Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Herland, Chapter 2: Rash Advances (Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman)
Not more than ten or fifteen miles we judged it from our
landing rock to that last village. For all our eagerness we thought
it wise to keep to the woods and go carefully.
Even Terry's ardor was held in check by his firm conviction
that there were men to be met, and we saw to it that each of us
had a good stock of cartridges.
"They may be scarce, and they may be hidden away somewhere--
some kind of a matriarchate, as Jeff tells us; for that matter,
they may live up in the mountains yonder and keep the women
in this part of the country--sort of a national harem! But
there are men somewhere--didn't you see the babies?"
We had all seen babies, children big and little, everywhere
that we had come near enough to distinguish the people. And
though by dress we could not be sure of all the grown persons,
still there had not been one man that we were certain of.
"I always liked that Arab saying, `First tie your camel and
then trust in the Lord,'" Jeff murmured; so we all had our weapons
in hand, and stole cautiously through the forest. Terry studied
it as we progressed.
"Talk of civilization," he cried softly in restrained
enthusiasm. "I never saw a forest so petted, even in Germany.
Look, there's not a dead bough--the vines are trained--actually!
And see here"--he stopped and looked about him, calling Jeff's
attention to the kinds of trees.
They left me for a landmark and made a limited excursion on
"Food-bearing, practically all of them," they announced returning.
"The rest, splendid hardwood. Call this a forest? It's a truck farm!"
"Good thing to have a botanist on hand," I agreed.
"Sure there are no medicinal ones? Or any for pure ornament?"
As a matter of fact they were quite right. These towering trees
were under as careful cultivation as so many cabbages. In other
conditions we should have found those woods full of fair foresters
and fruit gatherers; but an airship is a conspicuous object, and
by no means quiet--and women are cautious.
All we found moving in those woods, as we started through
them, were birds, some gorgeous, some musical, all so tame that
it seemed almost to contradict our theory of cultivation--at least
until we came upon occasional little glades, where carved stone
seats and tables stood in the shade beside clear fountains, with
shallow bird baths always added.
"They don't kill birds, and apparently they do kill cats,"
Terry declared. "MUST be men here. Hark!"
We had heard something: something not in the least like a
birdsong, and very much like a suppressed whisper of laughter
--a little happy sound, instantly smothered. We stood like so
many pointers, and then used our glasses, swiftly, carefully.
"It couldn't have been far off," said Terry excitedly.
"How about this big tree?"
There was a very large and beautiful tree in the glade we had
just entered, with thick wide-spreading branches that sloped out
in lapping fans like a beech or pine. It was trimmed underneath
some twenty feet up, and stood there like a huge umbrella, with
circling seats beneath.
"Look," he pursued. "There are short stumps of branches left
to climb on. There's someone up that tree, I believe."
We stole near, cautiously.
"Look out for a poisoned arrow in your eye," I suggested, but
Terry pressed forward, sprang up on the seat-back, and grasped the trunk.
"In my heart, more likely," he answered. "Gee! Look, boys!"
We rushed close in and looked up. There among the boughs
overhead was something--more than one something--that clung
motionless, close to the great trunk at first, and then, as one and
all we started up the tree, separated into three swift-moving
figures and fled upward. As we climbed we could catch glimpses
of them scattering above us. By the time we had reached about
as far as three men together dared push, they had left the main
trunk and moved outward, each one balanced on a long branch
that dipped and swayed beneath the weight.
We paused uncertain. If we pursued further, the boughs
would break under the double burden. We might shake them off,
perhaps, but none of us was so inclined. In the soft dappled light
of these high regions, breathless with our rapid climb, we rested
awhile, eagerly studying our objects of pursuit; while they in
turn, with no more terror than a set of frolicsome children in a
game of tag, sat as lightly as so many big bright birds on their
precarious perches and frankly, curiously, stared at us.
"Girls!" whispered Jeff, under his breath, as if they might fly
if he spoke aloud.
