News From Nowhere, Or, an Epoch of Rest, Being Some Chapters From a Utopian Romance

“Well,” said he, “of course you will see that all that is a dead controversy now.  The men have no longer any opportunity of tyrannising over the women, or the women over the men; both of which things took place in those old times.  The women do what they can do best, and what they like best, and the men are neither jealous of it or injured by it.  This is such a commonplace that I am almost ashamed to state it.”

I said, “O; and legislation? do they take any part in that?”

Hammond smiled and said: “I think you may wait for an answer to that question till we get on to the subject of legislation.  There may be novelties to you in that subject also.”

“Very well,” I said; “but about this woman question?  I saw at the Guest House that the women were waiting on the men: that seems a little like reaction doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” said the old man; “perhaps you think housekeeping an unimportant occupation, not deserving of respect.  I believe that was the opinion of the ‘advanced’ women of the nineteenth century, and their male backers.  If it is yours, I recommend to your notice an old Norwegian folk-lore tale called How the Man minded the House, or some such title; the result of which minding was that, after various tribulations, the man and the family cow balanced each other at the end of a rope, the man hanging halfway up the chimney, the cow dangling from the roof, which, after the fashion of the country, was of turf and sloping down low to the ground.  Hard on the cow, I think.  Of course no such mishap could happen to such a superior person as yourself,” he added, chuckling.

I sat somewhat uneasy under this dry gibe.  Indeed, his manner of treating this latter part of the question seemed to me a little disrespectful.

“Come, now, my friend,” quoth he, “don’t you know that it is a great pleasure to a clever woman to manage a house skilfully, and to do it so that all the house-mates about her look pleased, and are grateful to her?  And then, you know, everybody likes to be ordered about by a pretty woman: why, it is one of the pleasantest forms of flirtation.  You are not so old that you cannot remember that.  Why, I remember it well.”

And the old fellow chuckled again, and at last fairly burst out laughing.

“Excuse me,” said he, after a while; “I am not laughing at anything you could be thinking of; but at that silly nineteenth-century fashion, current amongst rich so-called cultivated people, of ignoring all the steps by which their daily dinner was reached, as matters too low for their lofty intelligence.  Useless idiots!  Come, now, I am a ‘literary man,’ as we queer animals used to be called, yet I am a pretty good cook myself.”

“So am I,” said I.

“Well, then,” said he, “I really think you can understand me better than you would seem to do, judging by your words and your silence.”

Said I: “Perhaps that is so; but people putting in practice commonly this sense of interest in the ordinary occupations of life rather startles me.  I will ask you a question or two presently about that.  But I want to return to the position of women amongst you.  You have studied the ‘emancipation of women’ business of the nineteenth century: don’t you remember that some of the ‘superior’ women wanted to emancipate the more intelligent part of their sex from the bearing of children?”

The old man grew quite serious again.  Said he: “I do remember about that strange piece of baseless folly, the result, like all other follies of the period, of the hideous class tyranny which then obtained.  What do we think of it now? you would say.  My friend, that is a question easy to answer.  How could it possibly be but that maternity should be highly honoured amongst us?  Surely it is a matter of course that the natural and necessary pains which the mother must go through form a bond of union between man and woman, an extra stimulus to love and affection between them, and that this is universally recognised.  For the rest, remember that all the artificial burdens of motherhood are now done away with.  A mother has no longer any mere sordid anxieties for the future of her children.  They may indeed turn out better or worse; they may disappoint her highest hopes; such anxieties as these are a part of the mingled pleasure and pain which goes to make up the life of mankind.  But at least she is spared the fear (it was most commonly the certainty) that artificial disabilities would make her children something less than men and women: she knows that they will live and act according to the measure of their own faculties.  In times past, it is clear that the ‘Society’ of the day helped its Judaic god, and the ‘Man of Science’ of the time, in visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children.  How to reverse this process, how to take the sting out of heredity, has for long been one of the most constant cares of the thoughtful men amongst us.  So that, you see, the ordinarily healthy woman (and almost all our women are both healthy and at least comely), respected as a child-bearer and rearer of