The Spirit of The Century THE REVOLT OF THE WOMEN THE HE time has come to define feminism; it is no longer possible to ignore it. The germ is in the blood of our women. The principle is in the heart of our race. The word is daily in the pages of our newspapers. The doctrine and its corollaries are on every tongue. The hope of it, often unrecognized and denied, lies inherent in the soul of every woman. The dread of it rests heavily upon the ignorant, the timid, the unduly conservative, and those who have outlived the capacity for unfamiliar thinking. But what is feminism? Is it, as the superficial allege, the desire of some women to assume the work and the places and the power and the responsibilities and the rewards of men? Some women desire these things, no doubt. But this is not feminism. Is it the desire of a few experimental spirits to abolish marriage, and substitute for lifelong monogamy temporary relationships dissoluble at will? This is the dream of a scattered few, especially in Germany, where a small group is experimenting in public. But it is not feminism. Is it the suggestion of certain reckless ones to abolish the home and have the State bring up our children in order that women may be free to experiment variously with life unhampered by the schemes of mere nature? This has been seriously set forth by several daring writers, and is occasionally advocated by irresponsible orators at gatherings of the ultra-advanced. But it is not feminism. Nor can feminism be defined by any of the numerous other suggestions of impractical imaginations spurred to abnormal activity by sudden release from the thought conventions of the past. Granted that most of the so-called feminist writing and speaking so far have dealt with the schemes of visionaries. But Let us, then, ignore these impractical doctrines of the hasty. Let us fish for our definition in the still waters beneath the troubled surface. Let us study the Revolt of the Women not in the souls of the volatile few, but of the earnest millions of wives and mothers and workers who are thinking silently in their homes. Here alone shall we find the attitude upon which to base our substantial definition, for these are the women who eventually will determine the fact. And here first of all we find that feminism does not mean the usurpation by women of the place and the power of men. Psychological sex differences absolutely must have their way in the end despite prophets and propaganda, and none but dreamers will deny it. When women have all the rights they demand, together with the obligations that go with them, still they will be women. They will no more compete then in departments of life unsuited to their strength and genius than they do to-day. None but a few enthusiastic theorists believe they will. There is this difference, though, and here somewhere lies our definition, that then women's spirits will be freed. For the first time in history, whether in competition with men or not, they will labor without the bond and the stigma of inferiority. To meet life untaunted; to labor, to succeed or to fail, as human individuals only; to feel handicapped by nature only, not by men; to seek their own success in self-chosen appropriate paths unhampered by laws or conventions from which men are exempt-these, we take it, constitute the ultimate object of the Revolt of the Women. And that sums up feminism, considered as a great, instinctive human movement. It is another and a very great step toward the realization of human freedom. ing the women follows naturally, and in civilization's own good time, upon freeing the slaves. Free Feminism, then, is in essence and fact a spiritual attitude. But it follows, as the night the day, that, to be effective, there is involved the power as well as the principle of freedom. Women must become the civil and the social equals of men. It makes little difference whether or not they shall use this power; the fact that they possess it, rather that they should not be forbidden its possession, is the magic that will break the shackles. The object of feminism is to make women equal stockholders with men in the Business of Life. Like every demand for human freedom, feminism will succeed; and, when it does come to pass, the human race will attain for the first time its full efficiency. Meantime let us possess our souls in peace so far as concerns those who are proclaiming creeds which civilization never will grant. 20 AD THALIARCHUM (AFTER HORACE) 'BY MARVIN FERREE W And on Soractes's crest you see HEN mountain-tops are white with snow, The laden beeches bending low, And when the frost with icy key The fire invites us; take thine ease, The hearts of the Eumenides; Leave to the gods the unending war Of wind and wave. This, too, shall cease When they from whom all counsels are To-morrow? Shall the fleeting years To-day is ours. Half-acre of shirt-front crinkles with delightful anticipation of what Pat said when something happened to pig, as always does happen to pig at public dinners. Lips are slightly moist, and already half opened for the laugh. Except at toastmaster's right hand, where scheduled next speaker rolls little pills of bread, and gives ear to whispered comment of neighbor on the right, smiling, but hearing nothing. Kindness of Providence casts spell over souls of men and women at great crises of life, a haze of pain and acutely pleasurable anticipation: soldier goes under fire in a daze, bride in a daze approaches altar, next speaker at banquet always rolls pills and listens in a daze, smiling, but hearing nothing. "An' why would I not?' said Pat." Strange thing about this uniform worn by men-uniform of black and white for dinner. Other uniforms are worn only in the course of stern duty, officers' when going into battle, waiters' while waiting, convicts' while doing time. The ordinary citizen dons his uniform for the most routine service imaginable, the consumption of food. Why should this once a colored brother named 'Zekiel who was riding into town on his mule." Half-acre