"Peaches!" added Terry, scarcely louder. "Peacherinos--
They were girls, of course, no boys could ever have shown
that sparkling beauty, and yet none of us was certain at first.
We saw short hair, hatless, loose, and shining; a suit of some
light firm stuff, the closest of tunics and kneebreeches, met by
trim gaiters. As bright and smooth as parrots and as unaware of
danger, they swung there before us, wholly at ease, staring as we
stared, till first one, and then all of them burst into peals of
Then there was a torrent of soft talk tossed back and forth;
no savage sing-song, but clear musical fluent speech.
We met their laughter cordially, and doffed our hats to them,
at which they laughed again, delightedly.
Then Terry, wholly in his element, made a polite speech, with
explanatory gestures, and proceeded to introduce us, with pointing
finger. "Mr. Jeff Margrave," he said clearly; Jeff bowed as
gracefully as a man could in the fork of a great limb. "Mr.
Vandyck Jennings"--I also tried to make an effective salute and
nearly lost my balance.
Then Terry laid his hand upon his chest--a fine chest he had,
too, and introduced himself; he was braced carefully for the
occasion and achieved an excellent obeisance.
Again they laughed delightedly, and the one nearest me
followed his tactics.
"Celis," she said distinctly, pointing to the one in blue;
"Alima"--the one in rose; then, with a vivid imitation of Terry's
impressive manner, she laid a firm delicate hand on her gold-
green jerkin--"Ellador." This was pleasant, but we got no nearer.
"We can't sit here and learn the language," Terry protested.
He beckoned to them to come nearer, most winningly--but they
gaily shook their heads. He suggested, by signs, that we all go
down together; but again they shook their heads, still merrily.
Then Ellador clearly indicated that we should go down, pointing
to each and all of us, with unmistakable firmness; and further
seeming to imply by the sweep of a lithe arm that we not only
go downward, but go away altogether--at which we shook our
heads in turn.
"Have to use bait," grinned Terry. "I don't know about you
fellows, but I came prepared." He produced from an inner pocket
a little box of purple velvet, that opened with a snap--and out
of it he drew a long sparkling thing, a necklace of big varicolored
stones that would have been worth a million if real ones. He held
it up, swung it, glittering in the sun, offered it first to one, then
to another, holding it out as far as he could reach toward the girl
nearest him. He stood braced in the fork, held firmly by one hand
--the other, swinging his bright temptation, reached far out
along the bough, but not quite to his full stretch.
She was visibly moved, I noted, hesitated, spoke to her companions.
They chattered softly together, one evidently warning her,
the other encouraging. Then, softly and slowly, she drew nearer.
This was Alima, a tall long-limbed lass, well-knit and evidently
both strong and agile. Her eyes were splendid, wide, fearless,
as free from suspicion as a child's who has never been rebuked.
Her interest was more that of an intent boy playing a fascinating
game than of a girl lured by an ornament.
The others moved a bit farther out, holding firmly, watching.
Terry's smile was irreproachable, but I did not like the look in his
eyes--it was like a creature about to spring. I could already see
it happen--the dropped necklace, the sudden clutching hand, the
girl's sharp cry as he seized her and drew her in. But it didn't
happen. She made a timid reach with her right hand for the gay
swinging thing--he held it a little nearer--then, swift as light,
she seized it from him with her left, and dropped on the instant
to the bough below.
He made his snatch, quite vainly, almost losing his position
as his hand clutched only air; and then, with inconceivable rapidity,
the three bright creatures were gone. They dropped from the
ends of the big boughs to those below, fairly pouring themselves
off the tree, while we climbed downward as swiftly as we could.
We heard their vanishing gay laughter, we saw them fleeting
away in the wide open reaches of the forest, and gave chase, but
we might as well have chased wild antelopes; so we stopped at
length somewhat breathless.
"No use," gasped Terry. "They got away with it. My word!
