The Forerunner, Volume 1 (1909 1910)

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$1.00 a year
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THE FORERUNNER

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN
AUTHOR, OWNER & PUBLISHER

1.00 A YEAR
.10 A COPY

Volume 1. No. 13
NOVEMBER, 1910
Copyright for 1910
C. P. Gilman

"The Public Wants Facts!" says the Popular Editor; "Give us the Facts!"
Haven't we had all the Facts in the universe before us always?
Isn't it time we learned _to think about them?_

WORSHIP

How does it feel?--
The drawing of the magnet on the steel?
All else gives way;
No rivets hold, no bars delay,
Called in that overwhelming hour,
From far and near they fly and cling,
Allied, united, clustering;
And the great pulsing currents flow
Through each small scattered scrap below.
Scattered no more;
One with that all compelling core;
One absolute, one all alive with power.

How does it feel?--
The swift obedient utmost flight
Of radiant sky-wide waves of light,
Far couriers of the central sun,
Crossing a million miles as one--
Still going--going--
Limitless joy that needs no knowing
Each last least flickering ray
One with the Heart of Day.

MY ASTONISHING DODO

She was twenty-six, and owned it cheerfully, the day I met her.

This prejudiced me in her favor at once, for I prize honesty in women,
and on this point it is unusual. She did not, it is true, share largely
in my special artistic tastes, or, to any great extent, in my social
circle; but she was a fine wholesome sweet woman, cheerful and strong,
and I wished to make a friend of her. I greatly prized my good friends
among women, for I had conscientious views against marrying on a small
salary.

Later it appeared that she had other and different views, but she did
not mention them then.

Dorothea was her name. Her family called her Dora, her intimate
friends, Dolly, but I called her Dodo, just between ourselves.

A very good-looking girl was Dodo, though not showy; and in no way
distinguished in dress, which rather annoyed me at first; for I have a
great admiration for a well-gowned, well-groomed woman.

My ideas on matrimony were strongly colored by certain facts and figures
given me by an old college friend of mine. He was a nice fellow, and
his wife one of the loveliest girls of our set, though rather delicate.
They lived very comfortably in a quiet way, with a few good books and
pictures, and four little ones.

"It's a thousand dollars a year for the first year for each baby," he
told me, "and five hundred a year afterward."

I was astonished. I had no idea the little things cost so much.

"There's the trained nurse for your wife," he went on, "at $25.00 a week
for four weeks; and then the trained nurse for your baby, at $15.00 a
week for forty-eight weeks; that makes $820.00. Then the doctor's
bills, the clothes and so on--with the certified milk--easily take up
the rest."

"Isn't fifteen dollars a week a good deal for a child's nurse?" I asked.

"What do you pay a good stenographer?" he demanded.

"Why, a special one gets $20.00," I admitted. "But that work needs
training and experience."

"So does taking care of babies!" he cried triumphantly. "Don't try to
save on babies, Morton; it's poor economy."

I liked his point of view, and admired his family extremely. His wife
was one of those sympathetic appreciative women who so help a man in his
work. But the prospects of my own marriage seemed remote. That was why
I was so glad of a good wholesome companionable friend like Dodo.

We were so calmly intimate that I soon grew to discuss many of my ideas
and plans with her. She was much interested in the figures given by my
friend, and got me to set them all down for her. He had twice my
salary, and not a cent left at the year's end; and they were not in
"society" either. Five hundred dollars was allowed for his personal
expenses, and the same for her; little enough to dress on nowadays, he
had assured me, with all amusements, travel, books and periodicals, and
dentist bills, included.

"I don't think it ought to cost so much," said Dodo.

She was a business woman, and followed the figures closely; and of
course she appreciated the high views I held on the subject, and my
self-denial, too.

I can't tell to this day how it happened; but before I knew it we were
engaged. I was almost sorry, for a long engagement is a strain on both
parties; but Dodo cheered me up; she said we were really no worse off
than we were before, and in some ways better. At times I fully agreed
with her.

So we drifted along for about a year, and then, after a good deal of
distant discussion, we suddenly got married.

I don't recall now just why we so hastily concluded to do it; I seemed
to be in a kind of dream; but anyway we did, and were absurdly happy
about it, too.

"Don't be a Goose, dear boy!" she said. "It isn't wicked to be married.
And we're _quite_ old enough!"

