She was a tall and rather silent woman, fair-haired, grey-eyed, with a face that was young in outline and old in its white reserve. There was nothing slipshod or casual about her. She dressed with discrimination, yet even in the wearing of her clothes she suggested the putting on of armour1, the linking up of chain mail. Someone had nicknamed her “Pallas.” She moved finely, stood still finely, and spoke2 in a level, full-toned voice that had a peculiar3 knack4 of dominating the conversation without effort and without self-consciousness. People turned and looked at her directly she entered a room.
Yet Mrs. Falconer did not play to her public. It was not the case of a superlatively clever woman conducting an ambitious campaign. There was something behind her cold serenity5, a silent forcefulness, a superior vitality6 that made people turn to her, watch her, listen to what she said. She suggested the instinctive7 thought, “This woman has suffered; this woman knows; she is implacable; can keep a secret.” And all of us are a little afraid of the silent people who can keep secrets, who watch us, who listen while we babble8, and who, with one swift sentence, send an arrow straight to the heart of things while we have been shooting all over the target.
Sentimentalists might have said that Mrs. Falconer was a splendid white rose without any perfume. Whether the emotions had been killed in her, whether she had ever possessed9 them, or whether she concealed10 them jealously, was a matter of conjecture11. She was well off, had a house near Hyde Park and a cottage in Sussex. She was more than a mere12 clever, highly cultured woman of the world. Weininger would have said that she was male. The name of Pallas suited her.
Eve Carfax had lain in bed for a week in a little room on the third floor of Mrs. Falconer’s house, and during that week she had been content to lie there without asking herself any questions. The woman doctor who attended her was a lanky13 good fellow, who wore pince-nez and had freckles14 all over her face. Eve did not do much talking. She smiled, took what she was given, slept a great deal, being aware of an emptiness within her that had to be filled up. She had fallen among friends, and that was sufficient.
The window of her room faced south, and since the weather was sunny, and the walls were papered a soft pink, she felt herself in a pleasant and delicate atmosphere. She took a liking15 to Dr. Alice Keck. The freckled16 woman had been a cheeky, snub-nosed flapper on long stilts17 of legs, and her essential impudence18 had lingered on, and mellowed19 into a breezy optimism. She had the figure of a boy, and talked like a pseudo-cynical man of forty.
“You want turning out to grass for a month, then all the kick will come back. You have done enough experimenting on your own. I tried it once, and I didn’t like it!”
“When can I see Mrs. Falconer?”
“Oh, in a day or two!”
“I haven’t seen her yet, and I want to thank her.”
“Take my advice, and don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, it is not in her line—the emotions! You’d feel foolish, as though you had taken a box of matches to set light to the North Pole.”
“That sounds rather discouraging.”
“Rot! Wait and see. They call her Pallas, you know. If you begin hanging emotions on Kate Falconer you’ll end up by thinking you are shoving tinsel and beads21 on a fine statue. I’ll tell her you want to see her. I think she wants to see you.”
Eve’s vitality was returning, and one of the first evidences of its return showed itself in a curiosity concerning this woman who had befriended her. All the little delicate refinements22 of life had been given her—flowers, books, early tea served in dainty china, a bottle of scent23 had even been placed on the table beside her bed. These things had seemed feminine and suggestive. The room had a warmth of atmosphere that did not seem to belong to the house of a woman who would not care to be thanked.
But from the very first moment that Eve saw Kate Falconer in the flesh, she understood the aptness of Alice Keck’s similes24. Eve was unusually intuitive. She felt an abnormal presence near her, something that piqued25 her interest.
“I am glad that you are so much better.”
She came and sat down beside the bed, and Eve could see her profile against the window. A warm, evening light was pouring in, but Pallas’s white face and grey dress were not warmed by it. There was nothing diaphanous26 or flamboyant27 about her; neither was she reactive or absorbent. The poise28 was complete; the whole world on one side, this woman on the other.
She made Eve feel self-conscious.
“I am much better, thanks to all your kindness.”
“It was the obvious thing to do.”
“I cannot quite look at it like that.”
It struck her as absurd that this woman should speak of doing what was obvious. Eve’s intuition did not hail her as an obvious person, though it was possible that Mrs. Falconer’s cold brilliancy made what seemed complex to most people, obvious to her. There was a moment’s constraint29, Eve feeling herself at a disadvantage.
“I thought you might like to talk.”
“I ought to explain things a little.”
“You are under no obligation to explain anything. We women must help one another. It is part of the new compact.”
“Against men?”
“Against male dominance.”
“I should like to tell you some of my experiences!”
“I should like to hear them!”
