The Forerunner, Volume 1 (1909 1910)

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"Why I got my courage from the girl herself. She was--superb! Talk of
blasphemy! Why I've committed _lese majeste_ and regicide and the
Unpardonable Sin since that meeting!" And she told her friend of her
brief passage at arms with Mrs. Halsey. "I never liked the woman," she
continued; "and some of the things Miss Bell said set me thinking. I
don't believe we half know what's going on in our houses."

"Well, Mrs. Thaddler's so outraged by 'this scandalous attack upon the
sanctities of the home' that she's going about saying all sorts of
things about Miss Bell. O look--I do believe that's her car!"

Even as they spoke a toneless voice announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Thaddler,"
and Madam Weatherstone presently appeared to greet these visitors.

"I think you are trying a dangerous experiment!" said Mrs. Thaddler to
her young hostess. "A very dangerous experiment! Bringing that young
iconoclast into your home!"

Mr. Thaddler, stout and sulky, sat as far away as he could and talked to
Mrs. Porne. "I'd like to try that same experiment myself," said he to
her. "You tried it some time, I understand?"

"Indeed we did--and would still if we had the chance," she replied. "We
think her a very exceptional young woman."

Mr. Thaddler chuckled. "She is that!" he agreed. "Gad! How she did
set things humming! They're humming yet--at our house!"

He glanced rather rancorously at his wife, and Mrs. Porne wished, as she
often had before, that Mr. Thaddler wore more clothing over his domestic
afflictions.

"Scandalous!" Mrs. Thaddler was saying to Madam Weatherstone. "Simply
scandalous! Never in my life did I hear such absurd--such
outrageous--charges against the sanctities of the home!"

"There you have it!" said Mr. Thaddler, under his breath. "Sanctity of
the fiddlesticks! There was a lot of truth in what that girl said!"
Then he looked rather sheepish and flushed a little--which was needless;
easing his collar with a fat finger.

Madam Weatherstone and Mrs. Thaddler were at one on this subject; but
found it hard to agree even so, no love being lost between them; and the
former gave evidence of more satisfaction than distress at this
"dangerous experiment" in the house of her friends. Viva sat silent,
but with a look of watchful intelligence that delighted Mrs. Porne.

"It has done her good already," she said to herself. "Bless that girl!"

Mr. Thaddler went home disappointed in the real object of his call--he
had hoped to see the Dangerous Experiment again. But his wife was well
pleased.

"They will rue it!" she announced. "Madam Weatherstone is ashamed of
her daughter-in-law--I can see that! _She_ looks cool enough. I don't
know what's got into her!"

"Some of that young woman's good cooking," her husband suggested.

"That young woman is not there as cook!" she replied tartly. "What she
_is_ there for we shall see later! Mark my words!"

Mr. Thaddler chuckled softly. "I'll mark 'em!" he said.

Diantha had her hands full. Needless to say her sudden entrance was
resented by the corps of servants accustomed to the old regime. She had
the keys; she explored, studied, inventoried, examined the accounts,
worked out careful tables and estimates. "I wish Mother were here!" she
said to herself. "She's a regular genius for accounts. I _can_ do
it--but it's no joke."

She brought the results to her employer at the end of the week. "This
is tentative," she said, "and I've allowed margins because I'm new to a
business of this size. But here's what this house ought to cost you--at
the outside, and here's what it does cost you now."

Mrs. Weatherstone was impressed. "Aren't you a little--spectacular?"
she suggested.

Diantha went over it carefully; the number of rooms, the number of
servants, the hours of labor, the amount of food and other supplies
required.

"This is only preparatory, of course," she said. "I'll have to check it
off each month. If I may do the ordering and keep all the accounts I
can show you exactly in a month, or two at most."

"How about the servants?" asked Mrs. Weatherstone.

There was much to say here, questions of competence, of impertinence, of
personal excellence with "incompatibility of temper." Diantha was given
a free hand, with full liberty to experiment, and met the opportunity
with her usual energy.

She soon discharged the unsatisfactory ones, and substituted the girls
she had selected for her summer's experiment, gradually adding others,
till the household was fairly harmonious, and far more efficient and
economical. A few changes were made among the men also.

By the time the family moved down to Santa Ulrica, there was quite a new
spirit in the household. Mrs. Weatherstone fully approved of the Girls'
Club Diantha had started at Mrs. Porne's; and it went on merrily in the
larger quarters of the great "cottage" on the cliff.