"But we can't afford it--you know we can't," I said. This was while we
were camping out on our honey-vacation.

"Mr. Morton Howland," said my wife; "don't you worry one bit about
affording it. I want you to understand that you've married a business
woman."

"But you've given up your position!" I cried, aghast. "Surely, you
don't think of going back!"

"I've given up one position," she replied with calmness, "and taken
another. And I mean to fill it. Now you go peacefully on earning what
you did before, and leave the housekeeping business to me--will you,
Dear?"

Naturally I had to; for I couldn't keep house; even if I so desired I
didn't know how. But I had read so much and heard so much and seen so
much of the difficulties of housekeeping for young married people, that
I confess I was a good deal worried.

Toward the end of our trip I began to anticipate the burden of
house-hunting.

"About where do you think we are going to live?" I tentatively inquired.

"At 384 Meter Avenue," she promptly answered. I nearly dropped the
paddle (we were canoeing at the moment), I was so astonished.

"That's a good location--for cheap flats," I said slowly. "Do you mean
to say you've rented one, all by yourself?"

She smiled comfortingly. Lovely teeth had my Dodo, strong and white and
even, though not small.

"Not quite so bad as that, Dear," she answered, "but I've got the
refusal. My friends the Scallens had it, and are moving out this Fall.
It's a new building, they had it all papered very prettily, and if you
like it we can move in as soon as they leave--say a week after moving
time--it will be cheaper then. We'll look at it as soon as we return."

We did. It seemed suitable enough; pleasant, and cheaper than I had
thought possible. Indeed, I demurred a little on the question of style,
and accessibility to friends; but Dodo said the people who really cared
for us would come, and the people who did not could easily be spared.

We had married so hastily, right on the verge of vacation time, that I
had hardly given a thought to furnishing but Dodo seemed to know just
where to go and what to get; at much less cost than I had imagined.

She produced $250.00 from her bank account, which she had been saving
for years she said. I put up about the same; and we had that little
flat as pretty and comfortable as any home I ever saw.

She set her foot down about pictures though. "Time enough for those
things when we can afford it," she said, and we certainly could not
afford it then.

Then was materialized from some foreign clime a neat, strong young woman
to do our house-work, washing and all.

"She's an apprentice," said Dodo. "She is willing to learn
housekeeping, and I am willing to teach her."

"How do you come to be so competent in house-work?" said I; "I thought
you were a bookkeeper."

Then Dodo smiled her large bright smile. "Morton, dear," she said, "I
will now tell you a Secret! I have always intended to marry, and, as
far as possible, I learned the business. I am a business woman, you
know."

She certainly did know her business. She kept the household accounts
like--well, like what she was--an expert accountant. When she furnished
the kitchen she installed a good reliable set of weights and measures.
She weighed the ice and the bread, she measured the milk and the
potatoes, and made firm, definite, accurate protests when things went
wrong; even sending samples of queer cream to the Board of Health for
analysis. What with my business stationery and her accurate figures our
letters were strangely potent, and we were well supplied, while our
friends sadly and tamely complained of imposture and extortion.

Her largest item of expense in furnishing was a first-class sewing
machine, and a marvellous female figure, made to measure, which stood in
a corner and served as a "cloak tree" when not in use.

"You don't propose to make your own clothes, surely?" said I when this
headless object appeared.

"Some of 'em," she admitted, "you'll see. Of course I can't dress for
society."

Now I had prepared myself very conscientiously to meet the storms and
shallows of early married life, as I had read about them; I was bound I
would not bring home anybody to dinner without telephoning, and was
prepared to assure my wife verbally, at least twice a day, that I loved
her. She anticipated me on the dinner business, however.

"Look here!" she said, leading me to the pantry, when it was filled to
her liking, and she showed me a special corner all marked off and
labelled "For Emergencies." There was a whole outfit of eatables and
drinkables in glass and tin.

"Now do your worst!" she said triumphantly. "You can bring home six men
in the middle of the night--and I'll feed them! But you mustn't do it
two nights in succession, for I'd have to stock up again."

As to tears and nervousness and "did I love her," I was almost,
sometimes, a bit disappointed in Dodo, she was so calm. She was happy,
and I was happy, but it seemed to require no effort at all.

