarity. Every year would build up the value of our “WEA” recommendation.’

  ‘“WE Alliance”,’ said Gertrude, “‘WE All” — there’s your “we-all”!’

  ‘All right — go on — how are you going to decrease living expenses?’

  ‘By the simplest of economic devices; the same old easy method of organization. The reason we never could do it before was because of the concentric force of the family circle. Now, because we women have lost our chance of having any family circle, we are — by virtue of our misfortune — able to combine.’

  A steady courage shone on each face. Every one of them had lost that chance — and they knew how many more were with them.

  ‘Don’t you see,’ urged Susan. ‘It’s no fault of ours. We haven’t wanted to be celibates. The men are — gone, that’s all. And it leaves us in the same class as the bees and ants everybody’s always quoting. We can’t be mothers, but can be — Co-Mothers, Sisters, Co-Workers for the common good.’

  ‘I thought all this was for our own advantage,’ said Gertrude.

  ‘It has to be, primarily. What we have to do first is to take ourselves off the shoulders of our men; to show that we are not mere consumers, but producers also. See, now. Each of us women, to live, has to pay for food, clothing, shelter, service. Now this organization will establish, one after another, residence groups, which will at the same time furnish employment to some of our members and living accommodations to others.

  ‘Take the one field of laundry work; in a given village there is just so much of this work to be done. A “WEA Laundry” is opened, meeting the needs of the town, regularly employing as many laundresses as are needed, and doing the work of all WEA members at cost price. A “WEA Bakery and Cook-Shop”, “WEA Sewing and Mending rooms” — millinery — dressmaking — all organized, all furnishing steady employment on the one hand and reduced rates to members on the other. It is good economics — not a new device.’

  ‘And living accommodations?’

  ‘Yes — in the big towns we will open Club-houses; not “Homes,” you know, but agreeable club-houses for working women of different grades and at different rates, but — all WEA.

  Then our producing groups play into the hands of all our living groups—’

  Joan Whyte sat up suddenly. ‘I see!’ she said. ‘We have women on the land — small farmers — market gardeners — fruit-raisers — jam-makers — poultry, eggs, butter—’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Susan. ‘Little by little we “consumers” become producers. We learn to raise our own food — as cheaply as we can, with good conditions and wages for the workers.’

  ‘I see, too,’ said Gertrude. ‘We work productively, and not competitively; for pure human advantage — not to scrape profits off each other. It’s good business.’

  ‘Of course I’m looking way ahead — and it is a splendid picture. You see any woman could join. Rich women could, to profit by the employment bureau, and the reliable products — no sweat-shops, no starving laborers — no exploitation; and poor women would be enormously advantaged by the wide labor exchange, the reduced living expenses, and the educational features. There need not be any more of these helpless “unskilled” girls — after a few years.

  ‘But immediately, and locally, we can begin just where we live, starting one WEA branch after another—’

  ‘They are not branches, Susan,’ suggested Lady Eleanore, ‘they are roots, separate plants that “run” like strawberries. Also the Central Bureau can begin at once. I’ll write to Maud Russell — and Constance Howard — the registration and employment part can start at once. All we need to begin with is a little money for initial advertising — there’ll be no trouble about that.’

  ‘I can reach every girl in the village, with no expense whatever,’ suggested Mrs Bates, ‘and so can others in their villages. All it needs is somebody to go around and talk about it. You can do that, Miss Page, I’m sure.’

  ‘I can try,’ said Susan.

  In ordinary time
s a plan like this would have had a hard time in reaching the consciousness of the people; a harder time in rousing action. But this period was one of wide social upheaval, of hearts exalted, of eyes opened to large issues. Moreover these ‘Surplus Women’ were an immediate problem, by some considered an immediate menace.

  The Central Bureau was opened at once, under the most reliable management, and its appeal for registration promptly and widely answered. The existing field of employment was soon filled — and then the Alliance set to work on its growing task of education, organization, and industrial development.

  As an immediate meeting of a public need its usefulness was undeniable.

  As an educational influence it became a power with no visible limits.

  And then, from year to year, its income growing from steadily enlarging membership and from its widening industrial enterprise, it became a power in wealth as well as in enlightment and organization, a band of protection and defense, a basis of safety, a source of hope and a steady inspiration to all those women, no longer a ‘surplus’ but a benefit to the whole nation.

