Читать книгу The Library of Work and Play: Housekeeping - Elizabeth Hale Gilman - Страница 18

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"The lot has fallen unto me in a fair ground, yea, I have a goodly heritage."

THERE is a deep surprise and joy in these words, which grows to exultation. They might have been spoken by one who had climbed a height to look for the first time on the place where henceforth his life and work were to be, and saw in the curve of many-folded, blue hills, white roads with crops warming in the fields on either hand, woods and streams, laden orchards, and vines in garlands.

"It is a fair ground." Then—"yea, I have a goodly heritage." There is joy in beauty, and in possession—and more than that. There is exultation in the vision of seed-time and harvest, of growing beauty and usefulness, of life renewed; and in the strength and power to work for all this and to achieve it.

It is not fanciful to say that a woman may regard her heritage in some such way as this. The childhood, and the homes of the world are hers, and her work is the making of men and women. If she chooses to say that God has exalted His handmaiden, who is able to deny it?

The particular work of women is not just like any other work; indolence and failure in doing it, however, have been too often excused on account of this fact. Their work is yearly becoming more and more allied with other commercial, intellectual and moral activities. Even their housekeeping is no longer a disagreeable thing kept out of sight as much as possible, as the plumbing used to be. Its varied problems are being recognized and studied. Nobody denies that they are difficult, but it is not reasonable to suppose that they are the most difficult in the world, nor that they are unsolvable. One reason why they are difficult is that they are an attempt to establish order and law, without destroying individuality and freedom; and another reason is that the housewife exercises her profession chiefly for the benefit of her own family. If the physician had to doctor himself, the preacher preach to his wife, and the teacher teach his own children, their professions might be in as much confusion as the housekeeping profession is. The efforts to do away with these difficulties by having families live together, eat together, or do anything else in a wholesale way, have not succeeded and have led in a wrong direction. What is wanted is a way to preserve the separate family and the separate family home, not a way to make them into something else.

Difficulty is a characteristic of their work which should appeal to women. They are seeking to do difficult things. They are seeking to prove that there is no profession, nor labour, nor art in which they cannot succeed. In many cases they have succeeded admirably; it has not proved the point they set out to prove however, but another. What they have proved by their activities is that they are amply able to solve the problems and accomplish the organization of the work which is especially their own. They cannot get it believed that they are equal to anything while their own work lies undone—while they wilfully leave the home or helplessly stay in it.

Things which we are proud to do in other fields, we neither see nor do in our own. For the sake of a college degree, or a paper to be read before a club, we delve in difficult books; yet we do not study, nor even read about our own work. We would be proud to invent a flying machine, or a mud-digger, yet most of the inventions to aid housework are made by men. We aspire to be stockbrokers, merchants, accountants, bankers—while housekeeping finance has become a stock joke. We are eager to study social problems and take up settlement work, but we do not think it worth while to study our own cooks. We feel in ourselves a power to organize and betake us to the club, and leave the cook and the nursemaid to organize our homes and our children's lives. We have raised the woman's work of teaching and of nursing into excellent professions, and yet we are ready to sit down and cry before the difficulties of housekeeping.

Unpleasant and monotonous things, which we claim make our own work unbearable, we ignore in occupations which we covet or admire. Under Mr. Kipling's influence we cultivate an enthusiasm for machinery and engineering, but we neglect his constantly emphasized lesson that the digging of a canal or the building of a bridge involves humble toil and unsightly details far beyond any we may encounter in peeling potatoes or washing dishes. We look at the wide, slow waters which have been let into the land and they silence us; we follow with our eyes the great span of the bridge and hold our breath as if it were music. It is right that we wonder and admire. They are great things. But see that woman beside you who is looking at the bridge with such especial interest. Is the bridge any more wonderful than her son, who built it? He is what she has built. It seems to me, one might peel several tons of potatoes as a thank-offering for a son.

But I will not take such high ground as to suppose that we might be willing to do some hard and disagreeable things just because we feel very earnestly the privilege and glory of being women. Much more ordinary considerations urge us to get about our work. If the engineer son of whom we were speaking said, "Estimates make me nervous," or, "I hate dealing with dirty, foreign labourers," or, "You can't expect me to concern myself with the nasty river-bottom when I have the arch of a bridge in my mind," or, "This work is so monotonous, I certainly have a right to one day a week when I can go to town and shop"—if he said these things, we should say he was—effeminate.

Effeminate!

Our times are so quick that, if we went earnestly to work, the next generation would see nothing in the remarks quoted above, to suggest a woman.

And do you know that this work of ours is a profession in which we can be as clever, and independent, and advanced, and emancipated as we please, and no man will like us the less for it. They like us to be inconsistent and unexpected, and they do not like us to know more than they do. But if we can keep house thriftily and comfortably and not bother them with it, they like that. In this we are not their rivals. They like our charming unexpectedness better elsewhere than in the butcher's bills; and they love the inconsistency of the woman who, in the home which her cleverness and toil have made peaceful and adequate, is yet full of pleasure and wonder at the things her husband or her son has accomplished.

This is my thought of our fair heritage of clever, helpful and devoted work, with its goodly promise of a harvest of people whom we have helped to be happier and better. Such is the country of my Vision.