"I'm very glad I came to you, Mrs. Weatherstone," said the girl. "You
were quite right about the experience; I did need it--and I'm getting
it!"

She was getting some of which she made no mention.

As she won and held the confidence of her subordinates, and the growing
list of club members, she learned their personal stories; what had
befallen them in other families, and what they liked and disliked in
their present places.

"The men are not so bad," explained Catharine Kelly, at a club meeting,
meaning the men servants; "they respect an honest girl if she respects
herself; but it's the young masters--and sometimes the old ones!"

"It's all nonsense," protested Mrs. James, widowed cook of long
standing. "I've worked out for twenty-five years, and I never met no
such goings on!"

Little Ilda looked at Mrs. James' severe face and giggled.

"I've heard of it," said Molly Connors, "I've a cousin that's workin' in
New York; and she's had to leave two good places on account of their
misbehavin' theirselves. She's a fine girl, but too good-lookin'."

Diantha studied types, questioned them, drew them out, adjusted facts to
theories and theories to facts. She found the weakness of the whole
position to lie in the utter ignorance and helplessness of the
individual servant. "If they were only organized," she thought--"and
knew their own power!--Well; there's plenty of time."

As her acquaintance increased, and as Mrs. Weatherstone's interest in
her plans increased also, she started the small summer experiment she
had planned, for furnishing labor by the day. Mrs. James was an
excellent cook, though most unpleasant to work with. She was quite able
to see that getting up frequent lunches at three dollars, and dinners at
five dollars, made a better income than ten dollars a week even with
several days unoccupied.

A group of younger women, under Diantha's sympathetic encouragement,
agreed to take a small cottage together, with Mrs. James as a species of
chaperone; and to go out in twos and threes as chambermaids and
waitresses at 25 cents an hour. Two of them could set in perfect order
one of the small beach cottage in an hour's time; and the occupants,
already crowded for room, were quite willing to pay a little more in
cash "not to have a servant around." Most of them took their meals out
in any case.

It was a modest attempt, elastic and easily alterable and based on the
special conditions of a shore resort: Mrs. Weatherstone's known interest
gave it social backing; and many ladies who heartily disapproved of
Diantha's theories found themselves quite willing to profit by this very
practical local solution of the "servant question."

The "club girls" became very popular. Across the deep hot sand they
ploughed, and clattered along the warping boardwalks, in merry pairs and
groups, finding the work far more varied and amusing than the endless
repetition in one household. They had pleasant evenings too, with
plenty of callers, albeit somewhat checked and chilled by rigorous Mrs.
James.

"It is both foolish and wicked!" said Madam Weatherstone to her
daughter-in-law, "Exposing a group of silly girls to such danger and
temptations! I understand there is singing and laughing going on at
that house until half-past ten at night."

"Yes, there is," Viva admitted. "Mrs. James insists that they shall all
be in bed at eleven--which is very wise. I'm glad they have good
times--there's safety in numbers, you know."

"There will be a scandal in this community before long!" said the old
lady solemnly. "And it grieves me to think that this household will be
responsible for it!"

Diantha heard all this from the linen room while Madam Weatherstone
buttonholed her daughter-in-law in the hall; and in truth the old lady
meant that she should hear what she said.

"She's right, I'm afraid!" said Diantha to herself--"there will be a
scandal if I'm not mighty careful and this household will be responsible
for it!"

Even as she spoke she caught Ilda's childish giggle in the lower hall,
and looking over the railing saw her airily dusting the big Chinese
vases and coquetting with young Mr. Mathew.

Later on, Diantha tried seriously to rouse her conscience and her common
sense. "Don't you see, child, that it can't do you anything but harm?
You can't carry on with a man like that as you can with one of your own
friends. He is not to be trusted. One nice girl I had here simply left
the place--he annoyed her so."

Ilda was a little sulky. She had been quite a queen in the small
Norwegian village she was born in. Young men were young men--and they
might even--perhaps! This severe young housekeeper didn't know
everything. Maybe she was jealous!

So Ilda was rather unconvinced, though apparently submissive, and
Diantha kept a careful eye upon her. She saw to it that Ilda's room had
a bolt as well as key in the door, and kept the room next to it empty;
frequently using it herself, unknown to anyone. "I hate to turn the
child off," she said to herself, conscientiously revolving the matter.
"She isn't doing a thing more than most girls do--she's only a little
fool. And he's not doing anything I can complain of--yet."