Eve found it difficult to begin. She doubted whether this woman could distinguish the subtle emotional colour shades, but in this she was mistaken. She soon discovered that Mrs. Falconer was as experienced as a sympathetic Romish priest, yet the older woman seemed to look at life objectively, and to read all its permutations and combinations as a mathematician30 may be able to read music at sight.
“You have just worked out all the old conclusions, but there is nothing like working out a thing for oneself. It is like touching31, seeing, tasting. I suppose it has made you one of the so-called fanatics33?”
“I want things altered!”
“To what extent?”
“I want the divorce law made equal, and I want divorce made easier. I want commercial equality. I want it understood that an unmarried woman who has a child shall not be made to carry all the supposed disgrace!”
Mrs. Falconer turned in her chair. Her face was in the shadow, and Eve could not see her eyes very plainly, but she felt that she was being looked at by a woman who regarded her views as rather crude.
“I should like you to try and think in the future, not only in the present.”
“You mean spiders and bees?”
“Exactly! It is my particular belief that woman had her period of dominance and lost it. It has been a male world, so far as humanity is concerned, for a good many thousand years. And what has European man given us? Factories, mechanics, and the commercial age. I think we can do better than that.”
“You mean that we must make woman the dominant force?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
It was obvious, splendidly obvious, when one had the thorough audacity36 to regard it in that light.
“But how——”
“By segregating37 the sexes, massing ourselves against the men, by refusing them everything that they desire as men. We shall use the political machinery38 as well. Man is the active principle, woman more passive, but passivity must win if it remains39 obdurate40. Why have women always surrendered or sold themselves? Haven’t we that in us which gives us the right to rule?”
“Motherhood?”
“Yes, motherhood! We are the true creators.”
“But men——”
“The best of them shall serve.”
“And how can you be sure of persuading all women to mass themselves into one sisterhood?”
“That is just the problem we have to deal with. It will be solved so soon as the ordinary woman is taught to think woman’s thought.”
Eve lay mute, thinking. It was very easy to theorise on these lines, but what about human nature? Could one count, even in the distant future, on the ordered solidarity41 of a whole sex? Would every woman be above her own impulses, above the lure42 of the emotions? It seemed to Eve that Mrs. Falconer who talked of developments as being obvious, was overlooking the most obvious of opponents—Nature.
“But do you think that men will ever accept such a state of things?”
“Of course they would resist.”
“It would mean a sex war. They are stronger than we are!”
“No, not stronger! Besides, methods of violence, if we come to them, can be used now by women as well as by men. The trigger and the fuse are different from the club. I don’t count on such crude methods. We are in the majority. We shall just wear men out. We can bear more pain than they can.”
“But what an immense revolution!”
“Yet it has happened. We see it in insect life, don’t we? How did it come about?”
“I don’t know.”
“But it is there, a fact.”
“Yes. All the same, when I had finished reading a book on the ways of bees, I thought that they were detestable little beasts.”
“Because they killed off the useless males, and let the queen assassinate43 her rivals. We are not bees. We shall do better than that.”
Her level, full-toned voice had never varied44, and she talked with perfect and assured serenity of turning society upside down. She was a fanatic32 with ideas and a subnormal temperature. She believed what she foresaw. It was like one of the Fates deigning45 to be conversational46 in a drawing-room.
She rose, and, walking to the window, looked down into the street.
“Do you think that women would have perpetrated London? It took man to do that. I must not tire you. Have you everything you want?”
“Thank you, everything.”
“I will come up and see you again to-morrow.”
Eve had plenty of leisure for meditation47, and Mrs. Falconer’s theories gave her abundant material for thought. Rest in bed, with good food, and pleasant refinements round her had restored her normal poise, and she found that there was far less edge to her enthusiasm. She was a little shocked by the discovery. The disharmonies of the life that she had been studying had not changed, and she was troubled by this discovery that she did not react as she had reacted two weeks ago. When we are young we are distressed48 by the subtle transfigurations that overtake our ideals. We hatch so many eggs that persist in giving us ducklings instead of chickens. We imagine that we shall always admire the same things, believe the same beliefs, follow out the strenuous49 beginnings. When changes come, subtle, physical changes, perhaps, we are astonished at ourselves. So it was with Eve when she discovered that her enthusiasm had passed from a white heat to a dull and more comfortable glow. Accusing herself of inconstancy, lack of sustained purpose, did not explain the change in the least. She tried to convince herself that it was mere sloth50, the result of a comfortable bed and good food.
In a day or two she found herself driven to explain a second surprising fact, a growing hostility51 towards Mrs. Falconer. It was not a dislike that could be reasoned with and suppressed, but a good, vigorous, temperamental hatred53 as natural and as self-assertive as hunger, thirst, or passion. It seemed to Eve abominable54 that she should be developing such an attitude towards this woman, who had shown her nothing but kindness, but this irresponsible antipathy55 of hers seemed to have leapt up out of some elemental underworld where intellect counted as nothing.