  ‘It is against nature,’ said Uncle Percy. ‘Women cannot work together.’

  ‘See us do it,’ replied Susan cheerfully.

  JOAN’S DEFENDER

  JOAN’S mother was a poor defense. Her maternal instinct did not present that unbroken front of sterling courage, that measureless reserve of patience, that unfailing wisdom which we are taught to expect of it. Rather a broken reed was Mrs Marsden, broken in spirit even before her health gave way, and her feeble nerves were unable to stand the strain of adjudicating the constant difficulties between Joan and Gerald.

  ‘Mother! Mo-o-ther!’ would rise a protesting wail from the little girl. ‘Gerald’s pulling my hair!’

  ‘Cry baby!’ her brother would promptly retort. ‘Tell tale! Run to mother — do!’

  Joan did — there was no one else to run to — but she got small comfort.

  ‘One of you is as much to blame as the other,’ the invalid would proclaim. And if this did not seem to help much: ‘If he teases you, go into another room!’

  Whether Mrs Marsden supposed that her daughter was a movable body and her son a fixed star as it were, did not appear, but there was small comfort to be got from her.

  ‘If you can’t play nicely together you must be separated. If I hear anything more from you I’ll send you to your room — now be quiet!’

  So Joan sulked, helplessly, submitted to much that was painful and more that was contumelious, and made little remonstrance. There was, of course, a last court of appeal, or rather a last threat — that of telling father.

  ‘I’ll tell father! I’ll tell father! Then you’ll be sorry!’ her tormentor would chant, jumping nimbly about just out of reach, if she had succeeded in any overt act of vengeance.

  ‘I shall have to tell your father!’ was the last resource of the mother on the sofa.

  If father was told, no matter by whom, the result was always the same — he whipped them both. Not so violently, to be sure, and Joan secretly believed less violently in Gerald’s case than in hers, but it was an ignominious and unsatisfying punishment which both avoided.

  ‘Can’t you manage to keep two children in order?’ he would demand of his wife. ‘My mother managed eleven — and did the work of the house too.’

  ‘I wish I could, Bert, dear,’ she would meekly reply. ‘I do try — but they are so wearying. Gerald is too rough, I’m afraid. Joan is always complaining.’

  ‘I should think she was!’ Mr Marsden agreed irritably. ‘Trust a woman for that!’

  And Joan, though but nine years old, felt that life was not worth living, being utterly unjust. She was a rather large-boned, meager child, with a whiney voice, and a habit of crying, ‘Now stop!’ whenever Gerald touched her. Her hair was long, fine and curly, a great trouble to her as well as to her mother. Both were generally on edge for the day, before those curls were all in order, and their principal use appeared to be as handles for Gerald, who was always pulling them. He was a year and a half older than Joan, but not much bigger, and of a somewhat puny build.

  Their father, a burly, loud-voiced man, heavy of foot and of hand, looked at them both with ill-concealed disapproval, and did not hesitate to attribute the general deficiencies of his family wholly to their feeble mother and her ‘side of the house.’

  ‘I’m sure I was strong as a girl, Bert — you remember how I used to play tennis, and I could dance all night.’

  ‘Oh! remember,’ he would answer. ‘Blaming your poor health on me, I suppose — that seems to be the way nowadays. I don’t notice that other women give out just because they’re married and have two children — two!’ he repeated scornfully, as if Mrs Marsden’s product were wholly negligible. ‘And one of them a girl!’

  ‘Girls are no good!’ Gerald quickly seconded. ‘Girls can’t fight or climb or do anything. And they’re always hollering. Huh! I wouldn’t be a girl — !’ Words failed him.

  Such was their case, as it says so often in the Arabian Nights, and then something pleasant happened. Uncle Arthur came for a little visit, and Joan liked him. He was mother’s brother, not father’s. He was big, like father, but gentle and pleasant, and he had such a nice voice, jolly but not loud.

  Uncle Arthur was a western man, with a ranch, and a large family of his own. He had begun life as a physician, but weak lungs drove him into the open. No one would ever think of him now as ever having been an invalid.

  He stayed for a week or so, having some business to settle which dragged on for more days than had been counted on, and gave careful attention to the whole family.