But she worried over it a good deal, and Mrs. Weatherstone noticed it.

"Doesn't your pet club house go well, 'Miss Bell?' You seem troubled
about something."

"I am," Diantha admitted. "I believe I'll have to tell you about
it--but I hate to. Perhaps if you'll come and look I shan't have to say
much."

She led her to a window that looked on the garden, the rich, vivid,
flower-crowded garden of Southern California by the sea. Little Ilda,
in a fresh black frock and snowy, frilly cap and apron, ran out to get a
rose; and while she sniffed and dallied they saw Mr. Mathew saunter out
and join her.

The girl was not as severe with him as she ought to have been--that was
evident; but it was also evident that she was frightened and furious
when he suddenly held her fast and kissed her with much satisfaction.
As soon as her arms were free she gave him a slap that sounded smartly
even at that distance; and ran crying into the house.

"She's foolish, I admit," said Diantha,--"but she doesn't realize her
danger at all. I've tried to make her. And now I'm more worried than
ever. It seems rather hard to discharge her--she needs care."

"I'll speak to that young man myself," said Mrs. Weatherstone. "I'll
speak to his grandmother too!"

"O--would you?" urged Diantha. "She wouldn't believe anything except
that the girl 'led him on'--you know that. But I have an idea that we
could convince her--if you're willing to do something rather
melodramatic--and I think we'd better do it to-night!"

"What's that?" asked her employer; and Diantha explained. It was
melodramatic, but promised to be extremely convincing.

"Do you think he'd dare! under my roof?" hotly demanded Madam
Weatherstone.

"I'm very much afraid it wouldn't be the first time," Diantha
reluctantly assured her. "It's no use being horrified. But if we could
only make _sure_--"

"If we could only make his grandmother sure!" cried Madam Weatherstone.
"That would save me a deal of trouble and misunderstanding. See here--I
think I can manage it--what makes you think it's to-night?"

"I can't be absolutely certain--" Diantha explained; and told her the
reasons she had.

"It does look so," her employer admitted. "We'll try it at any rate."

Urging her mother-in-law's presence on the ground of needing her
experienced advice, Mrs. Weatherstone brought the august lady to the
room next to Ilda's late that evening, the housekeeper in attendance.

"We mustn't wake the servants," she said in an elaborate whisper. "They
need sleep, poor things! But I want to consult you about these
communicating doors and the locksmith is coming in the morning.--you see
this opens from this side." She turned the oiled key softly in the
lock. "Now Miss Bell thinks they ought to be left so--so that the girls
can visit one another if they like--what do you think?"

"I think you are absurd to bring me to the top floor, at this time of
night, for a thing like this!" said the old lady. "They should be
permanently locked, to my mind! There's no question about it."

Viva, still in low tones, discussed this point further; introduced the
subject of wall-paper or hard finish; pointed out from the window a tall
eucalyptus which she thought needed heading; did what she could to keep
her mother-in-law on the spot; and presently her efforts were rewarded.

A sound of muffled speech came from the next room--a man's voice dimly
heard. Madam Weatherstone raised her head like a warhorse.

"What's this! What's this!" she said in a fierce whisper.

Viva laid a hand on her arm. "Sh!" said she. "Let us make sure!" and
she softly unlatched the door.

A brilliant moon flooded the small chamber. They could see little Ilda,
huddled in the bedclothes, staring at her door from which the key had
fallen. Another key was being inserted--turned--but the bolt held.

"Come and open it, young lady!" said a careful voice outside.

"Go away! Go away!" begged the girl, low and breathlessly. "Oh how
_can_ you! Go away quick!"

"Indeed, I won't!" said the voice. "You come and open it."

"Go away," she cried, in a soft but frantic voice. "I--I'll scream!"

"Scream away!" he answered. "I'll just say I came up to see what the
screaming's about, that's all. You open the door--if you don't want
anybody to know I'm here! I won't hurt you any--I just want to talk to
you a minute."

Madam Weatherstone was speechless with horror, her daughter-in-law
listened with set lips. Diantha looked from one to the other, and at
the frightened child before them who was now close to the terrible door.

"O please!--_please!_ go away!" she cried in desperation. "O what shall
I do! What shall I do!"