Mrs. Falconer came up daily to talk to her as to a fellow fanatic, and her temperament52 roused in Eve an instinctive sense of resistance. She found herself accusing her hostess to herself of intolerance and vindictiveness56. It was like listening to a hell-fire sermon preached against the male sex, a denunciation that was subtilised with all the cleverness of a mind that had played with all the scientific theories of the day. Mrs. Falconer was a vitalist. She hated the mechanical school with fine consistency57, and clasped hands with Bergson and Hans Driesch. Yet she disagreed with some of her fellow mystics in believing that women possessed more of the “élan vital” than man. Therefore, woman was the dominant force of the future, and it behoved her to assert her power.
Eve found herself on tip-toe to contradict Mrs. Falconer, just as one is tempted58 to jump up and contradict the dogmatist who talks down at us from the pulpit. She tried to argue one or two things out, but soon realised that this woman was far too clever for her, far too well armed. Mrs. Falconer had masked batteries everywhere. She had reserves of knowledge that Eve had no chance of meeting. And yet, though she could not meet her arguments, Eve had an intense conviction that Mrs. Falconer’s ideals were hopelessly wrong. There was la revanche behind it all. Her head could not confute the theorist, but her heart did. Human nature would not be cajoled.
She had an idea that Mrs. Falconer was a very busy woman. The house seemed full of voices, and of the sound of coming and going, but Eve did not discover how busy her hostess was till Dr. Alice Keck let her go downstairs. There were two big rooms on the second floor fitted up like offices, with a dozen women at work in them. Letters were being written, directories consulted, lists of names made out, statistics compiled, money received and disbursed59. People came and went, brought and received information. There was no laughter. Everyone was in grim earnest.
Eve saw Mrs. Falconer’s personality translated into action. This rich woman’s house was a nerve centre of the new movement, and Mrs. Falconer’s presence suggested one of those subtle ferments60 that are supposed to stimulate61 the complex processes of life. She did nothing herself. She was a presence. People came to her when they needed the flick62 of her advice. She co-ordinated everything.
Eve was introduced to all these girls and women, and was given a table to herself with several sheets of foolscap and a file of papers. Mrs. Falconer came and stood by her, and explained the work she wanted her to do.
“There is nothing like attacking people with facts. They penetrate63 the British skull64! We are collecting all these cases, and making a register of them. We shall publish them in a cheap form, and have them sent all over the country.”
“You want all these papers fair copied?”
“Yes. They are in the rough, just as they were sent in to us. You will find that they are numbered.”
Eve discovered that she had before her a series of reports dealing65 with well-authenticated cases of women who had been basely treated by men. Some of them were written on ordinary letter paper, others on foolscap, and not a few on the backs of circulars and bills. Nor was the batch66 that had been given her the first that had been handled. Each case was numbered, and Eve’s batch began at 293.
“M—— W——, typist, 31, orphan68. Engaged to be married to a clerk. The man borrowed her savings69, got her into trouble, and then refused to marry her. Girl went into Queen Charlotte’s hospital. Baby born dead. The mother developed puerperal fever, but recovered. She was unable to get work for some time, and went into domestic service. Her health broke down. She is now in a workhouse infirmary.”
“V—— L——. A particularly cruel case that ended in suicide. She had spent a little sum of money that had been left her, on educating herself. Obtained a very good post as secretary. Her employer took her with him to Paris, pretending that as she could speak French she would be very useful to him in certain business transactions. Drugs were used. Five months later the girl committed suicide in London by throwing herself under a Tube train.”
All day, and for several days, Eve worked at these pathetic records, till she felt nauseated70 and depressed71. It was a ghastly indictment72 drawn73 up against man, and yet it did not have the effect on her that Mrs. Falconer had expected. It did not drive her farther towards fanaticism74. On the contrary, she was overcome by a feeling of helplessness and of questioning compassion75. It was all so pitiable and yet so inevitable76 as things were, and through all the misery77 and the suffering she was brought to see that the whole blame could not be credited to the man. It was the system more than the individual.
A function that is natural and clean enough in itself has been fouled78 by the pruderies of priests and pedants80. Sex has been disguised with all manner of hypocrisies81 and make-believes. Society pretends that certain things do not happen, and when Nature insists upon their happening, Society retaliates82 upon the woman by calling her foul79 names and making her an outcast. The men themselves are driven by the system to all those wretched meannesses, treacheries, deceptions83. And the worst of it all is that Society tries to keep the truth boxed up in a cellar. English good form prides itself with a smirk84 on not talking about such things, and on playing the ostrich85 with its head under a pew cushion. Nature is not treated fairly and squarely. We are immorally86 moral in our conventions. Until we decide to look at sex cleanly and wholesomely87, stripping ourselves of all mediæval nastiness and cowardly smuggery, we shall remain what we are, furtive88 polygamists, ashamed of our own bodies, and absurdly calling our own children the creatures of sin.