  Joan was not old enough, nor Mrs Marsden acute enough, to note the gradual disappearance of topic after topic from the conversation between Uncle Arthur and his host. But Mr Marsden’s idea of argument was volume of sound, speed in repetition, and a visible scorn for those who disagreed with him, and as Arthur Warren did not excel in these methods he sought for subjects of agreement. Not finding any, he contented himself with telling stories, or listening — for which there was large opportunity.

  He bought sweetmeats for the children, and observed that Gerald got three-quarters, if not more; brought them presents, and found that if Gerald did not enjoy playing with Joan’s toys, he did enjoy breaking them.

  He sounded Gerald, as man to man, in regard to these habits, but that loyal son, who believed his father to be a type of all that was worthy, and who secretly had assumed the attitude of scorn adopted by that parent toward his visitor, although civil enough, was little moved by anything his uncle might say.

  Dr Warren was not at all severe with him. He believed in giving a child the benefit of every doubt, and especially the benefit of time.

  ‘How can the youngster help being a pig?’ he asked himself, sitting quite silent and watching Gerald play ball with a book just given to Joan, who cried ‘Now sto-op!’ and tried to get it away from him.

  ‘Madge Warren Marsden!’ he began very seriously, when the children were quarreling mildly in the garden, and the house was quiet: ‘Do you think you’re doing right by Joan — let alone Gerald? Is there no way that boy can be made to treat his sister decently?’

  ‘Of course you take her part — I knew you would,’ she answered fretfully. ‘You always were partial to girls — having so many of your own, I suppose. But you’ve no idea how irritating Joan is, and Gerald is extremely sensitive — she gets on his nerves. As for my nerves! I have none left! Of course those children ought to be separated. By and by when we can afford it, we mean to send Gerald to a good school; he’s a very bright boy — you must have noticed that?’

  ‘Oh yes, he’s bright enough,’ her brother agreed. ‘And so is Joan, for that matter. But look here, Madge — this thing is pretty hard on you, isn’t it — having these two irreconcilables to manage all the time?’

  The ready tears rose and ran over. ‘Oh Arthur, it’s awful! I do my best — but I never was good with children —
and with my nerves — you know, being a doctor.’

  He did know, rather more than she gave him credit for. She had responded to his interest with interminable details as to her symptoms and sensations, and while he sat patiently listening he had made a diagnosis which was fairly accurate. Nothing in particular was the matter with his sister except the fretful temper she was born with, idle habits, and the effects of an overbearing husband.

  The temper he could not alter, the habits he could not change, nor the husband either, so he gave her up — she was out of his reach.

  But Joan was a different proposition. Joan had his mother’s eyes, his mother’s smile — when she did smile; and though thin and nervous, she had no serious physical disability as yet.

  ‘Joan worries you even more than Gerald, doesn’t she?’ he ventured. ‘It’s often so with mothers.’

  ‘How well you understand, Arthur. Yes, indeed, I feel as if I knew just what to do with my boy, but Joan is a puzzle. She is so — unresponsive.’

  ‘Seems to me you would be much stronger if you were less worried over the children.’

  ‘Of course — but what can I do? It is my duty and I hope I can hold out.’

  ‘For the children’s sake you ought to be stronger, Madge. See here, suppose you lend me Joan for a long visit. It would be no trouble at all to us — we have eight, you know, and all outdoors for them to romp in. I think it would do the child good.’

  The mother looked uncertain. ‘It’s a long way to let her go—’ she said.

  ‘And it would do Gerald good, I verily believe,’ her brother continued. ‘I’ve often heard you say that she irritates him.’

  He could not bring himself to advance this opinion, but he could quote it.

  ‘She does indeed, Arthur. I think Gerald would give almost no trouble if he was alone.’

  ‘And you are of some importance,’ he continued cheerfully. ‘How about that? Let me borrow Joan for a year — you’ll be another woman when you get rested.’

  There was a good deal of discussion, and sturdy opposition from Mr Marsden, who considered the feelings of a father quite outraged by the proposal; but as Dr Warren did not push it, and as his wife suggested that in one way it would be an advantage — they could save toward Gerald’s schooling — adding that her brother meant to pay all expenses, including tickets — he finally consented.