III.CONCERNING COMMON THINGS.
WHOEVER would be tranquil, let him not investigate. Ever since I began inquiring into household affairs, my mind has been disturbed by a doubt—not quite a doubt; call it an uneasiness—as to the mental superiority of the dominant sex. No, it cannot amount to positive doubting. That would be to fly in the face of facts. History proves that the greatest philosophers, the greatest artists, the greatest writers, the greatest thinkers, have been men. If woman has the ability to be as great in these directions, why has she not been as great? There has certainly been time enough,—six thousand years at the lowest calculation.
Well, then, since facts cannot be disputed, there can be no reasonable doubt upon this subject; but—No, I won’t saybut: I won’t admit the possibility of abut. I will only say that it is very puzzlingand very annoying to have one’s daily observations tend to undermine—not undermine, conflict with—one’s belief. And it may happen, that, if a man watch too closely what goes on in-doors, the idea will be suggested to him, that while he prides himself, very likely, on working well at one trade, a woman may work well at half a dozen, and not pride herself at all.
Mr. Fennel is a carpenter. Mr. Melendy is a shoemaker. Each is master of one trade, and only one, and works at that all day. Mr. Fennel doesn’t stop to mend his shoes. Mr. Melendy doesn’t leave off pegging to make a new front-door.
Mrs. Fennel is mistress of many trades. Mrs. Fennel is cook, tailoress, dressmaker, milliner, dyer, housemaid, doctor, and boy’s capmaker; also, at times, schoolmaster, lawyer, and minister. For she hears the children’s lessons; she adjusts their quarrels with the judgment of a judge; and she gives them sermons on morals which contain the gist of the whole matter.
Of all these occupations, cooking, I observe, ranks the highest. That is sure of attention: the others take their chance. That is cut out of the whole cloth: the others get the odds and ends. I have observed also, in this connection, that the day in-doorsresolves itself into three grand crises, called the three meals. It is surprising, it is really wonderful, the way these are brought about with every thing else going on beside. Indeed, this prying into domestic affairs has made me surprised twice. First, at the amount of physical labor a woman has to perform; second, that she can carry so many things on her mind at one time, or rather that her mind can act in so many directions at one time, and so quickly. This in-doors work seems commonplace enough; to the fastidious, repugnant even. The same may be said of a mud-puddle. But dip up a dipperful of the mud, examine it closely, and you will find it teeming with life. So, examine an hourful of household work, and you will find it all alive with plans, contrivances, forethoughts, afterthoughts, happy thoughts, and countless trifling experiences, minute, it may be, but full of animation. The puddle is often set in commotion by a passing breeze, or by a stone dropping in. Well, household work, too, has its breezes of hurry and flurry, besides its regular trade-winds, which blow morning, noon, and night. And, if company unexpected isn’t like the stone dropping in, then what is it like?
This is written, as the scientific people say, fromobservations taken on the spot. One day I spent an hour in watching Mrs. Fennel at her work, and an hour in watching Mr. Fennel at his. Being in a humorous as well as a scientific frame of mind, I played they were my specimens, and that the matter under consideration really did belong to some branch of science, unknown, of course, to a country schoolmaster. I copy from my note-book:—
“Time, forenoon; place, kitchen.
“Fly, my pencil, fly, like Mrs. Fennel’s feet! Dinner is getting. It seems now as if every moment were a crisis. What’s that she is dropping into hot water? Oh! turnip, sliced and peeled. Meat, pudding, potatoes, squash, beans, &c., require, I see, different lengths of time in the cooking. But they must be on the table at twelve o’clock, done just right; some of them mashed, and all of them hot. Think of the calculation necessary to bring this about! Meanwhile, in the intervals of lifting the pot-lid, Gussy’s new suit is being ‘cut out of old.’ And here, again, calculation—that is,mind—is required in cutting the cloth to advantage.
“Now Mrs. Fennel drops down to take a long breath. ‘How much sugar must be put into this gooseberry pie?’ Martha asks. ‘Rising one cupful.’ Now a little girl comes of an errand: ‘Mother wantsyou to write down how to make corn-starch gruel. Bobby’s sick.’ Mrs. Fennel writes directions. Now she is ironing. Why not wait till after dinner? Oh, to be sure! ‘We must iron while we have a fire.’ Now Gussy rushes in pell-mell to ask if when he carries Emma’s gooseberries for her because sheaskedhim to, and then stubs his toe, and spills ’em,heought to pick ’em up? Now comes Emma, to say that Gussy tried to stub his toe, because she picked more gooseberries thanhedid whenhewent. Mrs. Fennel adjusts the quarrel; preaches a sermon on envy, truth, and brotherly love; informs Gussy what Malaga is famous for; tries on his jacket (telling a story to make him stand still); catches up a rent in Emma’s dress; trades with a tin-peddler (mindagain); and through all this keeps her eye on the cook-stove; drops things into hot water; forks things out of hot water; contrives places for saucepans, spiders; runs round with a long-handled spoon, now with a knife, stirring, mashing, seasoning, tasting, till at last the moment arrives, and the men-folks arrive, and the grand crisis of the day is at its climax. But oh the flurry and excitement of the last fifteen minutes! the watching the clock, the looking in at the oven, the disappointment when things that should have risen have fallen! As if this did not happen in life always!”
The second hour gave less striking results. I found Mr. Fennel planing and grooving boards. His movements were distinguished by an entire calmness. There was no hurry, no excitement, to keep his mind on the snap every moment; no grand climax for which boards, laths, shingles, nails, and clapboards must be got ready, let come what would. “Too monotonous,” the notes read, “to be of any special interest.” Had he dropped his plane for a trowel, the trowel for a paint-brush, paint-brush for a whitewash-brush, whitewash-brush for a hod of bricks, or been called upon to slack lime, mix paint, or to give directions for building a hen-house, the proceedings in the work-shop would no doubt have been as entertainingas those in the kitchen. But, as far as hinderances were concerned, Mr. Fennel might have shoved that plane till doomsday, and with a temper smooth and even as his own boards.
Since that time I have observed carefully other men and other women at their work; and thus far my observations show that the average mother of a family requires and uses, in the performance of her daily duties, higher qualities of mind than does the average father of a family in the performance of his. Indeed, the more closely I observe, the more amazed am I at the skill, tact, energy, insight, foresight, judgment, ability, genius, I may almost say, so often displayed by the former.
Well, and what then? Why, then the question arises, “Is woman, in the present condition of things, making the best use of all these high qualities?” This question is not suggested by the fact of her giving herself up so entirely to her family. Oh, no! most emphatically no. Children must have their mother. She belongs to them. The best a woman has, the best an arch-angel has, is none too good for the children. No: the question is suggested, partly by the “observations” I have been making, and partly by the recollection of Mrs. Melendy’s remark, that the “three meals takeabout all day.” I am glad the sewing-circle meets here this week; for, by attending to the conversation, I may learn upon what subjects the minds of at least some fifteen or twenty women chiefly dwell.
Another question, and a startling one too, is this: “If woman ever has a chance properly to develop these remarkable qualities of mind, what is going to become of the mental superiority of the dominant sex?”
No more, no more! My brain is confused, my soul disquieted within me. Whoever would be tranquil, let him not investigate.