The work depressed Eve. Her fellow workers were hardly more enlivening. They belonged to a distinct type, the neutral type that cannot be appealed to either as man or woman. Meals were served at a long table in one of the lower rooms, and Eve noticed that her neighbours did not in the least care what they ate. They got through a meal as quickly as possible, talking hard all the time. Now Eve did care about what she ate, and whether it was delicately served. She had the palate of a healthy young woman, and it mattered to her whether she had ragged89 mutton and rice pudding every day, or was piqued by something with a flavour.
She was carnal. She told herself so flatly one afternoon as she went up to her bedroom, and the charge produced a thrill of natural laughter. She had a sudden wild desire to run out and play, to be greedy as a healthy child is greedy, to tumble hay in a hay field, to take off her clothes and bathe in the sea. The natural vitality in her turned suddenly from all this sour, quarrelsome, pessimistical campaigning and demanded life—the life of feeling and seeing.
The house oppressed her, so she put on her hat and escaped, and made her way into the park. May was in, green May, with lush grass and opening leaves. The sun shone. There was sparkle in the air. One thought of wood nymphs dancing on forest lawns while fauns piped and jigged90, and the great god Pan delighted himself with wine and honey. It was only a London park, but it was the nearest thing to Nature that Eve could find. Her heart expanded suddenly. An irrational91, tremulous joyousness92 came over her. She wanted to sing, to weep, to throw herself down and bury her face in the cool green grass. The country in May! She had a swift and passionate93 desire for the country, for green glooms and quiet waters and meadows dusted with gold. To get out of this loathsome94 complication of tragedies, to breathe smokeless air, to think of things other than suicides, prostitutions, treacheries, the buying and selling of souls.
She felt like a child before a holiday, and then she thought of Lynette. What a vision of wholesomeness95 and of joy! It was like cool water bubbling out of the earth, like a swallow gliding96, a thrush singing at dawn. She could not bear to think of wasting all the spring in London. She must escape somehow, escape to a healthier outlook, to cooler thinking.
When she went back Mrs. Falconer sent for her. Eve wondered afterwards whether it was a coincidence or not that Mrs. Falconer should have said what she did that day.
“You have not been looking well. You want a change!”
“I almost think I do.”
“You don’t like me. It is a pity.”
Eve was taken by surprise.
“Don’t like you?”
“It is quite obvious to me, but it does not make any difference. I knew it, almost from the first. A matter of temperament. I understand some things better than you suspect. You want action, more warmth of movement. This statistical97 work disgusts you. I can give you your opportunity.”
Eve remained mute. It was useless to protest in the presence of such a woman.
“Two of our missionaries98 are going to tour in Sussex and Surrey. I think you might join them. I wonder if you are strong enough.”
“Oh, yes!”
“You see, they tramp most of the way, and speak in the villages, and small towns. Sometimes they are treated rather roughly.”
“Yes, I’ll go. I should love to go. I’m strong, and I’m not afraid. I think I want action.”
“Yes, you are not made for dealing with harsh facts. They disgust you too much, and weaken you. It is all temperament. You are one of those who must spend themselves, obtain self-expression.”
“I wonder how you know that?”
“My dear, I was a woman before I became a thinker.”
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1
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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instil
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| v.逐渐灌输 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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similes
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| （使用like或as等词语的）明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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mathematician
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| n.数学家 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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segregating
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| （使）分开( segregate的现在分词 )； 分离； 隔离； 隔离并区别对待（不同种族、宗教或性别的人） | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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assassinate
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| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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deigning
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的现在分词 ) | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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vindictiveness
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| 恶毒；怀恨在心 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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disbursed
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| v.支出，付出( disburse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ferments
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| n.酵素( ferment的名词复数 )；激动；骚动；动荡v.（使）发酵( ferment的第三人称单数 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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fouled
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| v.使污秽( foul的过去式和过去分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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hypocrisies
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| n.伪善，虚伪( hypocrisy的名词复数 ) | |
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retaliates
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| v.报复，反击( retaliate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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deceptions
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| 欺骗( deception的名词复数 )； 骗术，诡计 | |
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smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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immorally
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| adv.淫荡地；不正经地；不道德地；品行不良地 | |
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wholesomely
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| 卫生地，有益健康地 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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jigged
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| v.（使）上下急动( jig的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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wholesomeness
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| 卫生性 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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statistical
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| adj.统计的，统计学的 | |
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98
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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99
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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