One morning I almost forgot, and left the elevator standing while I ran
back to kiss her and say "I love you, dearest." She held me off from
her with her two strong hands and laughed tenderly. "Dear boy!" she
said, "I mean you shall."

I meditated on that all the way downtown.

She meant I should. Well, I did. And the next time one of my
new-married friends circuitously asked for a bit of light on what was to
him a dark and perplexing question, I suddenly felt very light-hearted
about my domestic affairs. Somehow we hadn't any troubles at all. Dodo
kept well; we lived very comfortably and it cost far less than I had
anticipated.

"How did you know how to train a servant?" I asked my wife.

"Dear," said she, "I have admitted to you that I always intended to be
married, when I found the man I could love and trust and honor." (Dodo
overestimates my virtues, of course.)

"Lots of girls intend to marry," I interposed.

"Yes, I know they do," she agreed, "they want to love and he loved, but
they don't learn their business! Now the business of house-work is not
so abstruse nor so laborious, if you give your mind to it. I took an
evening-course in domestic economy, read and studied some, and spent one
vacation with an aunt of mine up in Vermont who 'does her own work.'
The next vacation I did ours. I learned the trade in a small way."

We had a lovely time that first year. She dressed fairly well, but the
smallness of her expense account was a standing marvel, owing to the
machine and the Headless One.

"Did you take a course in dressmaking, too?" I inquired.

"Yes, in another vacation."

"You had the most industrious vacations of anyone I ever knew," said I,
"and the most varied."

"I am no chicken, you see, my dear," was her cheerful reply, "and I like
to work. You work, why shouldn't I?"

The only thing I had to criticize, if there was anything, was that Dodo
wouldn't go to the theatre and things like that, as often as I wanted
her to. She said frankly that we couldn't afford it, and why should I
want to go out for amusement when we had such a happy home? So we
stayed at home a good deal, made a few calls, and played cards together,
and were very happy, of course.

All this time I was in more or less anxiety lest that thousand dollar
baby should descend upon us before we were ready, for I had only six
hundred in the bank now. Presently this dread event loomed
awe-inspiringly on our horizon. I didn't say anything to Dodo about my
fears, she must on no account be rendered anxious, but I lay awake
nights and sometimes got up furtively and walked the floor in my room,
thinking how I should raise the money.

She heard me one night. "Dear!" she called softly. "What are you
doing? Is it burglars?"

I reassured her on that point and she promptly reassured me on the
other, as soon as she had made me tell her what I was worrying about.

"Why, bless you, dear," she said, serenely, "you needn't give a thought
to that. I've got money in the bank for my baby."

"I thought you spent all of it for the furnishings," said I.

"Oh, that was the Furnishing Money! Cuddle down here, or you'll get
cold, and I'll tell you all about it."

So she explained in her calm strong cheerful way, with a little
contented chuckle now and then, that she had always intended to be
married.

"This is now no news," I exclaimed severely, "tell me something
different."

"Well, in order to prepare for this Great Event," she went on, "I
learned about housework, as you have seen. I saved money enough to
furnish a small flat and put that in one bank. And I also anticipated
this not Impossible Contingency and saved more money and put it in
another bank!"

"Why two banks, if a mere man may inquire?"

"It is well," she replied sententiously, "not to have all one's eggs in
one basket."

I lay still and meditated on this new revelation.

"Have you got a thousand dollars, if this Remote Relative may so far
urge for information?"

"I have just that sum," she replied.

"And, not to be impertinent, have you nine other thousands of dollars in
nine other banks for nine other not Impossible Contingencies?"

She shook her head with determination. "Nine is an Impossible
Contingency," she replied. "No, I have but one thousand dollars in this
bank. Now you be good, and continue to practice your business, into the
details of which I do not press, and let me carry on the Baby Business,
which is mine."

It was a great load off my mind, and I slept well from that time on.

So did Dodo. She kept well, busy, placid, and cheerful. Once, I came
home in a state of real terror. I had been learning, from one of my
friends, and from books, of the terrible experience which lay before
her. She saw that I was unusually intense in my affection and
constantly regarded her with tender anxiety. "What is the matter with
you, Morton?" said she. "I'm--worried," I admitted. "I've been
thinking--what if I should lose you! Oh Dodo! I'd rather have you than
a thousand babies."