The men of this country must be good sprinters!"
"Inhabitants evidently arboreal," I grimly suggested.
"Civilized and still arboreal--peculiar people."
"You shouldn't have tried that way," Jeff protested. "They
were perfectly friendly; now we've scared them."
But it was no use grumbling, and Terry refused to admit any
mistake. "Nonsense," he said. "They expected it. Women like to
be run after. Come on, let's get to that town; maybe we'll find
them there. Let's see, it was in this direction and not far from the
woods, as I remember."
When we reached the edge of the open country we reconnoitered
with our field glasses. There it was, about four miles off, the
same town, we concluded, unless, as Jeff ventured, they all had
pink houses. The broad green fields and closely cultivated gardens
sloped away at our feet, a long easy slant, with good roads
winding pleasantly here and there, and narrower paths besides.
"Look at that!" cried Jeff suddenly. "There they go!"
Sure enough, close to the town, across a wide meadow, three
bright-hued figures were running swiftly.
"How could they have got that far in this time? It can't be the
same ones," I urged. But through the glasses we could identify
our pretty tree-climbers quite plainly, at least by costume.
Terry watched them, we all did for that matter, till they
disappeared among the houses. Then he put down his glass and
turned to us, drawing a long breath. "Mother of Mike, boys--what
Gorgeous Girls! To climb like that! to run like that! and afraid
of nothing. This country suits me all right. Let's get ahead."
"Nothing venture, nothing have," I suggested, but Terry preferred
"Faint heart ne'er won fair lady."
We set forth in the open, walking briskly. "If there are any men,
we'd better keep an eye out," I suggested, but Jeff seemed lost in
heavenly dreams, and Terry in highly practical plans.
"What a perfect road! What a heavenly country! See the flowers,
This was Jeff, always an enthusiast; but we could agree with
The road was some sort of hard manufactured stuff, sloped
slightly to shed rain, with every curve and grade and gutter as
perfect as if it were Europe's best. "No men, eh?" sneered Terry.
On either side a double row of trees shaded the footpaths; between
the trees bushes or vines, all fruit-bearing, now and then seats
and little wayside fountains; everywhere flowers.
"We'd better import some of these ladies and set 'em to
parking the United States," I suggested. "Mighty nice place
they've got here." We rested a few moments by one of the fountains,
tested the fruit that looked ripe, and went on, impressed, for all
our gay bravado by the sense of quiet potency which lay about us.
Here was evidently a people highly skilled, efficient, caring
for their country as a florist cares for his costliest orchids. Under
the soft brilliant blue of that clear sky, in the pleasant shade of
those endless rows of trees, we walked unharmed, the placid
silence broken only by the birds.
Presently there lay before us at the foot of a long hill the town
or village we were aiming for. We stopped and studied it.
Jeff drew a long breath. "I wouldn't have believed a collection
of houses could look so lovely," he said.
"They've got architects and landscape gardeners in plenty,
that's sure," agreed Terry.
I was astonished myself. You see, I come from California, and
there's no country lovelier, but when it comes to towns--! I have
often groaned at home to see the offensive mess man made in the
face of nature, even though I'm no art sharp, like Jeff. But this
place! It was built mostly of a sort of dull rose-colored stone, with
here and there some clear white houses; and it lay abroad among
the green groves and gardens like a broken rosary of pink coral.
"Those big white ones are public buildings evidently," Terry
declared. "This is no savage country, my friend. But no men?
Boys, it behooves us to go forward most politely."
The place had an odd look, more impressive as we approached.
"It's like an exposition." "It's too pretty to be true."
"Plenty of palaces, but where are the homes?" "Oh there are
little ones enough--but--." It certainly was different from any
towns we had ever seen.
"There's no dirt," said Jeff suddenly. "There's no smoke,
"he added after a little.
"There's no noise," I offered; but Terry snubbed me--"That's
because they are laying low for us; we'd better be careful how
we go in there."