"You can't do anything," he answered cheerfully. "And I'm coming in
anyhow. You'd better keep still about this for your own sake. Stand
from under!" Madam Weatherstone marched into the room. Ilda, with a
little cry, fled out of it to Diantha.

There was a jump, a scramble, two knuckly hands appeared, a long leg was
put through the transom, two legs wildly wriggling, a descending body,
and there stood before them, flushed, dishevelled, his coat up to his
ears--Mat Weatherstone.

He did not notice the stern rigidity of the figure which stood between
him and the moonlight, but clasped it warmly to his heart.--"Now I've
got you, Ducky!" cried he, pressing all too affectionate kisses upon the
face of his grandmother.

Young Mrs. Weatherstone turned on the light.

It was an embarrassing position for the gentleman.

He had expected to find a helpless cowering girl; afraid to cry out
because her case would be lost if she did; begging piteously that he
would leave her; wholly at his mercy.

What he did find was so inexplicable as to reduce him to gibbering
astonishment. There stood his imposing grandmother, so overwhelmed with
amazement that her trenchant sentences failed her completely; his
stepmother, wearing an expression that almost suggested delight in his
discomfiture; and Diantha, as grim as Rhadamanthus.

Poor little Ilda burst into wild sobs and choking explanations, clinging
to Diantha's hand. "If I'd only listened to you!" she said. "You told
me he was bad! I never thought he'd do such an awful thing!"

Young Mathew fumbled at the door. He had locked it outside in his
efforts with the pass-key. He was red, red to his ears--very red, but
there was no escape. He faced them--there was no good in facing the
door.

They all stood aside and let him pass--a wordless gauntlet.

Diantha took the weeping Ilda to her room for the night. Madam
Weatherstone and Mrs. Weatherstone went down together.

"She must have encouraged him!" the older lady finally burst forth.

"She did not encourage him to enter her room, as you saw and heard,"
said Viva with repressed intensity.

"He's only a boy!" said his grandmother.

"She is only a child, a helpless child, a foreigner, away from home,
untaught, unprotected," Viva answered swiftly; adding with quiet
sarcasm--"Save for the shelter of the home!"

They parted in silence.

WE EAT AT HOME

RONDEAU

We eat at home; we do not care
Of what insanitary fare;
So long as Mother makes the pie,
Content we live, content we die,
And proudly our dyspepsia bear.

Straight from our furred forefather's lair
The instinct comes of feeding there;
And still unmoved by progress high
We eat at home.

In wasteful ignorance we buy
Alone; alone our food we fry;
What though a tenfold cost we bear,
The doctor's bill, the dentist's chair?
Still without ever asking why
We eat at home.

OUR ANDROCENTRIC CULTURE; or, THE MAN-MADE WORLD

IX.

"SOCIETY" AND "FASHION"

Among our many naive misbeliefs is the current fallacy that "society" is
made by women; and that women are responsible for that peculiar social
manifestation called "fashion."

Men and women alike accept this notion; the serious essayist and
philosopher, as well as the novelist and paragrapher, reflect it in
their pages. The force of inertia acts in the domain of psychics as
well as physics; any idea pushed into the popular mind with considerable
force will keep on going until some opposing force--or the slow
resistance of friction--stops it at last.

"Society" consists mostly of women. Women carry on most of its
processes, therefore women are its makers and masters, they are
responsible for it, that is the general belief.

We might as well hold women responsible for harems--or prisoners for
jails. To be helplessly confined to a given place or condition does not
prove that one has chosen it; much less made it.

No; in an androcentric culture "society," like every other social
relation, is dominated by the male and arranged for his convenience.
There are, of course, modifications due to the presence of the other
sex; where there are more women than men there are inevitable results of
their influence; but the character and conditions of the whole
performance are dictated by men.

Social intercourse is the prime condition of human life. To meet, to
mingle, to know one another, to exchange, not only definite ideas,
facts, and feelings, but to experience that vague general stimulus and
enlarged power that comes of contact--all this is essential to our
happiness as well as to our progress.

This grand desideratum has always been monopolized by men as far as
possible. What intercourse was allowed to women has been rigidly hemmed
its by man-made conventions. Women accept these conventions, repeat
them, enforce them upon their daughters; but they originate with men.

The feet of the little Chinese girl are bound by her mother and her
nurse--but it is not for woman's pleasure that this crippling torture
was invented. The Oriental veil is worn by women, but it is not for any
need of theirs that veils were decreed them.