"I should think you would," said she calmly. "Now look here, Dear Boy!
What are you worrying about? This is not an unusual enterprise I've
embarked on; it's the plain course of nature, easily fulfilled by all
manner of lady creatures! Don't you be afraid one bit, I'm not."

She wasn't. She kept her serene good cheer up to the last moment, had
an efficient but inexpensive woman doctor, and presently was up again,
still serene, with a Pink Person added to our family, of small size but
of enormous importance.

Again I rather trembled for our peace and happiness, and mentally girded
up my loins for wakeful nights of walking. No such troubles followed.
We used separate rooms, and she kept the Pink Person in hers.
Occasionally he made remarks in the night, but not for long. He was
well, she was well--things went along very much as they did before.

I was "lost in wonder, love and praise" and especially in amazement at
the continued cheapness of our living.

Suddenly a thought struck me. "Where's ths nurse?" I demanded.

"The nurse? Why she left long ago. I kept her only for the month."

"I mean the child's nurse," said I, "the fifteen dollar one."

"Oh--I'm the child's nurse," said Dodo.

"You!" said I. "Do you mean to say you take all the care of this child
yourself?"

"Why, of course," said Dodo, "what's a mother for?"

"But--the time it takes," I protested, rather weakly.

"What do you expect me to do with my time, Morton?"

"Why, whatever you did before--This arrived."

"I will not have my son alluded to as 'This'!" said she severely.
"Morton J. Hopkins, Jr., if you please. As to my time before? Why, I
used it in preparing for time to come, of course. I have things ready
for this youngster for three years ahead."

"How about the certified milk?" I asked.

Dodo smiled a superior smile; "I certify the milk," said she.

"Can you take care of the child and the house, too?"

"Bless you, Morton, 'the care' of a seven-room flat and a competent
servant does not take more than an hour a day. And I market while I'm
out with the baby.

"Do you mean to say you are going to push the perambulator yourself?"

"Why not?" she asked a little sharply, "surely a mother need not be
ashamed of the company of her own child."

"But you'll be taken for a nurse--"

"I _am_ a nurse! And proud of it!"

I gazed at her in my third access of deep amazement. "Do you mean to
say that you took lessons in child culture, _too_?"

"_Too?_ Why, I took lessons in child culture first of all. How often
must I tell you, Morton, that I always intended to be married! Being
married involves, to my mind, motherhood, that is what it is for! So
naturally I prepared myself for the work I meant to do. I am a business
woman, Morton, and this is my business."

*

That was twenty years ago. We have five children. Morton, Jr., is in
college. So is Dorothea second. Dodo means to put them _all_ through,
she says. My salary has increased, but not so fast as prices, and
neither of them so fast as my family. None of those babies cost a
thousand dollars the first year though, nor five hundred thereafter;
Dodo's thousand held out for the lot. We moved to a home in the
suburbs, of course; that was only fair to the children. I live within
my income always--we have but one servant still, and the children are
all taught housework in the good old way. None of my friends has as
devoted, as vigorous and--and--as successful a wife as I have. She is
the incarnate spirit of all the Housewives and House-mothers of history
and fiction. The only thing I miss in her--if I must own to missing
anything--is companionship and sympathy outside of household affairs.
My newspaper work--which she always calls "my business"--has remained a
business. The literary aspirations I once had were long since laid
aside as impracticable. And the only thing I miss in life beyond my
home is, well--as a matter of fact, I don't have any life beyond my
home--except, of course, my business.

My friends are mostly co-commuters now. I couldn't keep up with the set
I used to know. As my wife said, she could 't dress for society, and,
visibly, she couldn't. We have few books, there isn't any margin for
luxuries, she says; and of course we can't go to the plays and concerts
in town. But these are unessentials--of course--as she says.

I am very proud of my home, my family, and my Amazing Dodo.

WHY TEXTS?

I once listened to a sermon in the Temple Church in London; a sermon
delivered with great dignity by an Eminent Divine, a Canon, as I
remember.

Here was this worthy man, in that historic place, in the heart of huge
London, in the fierce whirring center of so many present social
problems, so many aching, hoping human hearts. He had a chance to speak
to them; with the purpose, presumably, of giving light and cheer and
strength to live better.

There he stood, a conspicuous and powerful figure; and there sat his
audience, waiting. To say the truth, they did not look particularly
hopeful; having doubtless "sat under" him before.

