Herland Charlotte Perkins Gilman (ebook and pdf reader TXT) đ
- Author: Charlotte Perkins Gilman
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Even Alimaâ âwho had a more stormy temperament than either of the others, and who, heaven knows, had far more provocationâ âeven Alima was patience and tenderness and wisdom personified to the man she loved, until heâ âbut I havenât got to that yet.
These, as Terry put it, âalleged or so-called wivesâ of ours, went right on with their profession as foresters. We, having no special learnings, had long since qualified as assistants. We had to do something, if only to pass the time, and it had to be workâ âwe couldnât be playing forever.
This kept us out of doors with those dear girls, and more or less togetherâ âtoo much together sometimes.
These people had, it now became clear to us, the highest, keenest, most delicate sense of personal privacy, but not the faintest idea of that solitude Ă deux we are so fond of. They had, every one of them, the âtwo rooms and a bathâ theory realized. From earliest childhood each had a separate bedroom with toilet conveniences, and one of the marks of coming of age was the addition of an outer room in which to receive friends.
Long since we had been given our own two rooms apiece, and as being of a different sex and race, these were in a separate house. It seemed to be recognized that we should breathe easier if able to free our minds in real seclusion.
For food we either went to any convenient eating-house, ordered a meal brought in, or took it with us to the woods, always and equally good. All this we had become used to and enjoyedâ âin our courting days.
After marriage there arose in us a somewhat unexpected urge of feeling that called for a separate house; but this feeling found no response in the hearts of those fair ladies.
âWe are alone, dear,â Ellador explained to me with gentle patience. âWe are alone in these great forests; we may go and eat in any little summerhouseâ âjust we two, or have a separate table anywhereâ âor even have a separate meal in our own rooms. How could we be aloner?â
This was all very true. We had our pleasant mutual solitude about our work, and our pleasant evening talks in their apartments or ours; we had, as it were, all the pleasures of courtship carried right on; but we had no sense ofâ âperhaps it may be called possession.
âMight as well not be married at all,â growled Terry. âThey only got up that ceremony to please usâ âplease Jeff, mostly. Theyâve no real idea of being married.â
I tried my best to get Elladorâs point of view, and naturally I tried to give her mine. Of course, what we, as men, wanted to make them see was that there were other, and as we proudly said âhigher,â uses in this relation than what Terry called âmere parentage.â In the highest terms I knew I tried to explain this to Ellador.
âAnything higher than for mutual love to hope to give life, as we did?â she said. âHow is it higher?â
âIt develops love,â I explained. âAll the power of beautiful permanent mated love comes through this higher development.â
âAre you sure?â she asked gently. âHow do you know that it was so developed? There are some birds who love each other so that they mope and pine if separated, and never pair again if one dies, but they never mate except in the mating season. Among your people do you find high and lasting affection appearing in proportion to this indulgence?â
It is a very awkward thing, sometimes, to have a logical mind.
Of course I knew about those monogamous birds and beasts too, that mate for life and show every sign of mutual affection, without ever having stretched the sex relationship beyond its original range. But what of it?
âThose are lower forms of life!â I protested. âThey have no capacity for faithful and affectionate, and apparently happyâ âbut oh, my dear! my dear!â âwhat can they know of such a love as draws us together? Why, to touch youâ âto be near youâ âto come closer and closerâ âto lose myself in youâ âsurely you feel it too, do you not?â
I came nearer. I seized her hands.
Her eyes were on mine, tender radiant, but steady and strong. There was something so powerful, so large and changeless, in those eyes that I could not sweep her off her feet by my own emotion as I had unconsciously assumed would be the case.
It made me feel as, one might imagine, a man might feel who loved a goddessâ ânot a Venus, though! She did not resent my attitude, did not repel it, did not in the least fear it, evidently. There was not a shade of that timid withdrawal or pretty resistance which are soâ âprovocative.
âYou see, dearest,â she said, âyou have to be patient with us. We are not like the women of your country. We are Mothers, and we are People, but we have not specialized in this line.â
âWeâ and âweâ and âweââ âit was so hard to get her to be personal. And, as I thought that, I suddenly remembered how we were always criticizing our women for being so personal.
Then I did my earnest best to picture to her the sweet intense joy of married lovers, and the result in higher stimulus to all creative work.
âDo you mean,â she asked quite calmly, as if I was not holding her cool firm hands in my hot and rather quivering ones, âthat with you, when people marry, they go right on doing this in season and out of season, with no thought of children at all?â
âThey do,â I said, with some bitterness. âThey are not mere parents. They are men and women, and they love each other.â
âHow long?â asked Ellador, rather unexpectedly.
âHow long?â I repeated, a little dashed. âWhy as long as they live.â
âThere is something very beautiful in the idea,â she admitted, still as if she were discussing life on Mars. âThis climactic expression, which, in all the other life-forms, has
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