When we look at society in its earlier form we find that the public
house has always been with us. It is as old almost as the private
house; the need for association is as human as the need for privacy.
But the public house was--and is--for men only. The woman was kept as
far as possible at home. Her female nature was supposed to delimit her
life satisfactorily, and her human stature was completely ignored.

Under the pressure of that human nature she has always rebelled at the
social restrictions which surrounded her; and from the women of older
lands gathered at the well, or in the market place, to our own women on
the church steps or in the sewing circle, they have ceaselessly
struggled for the social intercourse which was as much a law of their
being as of man's.

When we come to the modern special field that we call "society," we find
it to consist of a carefully arranged set of processes and places
wherein women may meet one another and meet men. These vary, of course,
with race, country, class, and period; from the clean licence of our
western customs to the strict chaperonage of older lands; but free as it
is in America, even here there are bounds.

Men associate without any limit but that of inclination and financial
capacity. Even class distinction only works one way--the low-class man
may not mingle with high-class women; but the high-class man may--and
does--mingle with low-class women. It is his society--may not a man do
what he will with his own?

Caste distinctions, as have been ably shown by Prof. Lester F. Ward, are
relics of race distinction; the subordinate caste was once a subordinate
race; and while mating, upward, was always forbidden to the subject
race; mating, downward, was always practiced by the master race.

The elaborate shading of "the color line" in slavery days, from pure
black up through mulatto, quadroon, octoroon, quinteroon, griffada,
mustafee, mustee, and sang d'or--to white again; was not through white
mothers--but white fathers; never too exclusive in their tastes. Even
in slavery, the worst horrors were strictly androcentric.

"Society" is strictly guarded--that is its women are. As always, the
main tabu is on the woman. Consider carefully the relation between
"society" and the growing girl. She must, of course, marry; and her
education, manners, character, must of course be pleasing to the
prospective wooer. That which is desirable in young girls means,
naturally, that which is desirable to men. Of all cultivated
accomplishments the first is "innocence." Beauty may or may not be
forthcoming; but "innocence" is "the chief charm of girlhood."

Why? What good does it do _her?_ Her whole life's success is made to
depend on her marrying; her health and happiness depends on her marrying
the right man. The more "innocent" she is, the less she knows, the
easier it is for the wrong man to get her.

As is so feelingly described in "The Sorrows of Amelia," in "The Ladies'
Literary Cabinet," a magazine taken by my grandmother; "The only foible
which the delicate Amelia possessed was an unsuspecting breast to lavish
esteem. Unversed in the secret villanies of a base degenerate world,
she ever imagined all mankind to be as spotless as herself. Alas for
Amelia! This fatal credulity was the source of all her misfortunes."
It was. It is yet.

Just face the facts with new eyes--look at it as if you had never seen
"society" before; and observe the position of its "Queen."

Here is Woman. Let us grant that Motherhood is her chief purpose. (As
a female it is. As a human being she has others!) Marriage is our way
of safeguarding motherhood; of ensuring "support" and "protection" to
the wife and children.

"Society" is very largely used as a means to bring together young
people, to promote marriage. If "society" is made and governed by women
we should naturally look to see its restrictions and encouragements such
as would put a premium on successful maternity and protect women--and
their children--from the evils of ill-regulated fatherhood.

Do we find this? By no means.

"Society" allows the man all liberty--all privilege--all license. There
are certain offences which would exclude him; such as not paying
gambling debts, or being poor; but offences against womanhood--against
motherhood--do not exclude him.

How about the reverse?

If "society" is made by women, for women, surely a misstep by a
helplessly "innocent" girl, will not injure her standing!

But it does. She is no longer "innocent." She knows now. She has lost
her market value and is thrown out of the shop. Why not? It is his
shop--not hers. What women may and may not be, what they must and must
not do, all is measured from the masculine standard.

A really feminine "society" based on the needs and pleasures of women,
both as females and as human beings, would in the first place accord
them freedom and knowledge; the knowledge which is power. It would not
show us "the queen of the ballroom" in the position of a wall-flower
unless favored by masculine invitation; unable to eat unless he brings
her something; unable to cross the floor without his arm. Of all blind
stultified "royal sluggards" she is the archetype. No, a feminine
society would grant _at least_ equality to women in this, their
so-called special field.