of shirt-front crinkles and leans forward with anticipation, some wondering whether point of joke will be with 'Zekiel, some thinking it might be with the mule; probably both. Slightly flushed faces uniformly eager, laundered bosoms uniformly arched in suspense. Amazing gift, the laundryman's! It irons. out all human variations. So many different men, different views, different tastes. Some like Lynnhavens; some like Mrs. Barclay, Chambers, Galsworthy; some adept at auction; some behind in the bank, some quiescent; some still tingling with memory of sharp domestic altercation while dressing for din ner; all now indistinguishably alined behind battlement of white starch waiting for 'Zekiel and his mule. Amazing gift! "Brother 'Zekiel would n't budge a foot; silent like an oyster." Why oysters, or other species of Acephala, as first course at public dinners? Oysters, the most reticent, the most self-contained, the most domesticated of animals always the key-note for banquet oratory. Why? For that matter, look at the menu: crisp celery, the tang of mint, pungent sauces, and followed by flat stream of obvious remarks. Why? This should be explained. "HALF-ACRE OF SHIRT-FRONT SHRINKS BACK IN AMAZEMENT" be so? Why not lawyer in dinner-jacket addressing juries, surgeon in swallowtail over operating-table, black-and-white minister in pulpit, 'longshoreman in open-face dress carting bags? Why uniforms at dinner unless in expectation of glorious death from indigestion? This should be explained. "The present condition of the dairy trade, gentlemen, is like Pat and his pig." Laughter, somewhat uncertain as to just why, but laughter all the same. "I take pleasure in introducing Mr. Smith." Palms which have risen before shirtfronts in applause of Irishman and his pig continue to applaud in honor of Mr. Smith, who has been rolling bread-pills. "Gentlemen," says Smith, "it is a pleasure to address so distinguished and representative an assemblage. There was "Thus, gentlemen," continued Smith, "we are confronted with the remarkable fact that the value of the annual dairy output in the United States is equal to four times the value of all cereal crops in the United States, including hay." Most unreliable thing in the world, statistics quoted at public dinners. Seldom based on research; most frequently based on undated clipping from St. Petersburg, Florida. Banquet researches most often confined to volumes dealing with Irishman and his pig and 'Zekiel with his mule. Consequently, half-acre of shirtfront shrinks back in amazement at remarkable fact about annual dairy products, and palms rise in applause. Not a remarkable fact at all. Not even a fact. United States Census for 1910 quite explicit on the subject. But speaker's statement all the more remarkable, and only elderly gentlemen catching first twinges of indigestion would refuse applause. "Gentlemen," says toast-master, "I take pleasure in introducing Mr. Jones, who knows more about an egg than the hen that laid it." Bravo! Jones rises amid hurricane of gaiety from fast-crumpling half-acre of shirt-front. About mention of eggs there is something irresistibly funny. Why? The most serious thing in the world, an egg. It is the beginning of all things. It is the beginning of life; with bacon, the beginning of the day; with malt and orange-juice for liquid lunch, the beginning of middle age. Yet people laugh at eggs. Why? This should be explained. "Gentlemen," says Jones, "I shall not detain you much longer. The toast-master's generous reference to me reminds me of a story. An Irishman named Hennessey, whose mother-in-law was sick, was running for the doctor." Extraordinary race the Irish! Without them after-dinner speeches utterly inconceivable, except that the colored brother helps out. Population of Ireland, according to latest available figures, a little over four millions. Annual consumption of Irish stories at public dinners, say, twelve millions. Allowing for deaf and dumb, babes in arms, Ulstermen, etc., this would make half a dozen side-breaking stories per capita. A notoriously witty race the Irish, of course, and much given to driving pigs to market, but still an incredibly high ratio of humor. This should be explained. HE AN EVERY-DAY EXPERIENCE BY STEPHEN LEACOCK E ca "I had a rather queer hand at bridge last night," he said. "Had you?" I answered, and picked up a newspaper. "Yes. It would have interested you, I think," he went on. "Would it?" I said, and moved to another chair. "It was like this," he continued, following me: "I held the king of hearts-" "Half a minute," I said; "I want to go and see what time it is." I went out and looked at the clock in the hall. I came back. "And the queen and the ten-" he was saying. "Half a second," I said, "I want to mail a letter." When I came back to him, he was still murmuring: "My partner held the ace of clubs and the queen. The jack was out, but I did n't know where the king was—" "You did n't?" I said in contempt. "No," he repeated in surprise, and went on murmuring: "Diamonds had gone round once, and spades twice, and so I suspected that my partner was leading from weakness—" "I can well believe it," I said—"sheer weakness." "Well," he said, "on the sixth round the lead came to me. Now, what should I have done? Finessed for the ace, or led "Excuse me just a second; I want to straight into my opponent—' ring for a messenger." I did so. The waiter came and went. "And the nine and two small ones," he went on. "Two small what?" I asked. "Two small hearts," he said. "I don't remember which. Anyway, I remember very well indeed that I had the king and the queen and the jack, the nine, and two little ones." "You want my advice," I said, "and you shall have it, openly and fairly. In such a case as you describe, where a man had led out at me repeatedly and with provocation, as I gather from what you say, though I myself do not play bridge, I should lead my whole hand at him. I repeat, I do not play bridge. But in the circumstances I should think it the only thing to do." |
