THE COLLECTED WORKS OF CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN: Short Stories, Novels, Poems & Essays. Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Издательство: Bookwire
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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isbn: 9788027202850
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very heartily, yet was not oppressed. My new-found family pleased me well. The quiet room was beautiful in color and proportion, and as my eyes wandered idly over it I noted how few in number and how harmonious were its contents giving a sense of peace and spaciousness.

      The air was sweet — I did not notice then, as I did later, that the whole city was sweet-aired now; at least by comparison with what cities used to be. From somewhere came the sound of soft music, grateful to the ear. I stretched myself luxuriously with:

      “Now, then, Nellie — let her go — ‘the women woke up.’ ”

      “Some women were waking up tremendously, before you left, John Robertson, only I dare say you never noticed it. They just kept on, faster and faster, till they all did — about all. There are some Dodos left, even yet, but they don’t count — discredited grandmothers!”

      “And, being awake?” I gently suggested.

      “And being awake, they” She paused for an instant, seeking an expression, and Jerrold’s smooth bass voice put in, “They saw their duty and they did it.”

      “Exactly,” his mother agreed, with a proudly loving glance at him; “that’s just what they did! And in regard to the food business, they recognized at last that it was their duty to feed the world — and that it was miserably done! So they took hold.”

      “Now, mother, this is my specialty,” Hallie interposed.

      “When a person can only talk about one thing, why oppose them?” murmured Jerrold. But she quite ignored him, and re — opened her discussion.

      “We — that is, most of the women and some of the men — began to seriously study the food question, both from a hygienic and an economic standpoint. I can’t tell you that thirty years’ work in a minute, Uncle John, but here’s the way we manage it now: We have learned very definitely what people ought not to eat, and it is not only a punishable, but a punished offense to sell improper food stuffs.”

      “How are the people to know?” I ventured.

      “The people are not required to know everything. All the food is watched and tested by specialists; what goes into the market is good — all of it.”

      “By impeccable angelic specialists — like my niece?”

      She shook her head at me. “If they were not, the purchaser would spot them at once. You see, our food supply is not at the mercy of the millions of ignorant housewives any more. Food is bought and prepared by people who know how — and they have all the means — and knowledge — for expert tests.”

      “And if the purchaser too was humanly fallible? ”

      She cast a pitying glance on me, and her father took the floor for a moment.

      “You see, John, in the old time the dealers were mostly poor, and sold cheap and bad stuff to make a little money. The buyers were mostly poor, and had to buy the cheap and nasty stuff. Even large manufacturers were under pressure, and had to cheat to make a profit — or thought they had to. Then when we got to inspectors and such like they were under the harrow, too, and were by no means impeccable. Our big change is this: Nobody is poor now.”

      “I hear you say that,” I answered, “but I can’t seem to get it through my head. Have you really divided all the property?”

      “John Robertson, I’m ashamed of you!” cried Nellie. “Even in 1910 people knew better than that — people who knew anything!”

      “That wasn’t necessary,” said Owen, “nor desirable. What we have done is this: First, we have raised the productive capacity of the population; second, we have secured their right to our natural resources; third, we have learned to administer business without waste. The wealth of the world grows enormously. It is not what you call ‘equally distributed,’ but every one has enough. There is no economic danger any more; there is economic peace.”

      “And economic freedom?” asked I sharply.

      “And economic freedom. People choose the work they like best, and work — freely, more than they have to.”

      I pondered on this. “Ah, but they have to — labor is compulsory.”

      Owen grinned. “Yes, labor is compulsory — always was. It is compulsory on everyone now. We used to have two sets who wouldn’t work — paupers and the idle rich; no such classes left — all busy.”

      “But, the freedom of the individual ”

      I persisted.

      “Come, come, brother; society always played hob with the freedom of the individuals whenever it saw fit. It killed, imprisoned, fined; it had compulsory laws and regulations; it required people to wear clothes and furnished no clothes for them to wear. If society has a right to take human life, why has it not a right to improve it? No, my dear man,” continued Owen (he was evidently launched on his specialty now) “society is not somebody else domineering over us! Society is us — taking care of ourselves.”

      I took no exception to this, and he began again. “Society, in our young days, was in a state of auto-intoxication. It generated its own poisons, and absorbed them in peaceful, slow suicide. To think! — it seems im possible now — to think of allowing anybody to sell bad food!”

      “That wasn’t the only bad thing they sold” I suggested.

      “No; unfortunately. Why, look here — ” Owen slid a glass panel in the wall and took out a book.

      “That’s clever,” I remarked approvingly, “Bookcases built in!”

      “Yes, they are everywhere now,” said Nellie. Books — a few of them — are common human necessities. Every home, every room almost, has these little dust-tight, insect-proof wall cases. Concrete construction has helped very much in all such mat — ters.”

      Owen had found his place, and now poured upon me a concentrated list of the adulterated materials deteriorating the world in that period so slightingly referred to as “my day.” I noticed with gratitude that Owen said “When we were young!”

      “You never were sure of getting anything pure,” he said scornfully, “no matter what you paid for it. How we submitted to such rank outrage for so long I cannot imagine I This was taken up very definitely some twenty years ago, by the women mostly.”

      “Aha — ‘when the women woke up!’ ” I cried.

      “Yes, just that. It is true that their being mostly mere housewives and seamstresses was a handicap in some ways; but it was a direct advantage in others. They were almost all consumers, you see, not producers. They were not so much influenced by considerations of the profits of the manufacturer as they were by the direct loss to their own pockets and health. Yes,” he smiled reminiscently, “there were some pretty warm years while this thing was thrashed out. One of the most successful lines of attack was in the New Food system, though.”

      “IwZZtalk!” cried Hallie. “Here I’ve inveigled Uncle John up here — and — and fed him to repletion; and have him completely at my mercy, and then you people butt in and do all the talking!”

      “Gro it, little sister — you’re dead right!” agreed Jerrold, “You see, Uncle, it’s one thing to restrain and prevent and punish — and another thing to substitute improvements.”

      “Kindergarten methods?” I ventured.

      “Yes, exactly. As women had learned this in handling children, they began to apply it to grown people — the same children, only a little older. Ever so many people had been talking and writing about this food business, and finally some of them got together and really started it.”

      “One of these cooperative schemes?” I was beginning, but the women looked at me with such pitying contempt that I promptly withdrew the suggestion.

      “Not much!” said Nellie disdainfully. “Of course, those cooperative schemes were a natural result of the growing difficulties