Nothing could induce him to stay out, however, so we walked on.
Everything was beauty, order, perfect cleanness, and the
pleasantest sense of home over it all. As we neared the center
of the town the houses stood thicker, ran together as it were,
grew into rambling palaces grouped among parks and open squares,
something as college buildings stand in their quiet greens.
And then, turning a corner, we came into a broad paved space
and saw before us a band of women standing close together in
even order, evidently waiting for us.
We stopped a moment and looked back. The street behind
was closed by another band, marching steadily, shoulder to
shoulder. We went on--there seemed no other way to go--and
presently found ourselves quite surrounded by this close-massed
multitude, women, all of them, but--
They were not young. They were not old. They were not, in
the girl sense, beautiful. They were not in the least ferocious.
And yet, as I looked from face to face, calm, grave, wise, wholly
unafraid, evidently assured and determined, I had the funniest
feeling--a very early feeling--a feeling that I traced back and
back in memory until I caught up with it at last. It was that sense
of being hopelessly in the wrong that I had so often felt in early
youth when my short legs' utmost effort failed to overcome the
fact that I was late to school.
Jeff felt it too; I could see he did. We felt like small boys, very
small boys, caught doing mischief in some gracious lady's house.
But Terry showed no such consciousness. I saw his quick eyes
darting here and there, estimating numbers, measuring distances,
judging chances of escape. He examined the close ranks about us,
reaching back far on every side, and murmured softly to me,
"Every one of 'em over forty as I'm a sinner."
Yet they were not old women. Each was in the full bloom of rosy
health, erect, serene, standing sure-footed and light as any pugilist.
They had no weapons, and we had, but we had no wish to shoot.
"I'd as soon shoot my aunts," muttered Terry again. "What
do they want with us anyhow? They seem to mean business."
But in spite of that businesslike aspect, he determined to try his
favorite tactics. Terry had come armed with a theory.
He stepped forward, with his brilliant ingratiating smile, and
made low obeisance to the women before him. Then he produced
another tribute, a broad soft scarf of filmy texture, rich in color
and pattern, a lovely thing, even to my eye, and offered it with
a deep bow to the tall unsmiling woman who seemed to head the ranks
before him. She took it with a gracious nod of acknowledgment,
and passed it on to those behind her.
He tried again, this time bringing out a circlet of rhinestones,
a glittering crown that should have pleased any woman on earth.
He made a brief address, including Jeff and me as partners in his
enterprise, and with another bow presented this. Again his gift
was accepted and, as before, passed out of sight.
"If they were only younger," he muttered between his teeth.
"What on earth is a fellow to say to a regiment of old Colonels
In all our discussions and speculations we had always
unconsciously assumed that the women, whatever else they might be,
would be young. Most men do think that way, I fancy.
"Woman" in the abstract is young, and, we assume, charming.
As they get older they pass off the stage, somehow, into private
ownership mostly, or out of it altogether. But these good
ladies were very much on the stage, and yet any one of them
might have been a grandmother.
We looked for nervousness--there was none.
For terror, perhaps--there was none.
For uneasiness, for curiosity, for excitement--and all we saw was
what might have been a vigilance committee of women doctors, as cool
as cucumbers, and evidently meaning to take us to task for being there.
Six of them stepped forward now, one on either side of each
of us, and indicated that we were to go with them. We thought
it best to accede, at first anyway, and marched along, one of these
close at each elbow, and the others in close masses before, behind,
on both sides.
A large building opened before us, a very heavy thick-walled
impressive place, big, and old-looking; of gray stone, not like the
rest of the town.
"This won't do!" said Terry to us, quickly. "We mustn't let
them get us in this, boys. All together, now--"
We stopped in our tracks. We began to explain, to make signs
pointing away toward the big forest--indicating that we would
go back to it--at once.
It makes me laugh, knowing all I do now, to think of us three
boys--nothing else; three audacious impertinent boys--butting
into an unknown country without any sort of a guard or defense.