He took his text from the Nineteenth Chapter of "Acts"--something about
"the town clark" of Ephesus; and how he appeased the people. There was
some excitement, it appeared, among the citizens, and they raised a
noise comparable to the convention which nominated Bryan; "and all with
one voice about the space of two hours cried out, Great is Diana of the
Ephesians."

Well. She certainly was--is yet, for that matter, though her influence
is not confined to Ephesus.

In the face of this tumult, the "town clark," who seems to have been a
peaceable person, with a strong sense of justice and propriety, quieted
the people with fair words, explaining to them that their vociferous
statement as to the dimensions or efficacy of their goddess were quite
indisputable; and "matters of common knowledge," and that if they had
any complaint against these missionaries they should go to law about it.

Evidently a fair-minded and law-abiding citizen, the "town clark of
Ephesus"; but--what of it?

What shadow of interest, to modern life, has this chatty anecdote about
the attitude of the Ancient Ephesian toward visiting preachers?

It is barely possible; intellectually conceivable, that is, that the
distinguished clergyman was drawing a parallel between these long dead
gentry, and ourselves; in our attitude toward the advocates of new
faiths.

For instance, there come among us persons teaching Socialism; and we all
cry with one voice for about the space of fifty years, "Great is the
Competitive System!"--and are minded to destroy the teachers, no "town
clark" intervening.

But this did not seem to be in his mind at all. He was talking about
ancient history pure and simple; the only merit in his extract lying in
its location--it was in the Bible.

Whence to my title--Why texts?

Why does a modern sermon to modern people have to be based upon and
buttressed by a quotation from the writings of the ancient Hebrews, or
the more modern group of mixed blood and more mixed language through
whom came the New Testament?

This is no question either verbal or general; but a very sincere
question of the need of such quotation in the religious teaching of the
present time.

Suppose we have a glaring modern instance of good or evil, which every
live minister feels called upon to preach about; to the genuine
edification of his hearers; why must he get out his concordance and
ransack the Scriptures to find an applicable remark?

In the Hebrew Church the Reading is longer and the Exposition closer, I
understand; and in the "Christian Science" church there is Reading
without even that much licence; but in our liberal Christian "services"
the sermon is generally intended to be of immediate use to the hearers,
not merely to give them an extract from "that which is written."

What people want most is to know how to behave, now.

They want teaching that shall explain clearly what they ought to do; why
they want to do it, and how they may best learn to do it.

Clear, strong, simple, convincing Explanations of Life--Directions for
Action; Stimulus and Strength; Courage and Hope; Peace and
Comfort--these are the things we want in our sermons.

Are they any better for the laborious far-fetched text?

THE LITTLE WHITE ANIMALS

Reprinted from "The Conservator," by courtesy of Mr. Horace Traubel.

We who have grown Human--house-bodied, cloth-skinned,
Wire-nerved and steam-heated--alas! we forget
The poor little beasts we have bandaged and pinned
And hid in our carpet-lined prisons!--and yet
Though our great social body be brickwork and steel,
The little white animals in it, can feel!

Humanity needs them. We cannot disclaim
The laws of the bodies we lived in before
We grew to be Human. In spite of our frame
Of time-scorning metals, the life at its core,
Controlling its action and guarding its ease,
Is the little white animal out of the trees!

It is true that our soul is far higher than theirs;
We look farther, live longer, love wider--we _know;_
They only can feel for themselves--and their heirs;
We, the life of humanity. Yet, even so,
We must always remember that soul at its base
Looks out through the little white animal's face.

If they die we are dead. If they live we can grow,
They ply in our streets as blood corpuscles ply
In their own little veins. If you cut off the flow
Of these beasts in a city, that city will die.
Yet we heighten our buildings and harden our souls
Till the little white animals perish in shoals.

Their innocent instincts we turn to a curse,
Their bodies we torture, their powers we abuse,
The beast that humanity lives in fares worse
Than the beasts of the forest with nothing to lose.
Free creatures, sub-human--they never have known
The sins and diseases we force on our own.

And yet 'tis a beautiful creature!--tall--fair--
With features full pleasant and hand-wooing hair;
Kind, docile, intelligent, eager to learn;
And the longing we read in its eyes when they burn
Is to beg us to use it more freely to show
To each other the love that our new soul can know.