Karel Čapek - Essential Science Fiction Novels - Volume 7

As for Vivi, after her friend is gone, she jumps up and rings for her maid. That important individual having made her appearance, she and Vivi are soon engrossed with the all-paramount question of the moment—dress. Half-a-dozen gowns are pulled out, put on, pulled off and discarded, until at length one appears to please more than the others.

“How do you think I look in this, Marie?” she inquires a little anxiously. “Is it becoming?”

“Mais, madame, c’est tout-a-fait charmante,” replies the well-drilled maid with an expression of admiration.

Vivi is satisfied. The gown remains on her person, and in a short time she is dressed and ready for her day’s outing. Twelve o’clock strikes. A neat brougham dashes up to the door. In less time almost than it takes to tell it, Vivi has taken her seat in the carriage, and is being whirled through the busy streets of London, en route to Captain Kilmarnock’s rooms. There she will pick him up, and together they will proceed to Maidenhead, what to do God knows. We had better leave them.

A few minutes later, and there is another ring at the door, and the footman opens it to Mr. de Lacy Trevor. As he does so, the latter inquires—

“Is Mrs. Trevor in?”

“No, sir, just gone out,” answers the servant.

“Do you know where to, James?” again asks Mr. Trevor.

“I do not, sir, but perhaps Mademoiselle Marie will know.”

Marie is called, and arrives all smiles and bows. “Really, she thinks madame has gone out for a drive with her friend Lady Manderton, and to lunch with her afterwards. C’est tout .”

Mr. Trevor sighs.

“There will be no lunch wanted, James,” he observes quietly. “I shall lunch at the club,”

He wanders down the street in the direction of St. James’s. He wonders if Vivi has forgotten the promise she made him that morning to lunch at home, and go for a ride with him afterwards. He so rarely sees her now, and when he does it is seldom alone. She never seems to have any time to give to him, and yet he is not brutal to her, or neglectful, or wrapped up in some one else, as many other men are. He loves her so dearly, and would do anything to make her happy; but he can quite see how she shuns him, and how much happier she looks when in Captain Kilmarnock’s company. And then, with a shudder, he starts and stares eagerly across the street, for there she is—yes, actually there she is, in Captain Kilmarnock’s brougham, with the captain beside her, driving rapidly in the direction of Piccadilly.

Mr. Trevor has a strange lump in his throat as he ascends the steps of the Conservative and enters that roomy club.

“Waiter!” he calls out, and his voice is somewhat husky.

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring me a stiff brandy-and-soda, waiter, and mind it is stiff,” continues Mr. Trevor, as he throws himself wearily into a chair. The soda with its stiff complement of brandy arrives. It is mixed carefully by the waiter, and handed to the sad-hearted man. He drinks it eagerly. He has not a strong head, and knows that he cannot take much, but he feels that oblivion must in this instance be sought, if possible, no matter how, so long as it is attained.

The brandy, in a measure, has the desired effect. He feels it perforating through his body and mounting to his brain. Things don’t look quite so gloomy to him now, and the loneliness of his position is less acutely felt. Two men are talking to each other close by him. He knows one of them. It is Sir Ralph Vereton, and he holds in his hand a copy of the June number of the Free Review.

“It is a wonderful article for a boy to write, and an Eton boy, too,” he hears the baronet exclaiming. “Have you read it, Critchley?”

“Well, no, I can’t say that I have, but I will, old chap, when I get home. I’m afraid I haven’t time to just now.”

“What’s that, Vereton?” inquires Mr. Trevor, leaning forward in his chair, “anything particularly clever?”

“Hulloa, Trevor ! you there? Didn’t see you, old man. What! you haven’t read an Eton boy’s ‘ Essay on Woman’s Position ‘? Every one is talking about it. It’s deuced clever and original, whatever one may think of the opinions, and is clearly written by a lad who will make his mark in the world.”

“Let’s have a look at it, Vereton, if you don’t want it, there’s a good chap. I want something to read,” exclaims Mr. Trevor eagerly, reaching out his hand for the periodical, which the baronet passes to him good-naturedly. It is open at the page of honour, the first page in the book, and as Mr. Trevor scans the heading he reads it as follows: “Woman’s Position in this World. By Hector D’Estrange, an Eton boy.” He starts reading it, languidly at first, as if the remarks of a boy on such a subject cannot possibly be worth reading, but he is soon absorbed in the article, and never budges in his chair until he has read it through and through.

And there are some parts to which he turns again and again, as though he would burn their truths into his brain, and keep them there never to be forgotten. One in especial rivets his attention, so much so that he commits it to memory,

“When a girl is born,” it ran, “no especial difference is made in the care of her by doctor or nurse. Up to a certain age the treatment which she and her brother receive is exactly the same. Why, I ask, should there be ever any change in this treatment? Why should such a marked contrast be drawn later on between the sexes? Is it for the good of either that the girl should be both physically and mentally stunted, both in her intellect and body,—that she should be held back while the boy is pressed forward? Can it be argued with any show of reason that her capacity for study is less, and her power of observation naturally dwarfed in comparison with that of the boy? Certainly not. I confidently assert that where a girl has fair play, and is given equal opportunities with the boy, she not only equals him in mental capacity, but far outruns him in such; and I also confidently assert, that given the physical opportunities afforded to the boy, to develop and expand, and strengthen the body by what are called ‘manly exercises,’ the girl would prove herself every inch his equal in physical strength. There are those, I know, who will sneer at these opinions, but in the words of Lord Beaconsfield, I can only asseverate that ‘the time will come,’ when those who sneer will be forced to acknowledge the truth of this assertion.

“Well then, granting, for the sake of argument, that what I have stated is correct, why, I ask, should all that men look forward to and hold most dear, be denied to women? Why should the professions which men have arrogated to themselves be entirely monopolised by their sex, to the exclusion of women? I see no manner of reason why, if women received the same moral, mental, and physical training that men do, they should not be as fit—nay, infinitely more fit—to undertake the same duties and responsibilities as men. I do not see that we should be a wit less badly governed if we had a woman Prime Minister or a mixed Cabinet, or if women occupied seats in the Houses of Parliament or on the bench in the Courts of Justice.

“Of course woman’s fitness to undertake these duties depends entirely on the manner in which she is educated. If you stunt the intellect, tell her nothing, and refuse to exercise the physical powers which Nature has given her, you must expect little from such an unfortunate creature. Put man in the same position in which you put woman, and he would be in a very short time just as mentally and physically stunted as she is.

“All very well to declare that it is a woman’s business to bear children, to bring them up, to attend to household matters, and to leave the rest to men. A high-spirited girl or woman will not, in every instance, accept this definition of her duties by man as correct. That such a definition is clearly man’s, it is not difficult to see, for woman would never have voluntarily condemned herself to a life of such inert and ambitionless duties as these. But so long as this definition of woman’s duty and position be observed and accepted by Society, so long will this latter be a prey to all the evils and horrors that afflict it, and which are a result of woman’s subjection and degradation.