We seemed to think that if there were men we could fight them, and
if there were only women--why, they would be no obstacles at all.
Jeff, with his gentle romantic old-fashioned notions of
women as clinging vines. Terry, with his clear decided practical
theories that there were two kinds of women--those he wanted
and those he didn't; Desirable and Undesirable was his demarcation.
The latter as a large class, but negligible--he had never thought
about them at all.
And now here they were, in great numbers, evidently
indifferent to what he might think, evidently determined on some
purpose of their own regarding him, and apparently well able to
enforce their purpose.
We all thought hard just then. It had not seemed wise to
object to going with them, even if we could have; our one chance
was friendliness--a civilized attitude on both sides.
But once inside that building, there was no knowing what
these determined ladies might do to us. Even a peaceful detention
was not to our minds, and when we named it imprisonment it
looked even worse.
So we made a stand, trying to make clear that we preferred
the open country. One of them came forward with a sketch of our flier,
asking by signs if we were the aerial visitors they had seen.
This we admitted.
They pointed to it again, and to the outlying country, in
different directions--but we pretended we did not know where
it was, and in truth we were not quite sure and gave a rather wild
indication of its whereabouts.
Again they motioned us to advance, standing so packed about
the door that there remained but the one straight path open. All
around us and behind they were massed solidly--there was simply
nothing to do but go forward--or fight.
We held a consultation.
"I never fought with women in my life," said Terry, greatly
perturbed, "but I'm not going in there. I'm not going to be--
herded in--as if we were in a cattle chute."
"We can't fight them, of course," Jeff urged. "They're all
women, in spite of their nondescript clothes; nice women, too;
good strong sensible faces. I guess we'll have to go in."
"We may never get out, if we do," I told them. "Strong and sensible,
yes; but I'm not so sure about the good. Look at those faces!"
They had stood at ease, waiting while we conferred together,
but never relaxing their close attention.
Their attitude was not the rigid discipline of soldiers; there
was no sense of compulsion about them. Terry's term of a "vigilance
committee" was highly descriptive. They had just the aspect of sturdy
burghers, gathered hastily to meet some common need or peril, all moved
by precisely the same feelings, to the same end.
Never, anywhere before, had I seen women of precisely this quality.
Fishwives and market women might show similar strength, but it was coarse
and heavy. These were merely athletic--light and powerful. College
professors, teachers, writers--many women showed similar intelligence but
often wore a strained nervous look, while these were as calm as cows,
for all their evident intellect.
We observed pretty closely just then, for all of us felt that it
was a crucial moment.
The leader gave some word of command and beckoned us on,
and the surrounding mass moved a step nearer.
"We've got to decide quick," said Terry.
"I vote to go in," Jeff urged. But we were two to one against
him and he loyally stood by us. We made one more effort to be
let go, urgent, but not imploring. In vain.
"Now for a rush, boys!" Terry said. "And if we can't break
'em, I'll shoot in the air."
Then we found ourselves much in the position of the suffragette
trying to get to the Parliament buildings through a triple cordon
of London police.
The solidity of those women was something amazing. Terry
soon found that it was useless, tore himself loose for a moment,
pulled his revolver, and fired upward. As they caught at it, he
fired again--we heard a cry--.
Instantly each of us was seized by five women, each holding
arm or leg or head; we were lifted like children, straddling
helpless children, and borne onward, wriggling indeed, but most
We were borne inside, struggling manfully, but held secure
most womanfully, in spite of our best endeavors.
So carried and so held, we came into a high inner hall,
gray and bare, and were brought before a majestic gray-haired
woman who seemed to hold a judicial position.
There was some talk, not much, among them, and then suddenly
there fell upon each of us at once a firm hand holding a
wetted cloth before mouth and nose--an order of swimming
Originally published in Forerunner (1915).
Etext from Project Gutenberg.
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